Mysterious Boy - McLennon

26.

(TW - severe abuse. Read with caution after the .-.)

That day seemed to go slow. His aunty made them dinner in the kitchen, Jim, Paul and Mike waiting in the living room while watching TV. The air was tense as they'd waited for her, Jim sat in his armchair, brutally griping onto the sides.

They'd eat, Jim staying in silence almost the entire time. The man's eyes were fixed on the TV, a blank expression on his face. There was an awkwardness between both Paul and Jim.

At around 7:00, Mike had started to yawn, his head falling on Paul's shoulder. The boy knew that was a sign the younger was tired, and as the four year old requested for Paul to take him to bed, that's what Paul did. He read him a story in the boy's own room, making sure Mike was asleep when he left.

At the bottom of the stairs, Helen was putting on her coat, speaking to Jim. Suddenly Paul's body was overtaken by fear once again. He took a seat on the top step.

"Goodbye, Paul!" Helen called up to him.

He blinked harshly.

"Bye aunty Helen!" He called back, trying not to show his fear. He'd gotten used to her being here, to himself not being in danger.

Please don't leave...

That's what he wanted to call out, but before he knew it, the door was shut.

He could hear Jim lock the door, and he felt frozen. The man did a whip round of the house, turning off every light downstairs, and Paul finally found it in him to run into his bedroom.

The boy could practically feel his heart beating out of his chest. He was scared, terrified. So scared that he feared he might have a panic attack. Mike was asleep, and Helen had left. It was the perfect time for Jim to snap.

Paul lowered himself onto the floor, his back up against the door. Before he could do anything more, there was a harsh knock.

.-.

"Open the door." Jim stated, blankly.

Paul held his breath.

"Now."

He couldn't.

Jim wasn't drunk, he was stone-cold sober. Sometimes that could be the worst Jim. It was the most upsetting to Paul, because he knew that Jim's mind wasn't clouded with alcohol when he hit him. It was his actual father beating him, not some drunken version of him.

"I said open the fucking door!"

Paul had to follow his orders. Maybe it would hurt less. He slowly rose to his feet again, stepping away from the door and opening it. Jim was stood there, the same blank expression on his face as when they were watching TV.

"So, are you going to tell me what your boyfriend meant?" He asked, cockily. The man folded his arms.

Paul's mind fell blank.

"W-What?"

"I'm so glad we don't have to lie about the relationship anymore, Macca..." Jim spat, mimicking John's voice poorly.

Oh lord.

The lie that had saved him once was now going to betray him. How could he be this unlucky?

The irony of it all...

"D-Daddy... I- I can explain..." Paul stuttered out, but before he knew it he was shoved against the wall.

He felt his shoulders slam against the walls of his own room, and he tried not to cry out. Mike was next door, and if the young boy woke up...

"Then fucking explain!" Jim didn't seem to care about waking Mike up, shouting at the boy in such an violent tone.