Emptiness

Chapter Four

CHAPTER FOUR

Ellen

My entire body shook in pure horror as Paul shamelessly proposed that we all join in a huge orgy. I must have appeared as an abashed kitten, trembling, for its coat was saturated in water and tarnished in a thick layer of grime. My limbs fiercely tightened, an agonizing pain vibrating throughout my body; it was as if a boa constricter was slithering around my frame, crushing my bones and asphyxiating me. I tried to muffle a cry of pain, but it slipped out faintly.

How could I ever admit that I was a virgin, hesitant to touch?

As daft as it may sound, I was unwilling to wave goodbye to my virginity; now was not that special time. I wouldn't dare to lose it to several men who'd carelessly walk out of the bedroom the next morning, even if they happened to be the alluring Beatles. Maybe if I were as daring and audacious as I wished to be, I'd gaily take up on the offer... but unfortunately, I was neither - I was Ellen, a gal who got stupid butterflies when it boiled down to merely speaking to the opposite sex.

George must have sensed my angst (as if my dimwitted jitters hadn't already proclaimed it to the universe), for he laced his fingers within mine and reeled in close. So adjacent, I could feel his hot breath burning my neck; it was quite a swell shift of temperature. His lips lingered nearby my ear, feebly carressing the lobe. Although I was fully cognizant of the fact that this touch was solely accidental, and that a gal like me never ends up with someone like George Harrison, bliss filled me regardless. Comfortingly, he breathed, "Don't worry, love. He's only ribbing ye."

Strategically, I eased my clutch on his palm to restrain him from fretting about my anxiety any further. I didn't realize that I had been repressing my breath until Paul himself clarified that his remark was plainly lewd banter, nothing more, and that he didn't mean a single thing by it. I pathetically attempted to exhale tactily, to hide that I had been corking up, but of course, failed. I'm fortunate that they took no notice.

Thank goodness I'd calmed down and finished with that senseless shivering of mine; I was surprised that I had not yet burst into feathers, or whatever you burst into. I took a couple of minutes to fully study Paul's features and let them sink into my brain; never in my lifetime had I imagined that I would ever speak to, or simply come across, a Beatle... yet here were two, both standing by my side.

To put it simply, Paul was enticingly attractive and handsome. With seemingly flawless features, his appearance resembled that of a lad you'd fantasize of meeting and romantically falling in love with, but never expect to exist in reality... I suppose all The Beatles were like this. I swear, I could have ineptly gawked at him for eternity, but instead shied away, similar to how a lily-livered rabbit would hastily flee from an innocent gardener.

Momentarily distracted in thought, I did not notice as a finger sneakily slid beneath my chin, lifting it up slightly and softly stroking. My gaze was locked into Paul's large brown pupils that were gracefully framed with inhumanely-lengthy, fluttering eyelashes; I felt myself melting into them. He smirked at me teasingly, "If you aren't with George, perhaps you'd be interested in me, then?"

I froze up, dumbfounded, as my cheeks resumed to kindle into a deep crimson.

Briskly, I jerked myself away, startled as Paul was fiercely yanked backward. I turned to face George, who visibly was indignant and weary of Paul's jokes. His face was nearly as flushed as mine as he uttered a few curses aloud. "What the hell do ye think ye're doing now?" he questioned hotly, glaring.

Paul held back a snicker, amused by the sudden outrage. Puffing, his warm breath was exposed among the chilly atmosphere; he glimpsed at me for a picosecond and I caught a puzzling, playful gleam in his orbs, followed by that famous McCartney wink of his. Lighting yet another cigarette, he took his sweet time smoking it, before finally shuffling his attention back to George.