High on you

In my life

Paul sat curled up on his bed in fear of going out his door. He let out a hearty sigh and threw his legs over the side. He swung them for a few seconds before begrudgingly getting up and trudging down the stairs.

Jim McCartney was stirring a cup of tea, taking a few tentative sips. His son slowly descended the steps and stood opposite to him at the counter, not meeting his eyes. "Paul, I didn't mean to intrude on you and your boyfriend."

Paul swallowed and looked off to the side. "Da, that wasn't my boyfriend." He said hesitantly.

"Oh, and who was he?" Jim asked, stirring his tea again.

"Umm, Just John. Anyway, I don't want to talk about this anymore." Paul looked absolutely embarrassed.

"Paul?-"

"It won't happen again."

"Paul, if you want to talk about it-"

"I just don't think you're ready to talk to me about relationships and...boys." Paul could taste the vomit in his mouth as he spoke.

Jim set his cup down and looked down at his son. "I'm not ready to talk about it or you're not ready?"

Paul widened his eyes and was at a loss for words. "It's personal, ok?"

"Son, I want you to know that you can confide in me about these things." Jim said sincerely and Paul rolled his lips together nervously.

"I'm just not comfortable talking about this stuff with you, it's not like with her." Paul frowned, letting the comment slip through his lips. "Your accommodating, I know." 

"Paul, I'm not just-"

"I'm going to go to bed. Goodnight." Paul interrupted him, succumbing to his embarrassment and fleeing the room for his bed. Jim watched him go with disappointment in his eyes. The pit of his stomach burned.

Mike entered the room just as Paul shut his door quickly. He glanced up the stairs and back at his father. "Something wrong with Paul?"

"I'm not sure." He sipped his tea with a frown. "He won't talk to you will he?"

Mike opened the cabinets to look for food and remembered when Paul had confessed to being upset over being called a slut. "Not about lads, If that's what you're asking?"

Jim sighed. "Why does he feel like he can't talk to us?"

Mike shrugged. "Probably because we spent such a long time ignoring it. Not like Mom, she just knew."

Jim looked at his son and nodded. He took the last gulps of tea and put the cup in the sink, incredibly disappointed in himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John woke up the next morning shockingly early. He sat up slowly and reached for his cell phone and as his hands curled, the shining black on his nails caught his attention.

"Shit." He hissed, setting the phone back on the table. He stared down at his nails with a scowl. There was no way he was leaving it on.

He furiously started to pick at it, only being able to pick off small chips of black that flaked onto his bed. With all his frustration he glanced at his phone and sighed as he picked it up and dialed.

"Hello?" A groggy sounding Cynthia answered.

"Cyn, can you come over?" John asked with a huff and Cynthia seemed to sigh, probably glancing at the early time.

"John you haven't been speaking to any of us, you know that right?"

"I know, I just need you to come over" he insisted.