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and i love her – chapter fourteen

1964

George wasn't sure how to handle the situation. He was expecting Eleanor to take his side, to choose him. He partly understood Eleanor's reason for staying with John - but that wasn't enough. He wanted her. He needed her. He fucking loved her. John didn't deserve her; he didn't love Eleanor like he did.

Groaning softly so no one else would hear, he continued to play his guitar in the studio, his eyes going over to rest on John's figure every now and then. George envied him, he truly did. He didn't care that they were mates, he just wanted Eleanor. He had Pattie, and she was a good person. She was pretty and nice and just lovely overall, and he enjoyed spending time with her. But whenever they were together his mind would forget her in an instant and he'd concentrate on Eleanor instead.

"Shit," he muttered. He stuffed up again... Paul was sure to get mad, as usual, so he braced himself for a lecture.

Paul turned to face him. "Again?"

He shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Paul rolled his eyes. "You wanna put out a shitty album?"

"Doesn't really bother me."

Brian cleared his throat from the corner of the room. "Come on, work." He instructed.

George nodded meekly, going back to the start of the song. What were they even performing? He couldn't care less. All he noticed that day was John's sudden good mood. He was always angry when it came to early mornings, being bitter towards everyone. His mind was racing of the possibilities, mainly hoping it wasn't Eleanor who had caused his surprising chipper mood.

Eventually they were given their break, after what seemed like forever. George got out first, his guitar falling to the ground carelessly. Once out the door, he forced himself not to go in there and kick the Hell out of John, and instead went outside. He rested against the wall and searched his pocket for his packet of cigarettes.

"Shit." He mumbled. He had left them back inside, and he certainly wasn't going to go back in. His want to hurt John was far too strong. Sighing loudly, his eyes closed and his head started to ache. He heard footsteps near him and he reluctantly opened one eye to see John.

"George," he nodded, standing by him.

"You alright?" He asked.

John looked as if he was hiding a grin. "I'm perfect, you?"

George bit his lip, shrugging.

"What's with you lately, mate?" John asked. "I mean, I can understand you messin' up a bit, but Jesus, you've been terrible lately."

George's anger was building up but he pushed it aside. "I dunno, really."

"It's not just the music, Georgie," John continued. "It's everythin'…What's goin' on?"

George shook his head.

"We've sorted all this Eleanor stuff out, right?" John asked. George scoffed, he didn't mean to. It just came out. John scratched his hair. "What's that?"

"What?" George stuttered. "Nah, you're right, we sorted it all out."

John raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Yeah, of course I am." He said.

"… I don't believe you."

"Well you should," George assured. "You got nothin' to worry about."

John didn't look at all convinced. "I've told you, haven't I, George? I've told you how much I love 'er."

George nodded, not sure what he was afraid of. It would either end with George getting his face bashed in or the thought of Eleanor being hurt by John because of all of this. The second one ruled, he thought, that's what he was most afraid of. "I know, mate."

John's head cocked to the side. "Don't do this, George. I'm tellin' you now, don't do this."

"We haven't done anything; we aren't about to, either."

John looked down at his shoes. "Haven't I made it clear enough, George?"

"John…"

"Haven't I fuckin' said it before?" John questioned, the tone in his voice changing. It was quiet at the beginning, it was calm. Now his words were rough and angry.

"John, mate…"

"I'm not a good husband, I know it. But I'm changing, isn't that enough for you to back the fuck off?" He yelled.

George's arms were raised in defense. "I know, mate. I know how much you love 'er, I haven't touched the bird."

John's eyes rolled. "I'm not a fuckin' idiot, George." He yelled. "I know you have eyes for her. I've seen the way you look at her, like you're the one that's married to her."

The sudden comment of the two being married made George almost smile, despite who was saying it and why. "I admitted that, John. I like her but I don't bloody like her like her that."

John's hand rested on the wall, his fist clenching. "You're terrible liar, George."

"I'm not lying." He whispered.

