Chapter 11: Don't Pass Me By

8:39 PM, June 5, 1962

It had been more than two years. The day of my attempted suicide, John had suggested we move back to Liverpool. No, that's not right. He more or less told me we were moving back. He didn't exactly give me a choice on the subject, though I really didn't have an opposing opinion. When he explained to me why he wanted to go back, I agreed. He was right, there was nothing special in New York for either of us and there most likely never would be. So, we'd gone back to Liverpool and one of our close friends, Paul McCartney, took us in to live with him for awhile. Almost immediately after our return, the boys had been offered a record deal, and we all took off to Germany twice in the last two years.

I'd returned to my normal state due to everyone's tremendous efforts at getting me to realize none of it really was my fault. So, I was happy again. Happier than I'd felt in years, actually.

The band's popularity sky rocketed and they'd often invite me to watch them play at one of the most well-known clubs in Liverpool: The Cavern. I was friends with everyone in the band, though I wasn't as close to Stu or Pete as I was to George and Paul. George and Paul were like brothers to me; Stu was an all around nice guy and we got along pretty well until he left the band in '61. As for Pete, I'd never taken a huge liking to him, but he was friendly enough and we goofed around sometimes.

I strolled out of the bathroom in one of Paul's towels, picking at my jagged, bitten off nails when I heard someone clear their throat. I looked up, startled, and found Pete staring down at me with one eyebrow cocked, a lazy grin sweeping over his features. My right hand subconsciously wandered up to my chest, fingering the soft material of the towel and pulling it up a bit further towards my neck. Pete and George had stopped by tonight to just hang out and have a few drinks before their first recording session that was set to take place the following morning.

"Hey, Pete", I said in a friendly tone, brushing past him to proceed down the short hallway to mine and John's empty room. Pete caught my upper arm on the way by, making me come to a dead halt. I spun around, confused.

"I need to talk to you immediately, luv", he said in a hushed tone, batting his eyelashes at me as he grinned flirtatiously. I raised an eyebrow, unsure where this was going.

"Um, okay. Can I just get dressed first?", I asked condescendingly, gesturing to my barely covered body as I craned my neck forward and shook my head at him.

"Erm...alright, I guess", he said, clearly reluctant. He glanced down at my body, his eyes flicking back up to meet mine with an unreadable expression. His grip loosened on my arm and I shook him off lightly, padding across the carpet to the white door at the end of the hall. I opened the door, glancing back over my shoulder at Pete, whose eyes were still glued to my figure.

Weird, I thought as I shut the door behind me. Damn Paul and his house, there were no locks on any of the doors except the front and back exits downstairs. Which meant constant anxiety of someone walking in on me in the bathroom, or walking in while I was changing. I'd never had a fear of the latter, for Pete had never displayed any interest in me prior to this most recent turn of events. And let me tell you, I was a tad bit apprehensive about his motives. John was away at Mimi's tonight; I knew he wouldn't be back for at least another few hours, being that he'd set out just under a half hour ago.

I threw a worried glance at the closed door and rushed over to the big, dark dresser by the closet, reaching blindly for panties as I eyed the door with suspicion. I was being stupid. Pete knew I was changing, he wouldn't just burst in, uninvited. He wasn't that kind of guy, no matter what kind of feelings he may or may not have been harbouring towards me. I told myself to just relax and get dressed, Pete wasn't a freaking rapist, after all.

Nonetheless, I hitched up my underwear hastily, noting with slight annoyance that I'd ended up grabbing my most provocative ones. They didn't leave much to the imagination, as they were black, thin and made completely of near-transparent lace. Then again, almost all of my underwear were like that. I yanked one of John's oversized sweatshirts out of the closet, making the hanger swing wildly back and forth, finally losing its grip on the pole and falling to the floor with a muffled thud.

I pulled on the navy blue and red striped jumper, letting it hang just below my thighs. The sleeves drooped past my fingertips, making me appear even shorter than I already was. John said I looked cute in it and it was extremely comfortable, so I wore it anyway. I pushed my dark, damp hair out of my face and over my shoulders, allowing it to cascade down to my lower back.

My curls were becoming more prominent as the air dried them. Soon, they'd be out of control and I'd look like a lion that had gotten its' mane dyed to a dark brown. I honestly didn't have a clue as to why people took such a liking to it, constantly stopping me on the street to offer me compliments. I did enjoy them, though they got tired fast. Too often women would jokingly offer to trade their hair for mine, and unbeknownst to them, I'd nod my head seriously, wishing we really could trade hair.

