Domestic Husbands

Chapter 16

Tw: homophobia

16 July 2016.

I don't remember much about that date to be honest. The days after are a bit of a blur as well just like how everyday after has been filled with grief and guilt.

We went out, too some club. I don't remember the name. I know we had a really good time. Dancing and drinking and being with Paul out in public, it was great. We definitely weren't worried. Why would we need to be? London is progressive now right? No longer having to be scared about being gay and out.

I wish I had told myself that it wasn't all modern day progressive. That just because we had marriage equality doesn't mean that eveyone is fine with gay people. It wasn't fine but none of us would have died if i had just shut up.

We had left. Not even that late, if I remember correctly. We had to get the last train home. We were drunk and walking through the streets holding hands. That's when Paul whispered to me that we were being followed. I didn't think anything of it. Being a Mitchell you get used to things and being followed but he wasn't a Mitchell yet. The innocence of being a Coker made him feel uneasy and I could feel his nerves. I pulled him in closer to my body and gave him a reassuring kiss which was my first mistake.

That's when they started shouting abuse at us. I mean, I live with Phil so its not like I haven't heard any of them insults before, but it was late and dark and we were both drunk. Very drunk. We sped our walking up and lost them thankfully. We had also made it to the main Street and felt more comfortable. We let our guard down abit. This was the second mistake.

I had noticed that Paul was a bit more wobbly than before. Could have been nerves, could have been alcohol, could have been something worse and so I made him take a blood test (he's diabetic) in the safety of the street. I was right- he was low, I don't know why I remember that but anyway, not the point. This gave the men some time to catch up with us and as they come out the side road they instantly saw us. If things couldn't get worst, it now looked like Paul was doing drugs (he obviously wasn't) as he corrected his blood levels but why would these people know the difference.

They ran towards us and this time started throwing empty beer bottles and stuff at us. That's why I did the worst thing I could do. Mitchell's stick up for themselves I heard in my dad's voice, over and over in my head. And so I started shouting back at them. I remember Paul telling me to leave it. They aren't worth the hassle and that I was drunk. I shoved his reasuuing hand off my shoulder and continued shouting as we walked away.

That's when they attacked us from behind. It got physical very quickly. I think I must have passed out after hitting my head on the ground. I remember hearing Paul cry out and I saw a trail of blood near his head. I don't know who, but someone must have called an ambulance. I came round and had paramedics checking my body out. (not that I minded. Fit men in uniform  *wink face*)

I remember the only thing I cared about was Paul. I couldn't see him and started calling out his name. I noticed I couldn't hear and assumed my hearing aid had broken because of the impact as I fell to the ground. I remember their faces. The paramedics. They looked up at each other but didn't say anything, that's when I knew something bad had happened. I started crying even though each movement shot a piercing pain through my lungs. The paramedic strapping me with wires put a reassuring hand on my shoulder just like Paul had done and it made me cry even more.

I went to the hospital and stayed there. I layed awake all night worried about Paul, just staring at my tattoo of his name. We had only got them done together a couple of days before. I had convinced myself that he was fine just in a different ward. There was a lot of blood but he was going to be ok. It was all my fault and I felt awful. This was another way that dad had ruined my life. I should have got more of the beating up than him. I'm the one who kicked off, even after he told me not too. If only I knew that he was gone and that would be the last memory I have of us.