"Fuckin' hell, George." John cried. "Just own up, will ya?"

He shook his head. "I have nothin' to own up to." He knew he should have been feeling guilty but he couldn't help it. He wasn't going to give in. "I said I liked her, but that's it. I care about you more than her."

John shook his head, laughing in a mocking manner. "I'm getting better, you know? She even fuckin' said so. There's no point wastin' your time on a bird who doesn't want ya."

George's eyebrows furrowed, and he felt a pain to the heart when he said. She did want him, didn't she? She might have chosen John, but that doesn't mean a thing. "You don't know a bloody thing about her, do you? You don't know what she wants."

"I know she wants me."

George felt a rise of anger forming in him. He could so easily break John right now. He could tell him what happened and what he did to her. How he spent hours and hours with his wife, kissing her, making love to her. It would kill John. It was tempting to release that information, to destroy him. "Maybe you should have a word with your wife, John," George snapped. "I'm sure she'll sort it all out." He turned to leave but felt a strong grasp on his left shoulder.

"What's that supposed to mean?" John said quickly.

George shrugged. God, how he wanted to rub it in his face. He wanted to prove that his wife had been with him. He decided that he wanted to tell him for his own personal gain, his own vendetta, so it was better to just let it go. "Ask Eleanor."

John's grip tightened. "Me wife loves me. She loves me, not you."

George let a smirk fall across his lips. "Don't be an idiot, John. I know that."

"Then what the fuck are you talking about?" John shouted.

"Jesus, ask your fuckin' wife, for the last time." George grunted, walking away.

John wasn't exactly sure if he wanted to find out. His suspicion had doubled and his nerves were taking over him. He ran a hand through his hair as he waited in the lounge room. Eleanor had gone shopping and wasn't going to be back for another few minutes. He wasn't even sure how he was going to handle the situation. Yell at her? Hit her? Ask her straight out? Beat around the bush?

He didn't have time to decide as soon the front door opened, and Eleanor stepped inside. She placed the bags John assumed to be filled with clothes by the corner, then took off her white coat. "John, you're home," she smiled, sitting by him, putting her coat by her side. "I thought you'd be gone a few more hours." She leaned in to kiss him, her soft lips pressing against hers. He gave in straight away, like he always did, and he left his hands on her waist.

"Yeah, Brain sent us home early or something, wasn't really payin' attention." He said, his hands leaving her body.

She laughed, kissing his cheek. "Typical John," she said, standing up. "What would you like for dinner? I was thinking pasta or mayb-"

"Sit down, Eleanor." He whispered, not looking at her.

Almost in an instant she was sitting by him. "What is it?'

His hand rested on her knee, softly stroking it. Sighing deeply, he spoke. "I don't deserve you, do I?" He wasn't sure where that came from; it wasn't even that relevant to the question he was meant to ask. But still, he said it.

"What?" She laughed, resting her much smaller hand on top of his. "John, you do. Don't say things like that, you know I hate it when you do."

John gave her a small smile. "It's just that sometimes I sit down and have a long think about us. I keep rememberin' all the times I hurt you and it just doesn't seem fair."

She rested her hand on his cheek. "Don't worry, John. You're not hurting me anymore, that's what counts, right?"

"I s'pose so," he whispered. "But still, I gotta take some responsibility for what I've done, yeah? Gotta make it better."

She smiled. "Oh John," she said softly. "You are making it better. You're being absolutely perfect."

He sighed. "Just for a minute, Eleanor," he said, holding up one finger. "Just for a minute, remember when I hurt you, when I hurt you the worst."

"Why would I wanna think about that?" She asked, removing her hand, and John felt what small from of warmth it provided fade away.

"Because," he began. "I just... I just wanna know what you were feelin'."

"John-"

"Please." He pleaded, grabbing her hand and squeezing it.

She sighed, rubbing her forehead. "I have a headache, can we do this later?"

He knew she was lying, and he repeated the words he said earlier to George. "You're a terrible liar." She gave a small, soft laugh before nodding. "Tell me. Please. Just tell me what you felt."

