She's Leaving Home... (Paul mini-fan fiction)

So yeah, I tried uploading this yesterday, but somewhere in my story "there's an inappropriate word". I didn't know where, and I really don't care to go through my entire story ALL OVER AGAIN! So im gonna post it in parts. tell me what you think:)

Chapter 1

She's Leaving Home (part 1)

My eyes had a hard time staying dry. I had to do this. I had to be quiet, and I had to tough it out. This would be the hardest thing I would ever do. There was no turning back now. Or was there?

“Hey Becca!” Paul’s beautiful voice flowed from downstairs into my room. I put my pencil down, finished with my three page note. If only I could have said more. Walking over, I asked what he needed with a fake happy voice. “We are about to watch a movie on the telly. Would you like to join us?” At the top of the stairs, I see Paul waiting for me at the bottom. I feel like breaking down and crying, longing for him to hold me.

Reluctantly, Paul talked me into it. We squeezed onto the couch, John and Paul squishing me in the middle. George and Ringo sat on the floor, engaged in a card game that John had required would be silent. How could I go through with this? These boys were my best friends, my brothers! After they saved me last year in that accident in America, I could never imagine doing anything to upset them. This would certainly upset them.

I grabbed my dark auburn curls as if I was going to put them in a ponytail and draped them over my shoulder. Paul looked at me and smiled. Lord, I would miss him the most. John, George, and Ringo were my friends, and I could trust them with anything. Paul, man did I want him. He was beautiful, sweet, the friendliest of them all. I knew my decision would be hard, but when he smiles at me, I know I’m going to miss that the most.

Paul put his arm around my shoulders; my head found itself resting on his shoulder. The movie wasn’t very interesting to me. I didn’t really care to watch it. Too many things were swimming around in my mind. Even with John’s incessant laughing at the corny jokes, I felt my eyes getting heavier and heavier. Using Paul’s body heat as a blanket, I fell asleep.

My dreams: merely memories.


It was 1964, a chilly February afternoon. Crazed girls jumped in front of cars just to get to the boys. If I didn’t have the self control I had, I would have joined them. I enjoyed the Beatles’ music and their good looks, but I wasn’t about to get myself killed for this. There was only one thing on my mind: aspirin from the drugstore.

I walked along the sidewalk, hoping a girl wouldn’t trample me. There was no view of any storefronts. The drugstore couldn’t be spotted. I grunted and tried moving to the front of the crowd, my sights set on an opening in the distance. Pushing through limbs, I made my way there, only to be caught right in front of the Beatles.

“Hey Lady!” A large, New Yorker yelled at me. He was a cop. Oh no. “You can’t get in front of us! We’re the barricade for the crowd!” He had a confused look on his face. I wasn’t jumping on one of the Fab Four or asking for a kiss. I was just standing, staring, dumbfounded. “Alright, well if you’re just going to stand there all day!” A Beatle with dark brown hair and large hazel eyes stared at me as the cop put his arms around me and carried me off. This brought me back to my senses.

“Get your hands off me, you creep! I’m just trying to pick up some medicine! Thanks to you, my headaches grown more painful!” I started kicking, trying to run from this man’s grip. All four Beatles were staring now. I guess they too were only used to girls attacking them, not just standing. “I said let go!” I brought my foot back into his groin and he doubled over in pain. I adjusted my purse and noticed the drugstore. As I walked, I heard an engine behind me.

“Watch out!” Two strong arms knocked me out of the way as the Beatles’ car almost ran me over. I looked up, only to lock eyes with the Beatle I had seen staring at me earlier. He didn’t let me out of his grip; he just stared some more. “Uh, the name’s Paul.”

“I- I know. Th-thank you.” I stood up and brushed the dirt from the road off, running off in the distance, not even noticing I had left my purse and money behind. My heart raced as I burst into the drugstore. I collected myself and went over to the shelves, still breathing heavily. I was an idiot! What girl runs away from a Beatle, especially one that risked getting mauled by a hungry pack of girls to save you? I might need more medication other than aspirin…

When I got to the counter, I was supposed to hand over a dollar. I held up a finger and looked to the side, expecting to take a dollar out and get my meds. Where was the purse? Where was all of my money for America? My passport and wallet were in that bag! I must have left it back at the scene. Oh no. No, no, no.

As soon as my feet hit the floor of my motel room, I felt like screaming. Grabbing a pillow from the bed, I screeched into it. I had nothing. How would I get back home to Britain now? Nothing could save this day, nothing at all.

A knock on the door at midnight proved otherwise. I was still a bit traumatized from almost getting run over, so I was in my pajamas. I had gone to bed at about 6, but I wasn’t allowed to sleep because of the trauma. I slipped my feet into my slippers and shuffled over to the front door. Not even bothering to look through the peephole, I opened the door.

“Ello, love. I found your purse on the street a couple hours ago and-” I pulled him into my room and closed the door. Snatching the purse from his hands, I studied him. He was still in the same grey suit as earlier, that same smile on his face. Then, it hit me. Paul McCartney was standing in my hotel room. Paul McCartney, of the Beatles, had come to my room at midnight. I was once again speechless.

“How did you find me? Did you take anything?” My hands rummaged through the bag and Paul just laughed a bit.

“I didn’t know you were a fellow Brit! And no, I didn’t steal anything. I just looked inside to see if I could find an address or a name or anything. The pamphlet for the hotel was in there, so I just came.” Lord this man was amazing. I didn’t even know him, but he actually had the heart to come and give me back the only things I really had that mattered. Plus, he wasn’t too bad on the eyes. “So, why are you here in America?” He was seriously trying to strike up a conversation at midnight?

“If you’d really like to know, I was coming on vacation. No use though, I hate it here. Wait. Where’s my wallet!? Where’s all my money!?” I screamed, dumping out the purse. “You did take something!”

“No! I didn’t! I swear! There wasn’t a wallet in there when I found it! I wouldn’t lie to you!” Paul was going into hysterics like me. If he didn’t take it, who did? Another reason I didn’t like New York: too many thieves and liars. Tears streamed from my eyes. Paul wrapped me into his eyes, giving me a shoulder to cry on. Without money, there was no way to get home. I would have to get a job here and live here and give up my life at home. Paul tried shushing me, but it didn’t work.

“You don’t understand! Without money, I can’t go back home! My checkbook was in there! Now I can’t even pay for my house! I have to start all over again!” At that, Paul backed up with a gasp.

“I have a grand idea! The boys and I have a house in London, yes? You could move there with us! We have an extra room!”

“Oh no, Paul. I couldn’t burden you guys. I still need to pay you back too!”

“Pay me back by moving in with us! I just have a vague feeling that we could become great friends! Please?” His eyes were shining with anticipation. Really? His heart was so big, I couldn’t believe this. The Beatles- well, a Beatle- was asking me to move in with them! Of course, I said yes.


Paul gently shook my arm, trying to wake me. A small kiss on my head finally got me up. I smiled at him, almost in tears. I would miss those kisses. Of course, he was just trying to be friendly. That was another thing I had a problem with.

I think I loved Paul. He was always my favorite Beatle. We were the same age, too. His heart was big, and he treated me the way a woman wants to be treated. I swear, if he wasn’t living under the same roof as me, I would tell him how I really felt.

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