She Loves You?
Title: She Loves You? PART 8
Author: macca44552
Pairing: J/P, G/OC, P/OC
Rating: NC-17
Summary: A naive fan, thinking that she is going to win the heart of Paul McCartney, walks into something quite odd...
A/N: There’s some stuff about religion in this one. It is just fiction. It doesn’t reflect my personal views. For the most part, everything is historically accurate. I plan to keep it that way, unless I find the need to make changes.
Disclaimer: Everything you heard is a lie: I don’t own The Beatles.
PART 1 PART 6
PART 2 PART 7
PART 3
PART 4
PART 5
It felt like I had fifty-pound weights on my eyelids. An annoying throbbing sensation was taking place in my head, and my breath reeked of puke. I sat up in the large bed and looked around.
“What happened?”
My memory was fuzzy. All I could clearly recall was talking to Ringo after seeing Paul with that bitch…
Paul!
Everything came rushing back; me downing scotch, pushing George, kicking that bitch’s ass, kissing Paul, kissing the toilet, being rejected by Paul…
A shock of pain traveled through my body. I brought my hands up to cover my face. He rejected me because he wants to fuck John and some nameless girls?
Why am I not good enough for him? And why the fuck does John Lennon always win?!!!
I wiped my thoughts of Paul McCartney as I got up and walked into the bathroom. Every time I got drunk, I would always straighten my hair in the morning. I had the tendency of doing stupid, irrational things when I was…less than sober, so straightening my hair was a way of starting anew, erasing my mistakes. Plus, It makes me look pretty!
After I finished getting ready and ridding my hair of its floppy waves, I braved going out into the living room. God told me that if I had any hope of getting over Paul McCartney, then I would have to face him. Not to mention, I felt slightly awful about pushing George, and I wanted to apologize.
When I walked out into the living room, John took one look at me and started clapping loudly; Ringo joined in with a few whistles. George chose to completely ignore my presence and focus only on his new guitar while Paul looked at me nervously. I averted my eyes from his; I couldn’t bear to look at him.
“What are you clapping about?” I mumbled as I held my pulsing cranium.
“Because, luv, I heard you got a bit…tousled…last night,” John said.
I shrugged. “The bitch called me a slut.”
John started laughing like a mental patient. He looked over at Paul.
“Why the fuck didn’t you take advantage of that, Paulie? You could’ve made it so that you bedded the winner…or the loser…whichever one she wasn’t,” he said as he pointed to me. I swallowed nervously while absently scratching my arm. Why does John have to bring this up?
“Believe me mate, It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” Paul said quietly.
“That’s because you’re soft in the head. Rings, how was your night?”
Ringo slouched in his chair and shook his head slowly. “Not that good.”
He let out a deep breath before continuing. “Well, I met this hot blonde bird, and she seemed into me, you know. So we went to her room and started foolin’ around. Nice tits, that one! Then, when I was just about to make it, she decides to declare her undying love fer me!”
Everyone laughed. Poor Ringo!
“Yeah, so she starts asking me where we’re going to get married! I fucking jumped up and put my pants back on! I spent the rest of the night hiding in me room with the door locked. I thought she was gonna nab me!”
John shook his head and said “crazy bird”, while George patted his friend on the back and said, “It’s your nose, you know. Women can’t resist it.”
“I know, I know. So how was yer night?” Ringo asked George. The quiet Beatle smiled brightly.
“I was playing my new guitar, and two blonde birds came up to me asking for a…lesson,” he said with a smirk. John gave him a high-five and Paul started clapping. I bit the inside of my mouth. Two girls? How the hell did he get two girls? I clenched my fists. I was pissed, but I didn’t know why.
“They must’ve been drunk,” I whispered, not realizing that he could hear me. He turned towards me slowly.
“Nah. I’m pretty sure you drank the lot of it last night.” He said through clenched teeth. I sighed.
“Look, I’m sorry for pushing you,” I said quietly. He turned back to his guitar and started cleverly playing “Don’t Bother Me.” Whatever! He’s a stupid brat! Why should I care what he thinks anyway?
* * *
I stupidly sat behind Paul and John on our way to Portland. They were whispering in each other’s ears, discretely touching every body part they could reach, and laughing at absolutely nothing.
I sat in the airplane seething. Every little queer thing they did felt like a stab in the heart. Judging by the way John reacted to last night’s events, I could tell that he didn’t know about the kiss between Paul and me, and that meant that Paul was intentionally flirting with John. He was teasing me. I couldn’t fucking handle it. I resisted the urge to start kicking the back of their seats and instead chose to look out the window…
“JESUS CHRIST, LOOK!!”
I opened my eyes and exited my peaceful slumber. Some reporter was freaking out over something. I turned around in my seat to see a crowd of people looking out of the window. What? Is there a fucking bird out there or something?
“THE PLANE’S ON FIRE!!!!!!!”
Everyone jumped up in horror. I stood and looked out the window in question only to see orange flames protruding from one of the wings. I screamed.