She leaned back on the lounge, pushing a few strands of her behind her ear. "Why, John?"

"I need to know."

She stared at him for a minute before nodding, sitting back up. "The time you hurt me worst?" She asked out loud and John gave her a nod. "Back in Liverpool. You told me to come and see you play at the Cavern, but I had work, and I couldn't get out of it. Christmas was coming up too, so I really wanted the extra money so I could buy some good gifts." John listened intently, his eyes on her. "I remember I told you in the morning that I couldn't come, that I was sorry, that I'd make it up to you. You said something like…like…like I wasn't in love with you like I said I was, that I was lying. You made me feel like the worst person on Earth, seeing you like that. I went to work anyway but the whole time there I kept thinking that I was gonna burn in Hell for what I did, that you would never want me again. That's what hurt the most," she continued. "You questioning my love for you. You actually said that I didn't love you." She sighed, looking at him. "I did love you, and I still do. But when you pushed me away like that I honestly felt like breaking down right there in front of everyone. I nearly did."

She finished her story and John quickly pushed forward, his arms around her shoulder. He pulled her closer, so that she was on his lap. "I don't…I don't remember that."

She shrugged. "I don't expect you to, it happened years ago."

"But you do!" He snapped suddenly.

She ran a hand through his messy hair. "I know, but it would have effected me more than you. I'm not surprised you don't remember, it's fine."

John buried his head in her shoulder, closing his eyes. He felt like such a bastard. It wouldn't have even happened that long ago, maybe just a few years back. She felt him leave his grasp and he looked up at her, questioningly, wondering why she ended their warm embrace.

"Dinner." She winked, leaving for the kitchen. He chased after Eleanor, only a step or two behind her. "Pasta's fine, right?"

"Yeah," he nodded, watching her wrap an apron around her body. He remembered then that he had to ask her the question he was dreading. He had to ask her about George. He sat at the counter, watching her walk around the room, opening various cupboards and pulling out whatever items she needed for the meal. "Luv?"

"Mm?" She asked, opening the fridge.

"Do you love George?" He decided it was best t just come out of the open with it, other wise he never would of said what he needed to.

She nearly dropped the bowl she holding, he could tell she almost lost her grip but quickly regained it. "What?"

"Do you love George?" He repeated.

Her mouth opened but no noise came out. That was a sign, right? "As in-"

"Harrison? One of me best mates? Yeah." He didn't mean for it to come out as harsh as it did.

She cleared her throat. "Of course not."

"Are you sure?" He asked.

"Positive."

"Could you ever love him?

Eleanor looked at the floor. "I don't know," she murmured. "I don't think so."

John rubbed his eyes. "What if he told you he could take all your pain away, if he could treat you better?"

"I'd tell him…" She trailed off for a second. "I'd tell him that even if he did, it wouldn't matter, because I'm already in love."

"But he could treat you ten times better, couldn't he?" John said. "He'd treat you like a princess."

"But you treat me like a queen."

He laughed softly. "Are you forgetting everything I've done to ya? What about what happened in Liverpool?"

She shook her head. "That's in the past."

"You don't love him?"

"No."

He nodded. "Good. He wouldn't love you like I do, anyway. I don't care what he does. He could buy you all of England but he couldn't beat my love for ya."

She smiled. "I know, John."

"You do know I love you?" He questioned. "I always will."

She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "John Lennon, I know. As much as I like to hear you say things like that, you're starting to worry me," she admitted, kissing his cheek. "You always worry me."

He pulled her into his lap, like before. "George will never love you like I can, darling."

John wasn't sure who he was trying to convince, himself or Eleanor. He was hoping Eleanor would come straight out and tell him something was going on. He didn't know what he wanted to hear, but he knew what she wanted: her old John back. This kind, loving man he used to be, who he used to like to be. Temptation and persuasion always go the better of him; he just hoped Eleanor hadn't fallen under the same spell.