I DON'T OWN ANYTHING EXCEPT FOR DAHLIA, ESPECIALLY NOT THE SONG "Starts With Goodbye" by Carrie Underwood

AN: Thank you for reading my story, it means so much to me! Please keep reviewing, it makes me smile.

Paul: Yeah, keep reviewing or Dev might not carry on with the story and I wanna know what happens between me and Dahlia!

CHAPTER 11

Paul's POV

I sat on the couch, holding a bag of peas to my bruised jaw, thinking over the damage I had just done.

"I've really made a mess of things haven't I, John?" My best friend nodded and we both glanced toward John's bedroom door. Dahlia had shut herself in John's room and was going to sleep in there tonight. Not that John minded; he was practically her brother. And he knew that I liked her, so he wouldn't try anything. "You better start groveling, man," John said, "and hope like hell she forgives you. Because if you don't, you're gonna lose that girl."

Over the next two weeks, I took John's advice and started trying different ways to apologize to Dahlia. The first time was three days after the fight. Dahlia walked out of John's room after she woke up and I said, "Hi, Dahlia." I said it gently, hoping, however vainly it was, that she wouldn't be mad at me anymore. She didn't even spare me a passing glance. It was like I no longer existed to her.

The second time was a week later. Dahlia was still not talking to me, not looking at me, and sleeping in John's room. My bed felt cold at night without her there next to me, and I hated it. Anytime she did look at me, which wasn't often, she was too busy sending me death glares to notice that I was pleading with my eyes for forgiveness. I decided that I would write her a letter. I grabbed a paper and a pen and sat down at the kitchen table. And I started writing, pouring all my guilt and sorrow into the words I was putting down on the piece of paper.

Dear Dahlia,

I am so sorry for what I did to you. I know I overreacted and I am sorry. I'll apologize a million times if I have to, but I am begging you to give me another chance. I miss you. I crossed the line with that comment about your…well you know what I'm talking about. I didn't know and I am sorry. I just…I miss you so much. I miss you smiling at me and just talking to me. Please, Dahlia, I am begging you. Please. Give me another chance. Please.

- Paul

I slid the letter underneath John's door and went back into my room. The next morning I woke up, new hope in me that maybe Dahlia read the letter and forgave me but those hopes were dashed when I opened my door and looked down. There, crumpled into a ball and sorry looking, was my letter. I sighed and I swore I could feel my heart breaking.

A week and half passed and I couldn't take it anymore. I missed her too much. So one night, I walked up to John's door and was about to knock when I heard the strumming of an acoustic guitar. It was a nice rhythm, but it was nothing compared to the voice I heard singing. It was Dahlia and her voice was beautiful.

"Oh, it's just a song called Starts with Goodbye," I heard her say to John.

"Alright, well, I wanna hear it. Please? I want to help and whenever I'm sad or angry or whatever, music is what I turn to," he said.

"Alright, okay." She started strumming and then she started singing.

"I was sitting on my doorstep/ I hung up the phone and it fell out of my hand/ but I knew I had to do it/ and you wouldn't understand/ so hard to see myself without you/ I felt a piece of my heart break/ but when you're standing at a crossroad/ there's a choice you gotta make/ I guess I'm gonna have to hurt/ I guess I'm gonna hafta cry/ and let go of some things I love to get to the other side/ I guess it's gonna break me down/ like falling when I'm trying to fly/ it's sad but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life/ starts with goodbye/ I know there's a blue horizon/ somewhere up ahead/ just waiting for me/ And getting there means leaving things behind/ sometimes life's so bittersweet/ I guess it's gonna hafta hurt/ I guess I'm gonna hafta cry/ and let go of some things I love to get to the other side/ I guess it's gonna break me down/ like falling when I'm trying to fly/ it's sad but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life/ starts with goodbye/time heals the wounds that you feel/ somehow, right now/ I guess it's gonna hafta hurt/ I guess I'm gonna hafta cry/ and let go of some things I love to get to the other side/ I guess it's gonna break me down/ like falling when I'm trying to fly/ it's sad but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life/ starts with goodbye/ I guess I'm gonna hafta cry/ and let go of some things I love to get to the other side/ I guess it's gonna break me down/ like falling when I'm trying to fly/ it's sad but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life/ starts with goodbye/"

The song ended and I became aware of the tears that were trailing down my face. I've messed up so badly. And over what? A stupid guitar that can be replaced! She can't be. Dahlia cannot be replaced. I love her. I knocked on the door and John opened it. He frowned at me, silently asking, "What do you want?"

"I wanna talk to her, John. Please. I need to fix this," I whispered.

"It finally hit you, didn't it?" he whispered back.

"What?"

"The realization that you love her…it finally hit you, didn't it?" John asked with a knowing smile on his face. I nodded and said, "Yeah, John, it did."

"Right," John stepped past me and allowed me entrance into his and Dahlia's (temporary, I hope) room. "Fix this, Paul. Fix it." I nodded again and walked into the room carefully. Dahlia was strumming out a tune on her acoustic guitar that seemed familiar and then it hit me. It was "In Spite of All the Danger". That was an old song; we recorded it back it 1958, when we were still The Quarrymen. I didn't even think that girls her age would know the name of the song, never mind the tune. But, Dahlia, she played it beautifully.

"Hey Dahlia," I said quietly. Dahlia's head snapped up and she glared at me. "What do you want Paul?" She put her guitar down and I walked over to her carefully. She patted a space on the bed next to her, telling me to sit down. When I did, I said, "Dahlia, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I know I overreacted about the bloody guitar and I was stupid. And I know that comment about your mum was completely out of line and…"

"Paul," she interrupted me.

"Dahlia, please, just hear me out. I didn't know about your parents, and please, please believe me; I would never have made that comment had I known."

"Paul."

"I really miss you, Dahlia. I miss talking to you. I miss having you smile at me. I miss having you there when I wake up, and I miss…Dahlia, I miss you. And I am begging you, please forgive me."

"PAUL!"

"What?"

"I've been trying to tell you something!"

"What?" I repeated.

"I forgive you. We're cool. We're okay. I'm not mad. Not anymore. It's okay."

I swore I almost fainted from the feeling of relief that washed over me. "Really, you mean it? We're alright? You've forgiven me? Really?"

"Yes, Paul, I've forgiven you. I mean it. Truth is…I've missed you so much, too." I was so happy and I hugged her tight, as though if I let her go, she would disappear. She hugged me back and when she released me, we heard a chuckle.

"Awww, isn't that cute?" John was standing in the doorway. "So you aren't mad at him anymore?" Dahlia shook her head and John turned to me, "And you aren't a miserable mess anymore?" I too shook my head and John smiled. "Good." He turned and walked down the hall, yelling out as he did, "HEY GUYS, DAHLIA AND PAUL ARE OKAY AGAIN."

Three choruses of "It's about bloody time" erupted out of George, Ringo, and Brian. Dahlia and I looked at each other and just laughed.