My body started shaking nervously. Am I going to die? What the fuck did I do to deserve this!
John stared at the fire in complete silence before running to the emergency exit and pulling on the door handle.
“Get me out of here!” he screamed while pulling on the door as hard as he could. Paul ran after him and tried to pry his body away from the door.
“Get a grip on yourself!” he said hysterically.
“No!! I wanna jump! I’m not gonna die like this! Fuck that!”
“John! Stop being daft! We may not die!” Paul tried as he let a few tears escape from his eyes.
“I’m not fuckin’ going out like this! You can come if ye want, but I’ve gotta jump!” John yelled, using all of his strength to try and open the door.
“JOHN!!!!” Paul yelled.
“Let go so I can jump!”
A few tears ran down my face. Why is this happening to me? God, I’m sorry for being so terrible! I was just trying to show John and Paul the way to a life without sins! Please let me live! Please!
Eppy was nowhere in sight. Mal and Neil were trying, and failing, to control the chaos. Ringo was pacing around, hugging everyone in reach while yelling about how “planes are unreliable and we should be driving to our venues instead of flying on deadly winged contraptions”.
Through my tears, I saw George. He was sitting in his seat, face morphed in panic. I let out a shaky breath. My body became possessed. An invisible hand grabbed my shirt. My vision was foggy and my mind ran through a reel of random images.
Before I knew it, I ran over to George and collapsed on top of him, grabbing him tightly. To my immediate surprise, he wrapped his arms around me and buried his face in the crook of my neck. I started hyperventilating. Why didn’t I treat everyone better? Why was I so selfish about everything? Why didn’t I connect with my family? Why did I leave when I knew Steve was mad at me?
I gripped George as if my life depended on it and he did the same. I felt…safe…in his arms. I could feel his warm breath on my neck and I visibly relaxed a little bit. His soft hair caressed my cheek and I let out a heavy sigh. So, is this what it’s like to die? To feel completely at peace?
“The plane will land in a few minutes. I encourage everyone to take their seats. Once the plane lands, form a single file line and get off as quickly as possible,” rang the distant voice of the pilot.
I looked up and saw John and Paul in their respective seats. John was rocking back and forth while Paul was caressing his hair. I could tell that Paul was probably internally freaking out, but he had to be strong for his partner. I smiled. I wasn’t jealous. I buried my face in George’s hair and breathed in his scent. Cigarettes and sweat. I bit my lip in shock of how appealing it was.
“Hey! The plane landed!” someone said through a cough.
I lifted my head and saw that the plane was filled with smoke. Everyone was pushing to get on solid ground. George and I were the only ones still seated. I sat up on his lap and looked at him. He still had his arms firmly around me, his mouth was agape, and he looked at me with an odd expression.
“The plane landed,” I said quietly as I started coughing.
He looked around with wide eyes and saw that the plane was empty and safely on the ground. A couple of firemen were outside putting out the flames. Did I mention that he still had his arms around me?
I gulped. Suddenly, being in George’s embrace made me feel something other than safety. My heart started racing and my breath quickened. Every bit of my skin that touched his started tingling. The tingles traveled to my center and my eyelids fluttered for the briefest of seconds. How the hell is he making me feel this way?! He’s rude and ugly! There must be something wrong with my body. First, it didn’t react when I kissed Paul, now it’s going all crazy over George? What the fuck!?
When George started coughing, he let his hands drag slowly off my body. I just barely suppressed a shudder. We stared at each other with an odd sort of intensity before I climbed off his lap and exited the plane on shaky legs. Images of pushing George on a bed and ripping off all his clothes clouded my thoughts. My body felt numb and weightless…all except for a certain area….
“Hurry up you two!” Mal said as he pushed George and me through the pubescent crowd. The scenes before us were shot in slow motion. I was so fucking thankful to be alive, to be on the solid ground, to see relief on the faces of the biggest pop group of the decade as George and I entered the limo. The Beatles looked at each other for only a moment before all four hugged with brotherly affection. I marveled at their bond. I wished I could have that kind of connection with someone. Sadness gripped my heart and I looked out the window. I’m glad they’re so happy that I’m alive!
Just then, Paul approached me with his hand extended. I looked up into his eyes and recognized an unspoken apology. I grabbed his hand and he pulled me into a hug. I smiled. After the plane incident, I wasn’t jealous of Paul and John anymore. I was still very much disgusted by their queer escapades, but I wasn’t jealous. I mean, I never really was envious of their relationship. So, doesn’t that mean that I really didn’t like Paul in the first place? His handsome features captivated me, yes, but there never really was a spark. Not like when I was with…
I looked over at George Harrison. He was giving me a scathing look. I arched my eyebrows in confusion. What the fuck is he pissed about now?
“Easy you two!” John warned.