There were times when I would give anything to have sleek, straight hair and look like everyone else. But that's when I realized that I really wouldn't have my hair any other way. It was a part of me and it was the one thing that really separated me from most women, so I took it as a gift most days. And after years of struggling to cope with my unruly curls, I was finally at peace with my hair.

I didn't bother to put on any pants because I knew nothing sexual was about to ensue between Pete and myself. He was a nice guy and he wouldn't push my boundaries. Besides, he'd already seen me in just my skivvies and a bra on a few occasions, so just wearing John's sweater was almost modest in comparison. Not to mention, Paul and George were downstairs and would gladly defend me if anything got out of hand.

I braced myself, placing my hand around the doorknob and squeezing my eyes shut in an attempt to calm down some. I opened my eyes, releasing a little huff as I turned the knob and opened the door. Pete was nowhere to be found. Relieved, I plodded down the hall to the staircase, easing my way down the steps to the living room. There he was, laying back coolly on the couch, arms folded behind his head as he winked at me. I drew back my upper lip in a look of distaste.

I spotted George in the kitchen, his back turned to me as he rummaged through the fridge noisily. Paul was seated in a chair, his eyes focused on the television, chin resting in one hand. Pete sat up, patting the spot next to him as he smiled cockily at me.

I scratched my neck and carefully placed myself a polite distance from him. It was in vain, though, because he scooted himself closer to me, resting his hand on my knee as my insides churned and my mind whirled in uneasiness. Surely George and Paul would do something if Pete went too far. I guess they were too used to my presence to really acknowledge my entrance and they didn't have a clue as to Pete and I's little scene that was rapidly unfolding.

"So...what did you want to talk about?", I said, keeping my tone light and only mildly interested. I looked down at his hand, feeling his rough fingertips start to rub my knee gently.

"Well, you see, Delilah...I've had a sort of...um...", he trailed off, letting his hand rest for a moment as he tried to muster up the courage to continue.

"Go on", I said, giving him a reassuring smile and nodding my head. I hoped to hell that I looked a whole lot more convincing than I felt. His hand moved up to my thigh, probably from a sudden swell of confidence at my smile. Great, Delilah, you fucking moron. You're just egging him on now, I thought to myself. His actions were making me nervous. This wasn't supposed to be happening. Pete was supposed to be my friend. Only my friend.

"Uh...hmm, I, uh...", he muttered, biting his lip as he stumbled over his words. I narrowed my eyes at him, willing him to take his fucking hand off of my thigh. "Okay I'm just gonna say it. I know you're with John and all, but I've had feelings for you since the day we met", he said, the words rushing out so quickly I almost didn't catch them.

"Look, Pete. You're a really nice guy and all, but like you said, I'm with John. Can we just forget this ever happened? 'Cause I think of you as a friend, you know? Like, only a friend", I stated, making sure he understood my feelings.

"But I really like you", he said, giving me puppy dog eyes and pouty lips. I cringed inwardly, hoping he'd never do that again.

It just didn't work for him at all. He wasn't bad looking, he just couldn't pull it off like Paul could. Actually, Paul made everyone's puppy dog faces seem stupid, save for one other guy in town. His name was Ritchie Starkey and he played drums for a local band, Rory Storm and the Hurricanes. That boy had the most stunning blue eyes that drooped, giving the illusion that he was constantly sad. He had this strangely endearing large nose and a smile was always plastered to his face. But you could tell he wasn't a phoney. He was just a genuinely happy guy and for that, everyone adored him. Not to mention, his drumming was superb.

Now, that Ritchie, he put everyone to shame when it came to the puppy dog eyes. And when Pete attempted to portray the cute look, it just didn't do anything for me. I'd already become a slave to Ritchie's version, and no one else could make me melt in adoration like that except John, Paul or George.

I bared my teeth in an obviously forced smile and leaned away from Pete.

"Uhh, Pete I'm sorry. I really am. But I can't. I just...don't think of you that way and I don't want to lose John...", I said awkwardly, staring at his lingering hand.

"Alright. Fine. Okay. I understand", he said after a long pause, retreating his hand back from my leg and making his way to the kitchen. His tone seemed way too friendly to be sincere, I knew it wasn't over with him just yet, but I figured I'd just brush it off and deal with him later.