Paul and I broke apart, a look of understanding upon our faces. I sat back in my seat and watched as he rested his head on John’s shoulder. I contemplated my next move. Even though I wasn’t going to go after Paul anymore, I needed to find another way to eliminate the queer from him and John. They have feelings for each other, I get that, but they can still be best friends! They don’t have to be queer! Plus, it’s not like I would be taking away their happiness, they still like to fuck women! They’re so talented; it would be a shame if they went to hell because of their horniness.
* * *
I stood backstage at the Portland Memorial Coliseum watching The Beatles perform their last song of the night; “I’m Down”. I was confused as hell about everything that went on between George and me on the plane. I felt…something. I think he felt it too, but I wasn’t sure. All I knew was that after that incident, the skinny little fucker had been dancing in and out of my thoughts. The most confusing part was that he acted like nothing happened. He still gave me dirty looks, ignored me, and rolled his eyes when I spoke. Like, what exactly did I do to deserve that? Okay, so I said some mildly awful things to him, but I always tried to apologize afterwards! He’s just impossibly confusing!
“Do you know them?” an unfamiliar voice asked from behind me.
“Yes,” I answered absently, still thinking about Harrison.
“They’re great, aren’t they? Truly an inspiration!”
“Yep.”
“Are you on tour with them?”
I escaped from my daze. Who the fuck is this creep?
I turned around slowly. My mouth dropped. I was met with a tall man wearing an island shirt, a hat, and white pants. He smiled at me through dirty blonde facial hair. In other words, Mike Love was standing right in front of me!
“OH MY GOD!!!!!! THANK THE LORD!!” I screamed as I jumped on the poor Beach Boy. He laughed.
“Take it you’re a fan?”
I let go of him and started singing ‘Surfin’ USA” while I did a strange little dance that involved me surfing over a particularly tumultuous wave. He laughed.
“Well, what the fuck do we have here?” John said as he bounded off the stage in a sweaty mess. His band mates followed and I tried not to stare at the perspiration that trickled down George’s forehead.
“John Lennon! You’re fantastic!” Mike said as he shook John’s hand. It was hard to hear over the relentless screaming, but we managed.
“Hey, you too man, how the fuck do you manage to stay in tune all the time!” he asked.
Mike laughed. “Practice, I suppose.”
“Looks like we’ll never be in tune!” George said as he shook Mike’s hand.
Paul and Ringo greeted him happily. I listened to their conversation with a smile on my face. They talked about their individual methods of writing songs, the ups and downs of touring, and their plans for new albums. It’s fucking MIKE LOVE!!!
“So, which one of you guys is dating this lovely lady?” Mike asked as he nodded over to me. I blushed.
“Well, we just sort of just drag her around, you know?” Paul joked.
“Yeah, she does good laundry,” John added.
“And that’s about all she does well,” George quipped. He played it off as a joke, but I could tell that it was stab at me. I squinted at him.
“Yeah, George has the nastiest stains on his clothes. But I guess he can’t help it if he has problems…ahem…holding it in,” I countered with a smile. Mike looked between us with sheer amusement.
“Yeah. It seems that when I see her face I just can’t help pissing my trousers. Frightening to look at, you know?” George said, looking directly at me. John laughed, Paul looked at Mike a little apologetically, and Ringo glared at us suspiciously.
“Ah yes, George. But I’m not the one with two eyebrows that look like they could be a pair of socks!” I lost all pretense of joking.
“Didn’t seem to mind ‘em when you were straddling me on the plane!”
“Whoa Whoa Whoa! When the fuck did this happen?!” John asked incredulously while holding up his hands. How did he not see us? Oh, yeah! He was too busy trying to commit suicide.
“Did I make a bad conversation choice?” Mike asked.
“Fuck off!” I shouted at George. Did he really not feel anything on the plane?
“Go kiss Paul!” He yelled blindly. Paul’s mouth dropped open.
“What’s he talking about?” John asked me quietly. Shit!
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me,” he said in the same quiet tone. I glanced over at Paul who was sending George a death glare. I stared at the floor.
“What is he talking about?” he asked, turning to Paul.
“John, we…” his voice trailed off. I chanced a look at John. Steam was practically coming out of his ears. His mouth was nothing but a small line and his fists were clenched firmly at his sides. I gulped.
“I kissed him,” I spoke quietly. John turned to me slowly. I was honestly afraid that he was going to strangle me. I recoiled just incase.
He turned towards Paul and nodded swiftly before storming off into the dressing room. He slammed and locked the door.
“So, Mike how’s California?” Ringo asked awkwardly.
“Uh…good,” he responded, scratching the back of his head and looking back at John’s retreated figure.
George was looking at Paul apologetically. I wanted to breakdown and punch him to death. He cares about getting Paul in trouble with John, but he doesn’t care that he hurt my feelings? Not to mention the fact that Lennon’s going to give me nothing but hell from now on!!?
Pissed, I walked away from everyone and blindly searched for Eppy, Mal, Neil, anyone! As long as it wasn’t George Harrison. I don’t fucking care about what I imagined on the plane, he’s always going to be a miserable bastard and I’m always going to hate him!!
To be continued….
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