Page 16 of Protecting Paul

“What are you doing here?” I swallow heavily. I try to make my voice sound confident, but my fear is evident. “You’ve been evicted, in case you forgot.”

“I know that,” he spits, stepping closer to me and glaring at me with hatred. “And your little boyfriend wasn’t brave enough to be the one to do it. You faggots are such cowards.”

“Don’t talk about him like that.” I feel a surge of confidence and tilt my chin up defiantly. “He’s more of a man than you’ll ever be, you freeloading asshole.”

“Oh, look at who found his voice finally,” he mocks. “I thought you’d lost it after all the dirty cock you sucked.”

“Why the fuck are you here, Jerry?”

“To teach you a lesson,” he growls. He’s nearly on top of me now, and the fear I felt before is worse. “You can’t get away with disrespecting your family forever.”

“I didn’t disrespect anyone! All I’ve ever done is try to be myself, but you and my dad are too stupid to see that.”

“Oh, I see it.” his voice is growing more hateful with every word. “I just don’t like it.”

I don’t have time to respond before he punches me squarely in the face. I cry out in pain, my hands fly up to cradle my nose, and he takes the chance to shove me on the floor.

He kicks me in the side so many times I lose count. I feel like I’m about to pass out but I cling to consciousness. I hear something shatter nearby and realize he’s thrown a bottle at me. He throws another one and kicks me again, forcing me to roll over into the broken glass.

“Just what I thought,” he barks, spitting on me. “A fucking pansy. You can’t even defend yourself. This is just a warning, cocksucker. You better go back to Colorado.”

I try to catch my breath, as I hear him stomp out of the house and slam the door behind him. I struggle to my feet, wobbling a bit. My head is pounding, and every inch of me aches. I stumble to the kitchen and spit out blood on the sink.

Just like that, the progress I’ve made reclaiming this house as my space is tainted by that pathetic asshole. Every time I breathe in my ribs ache. I’m pretty sure they’re cracked or broken. I lean against the kitchen sink and try to pull the broken glass out of my skin.

It’s the same counter where Sam brought me such bliss only yesterday. With every piece of glass I remove, I wince and curse under my breath. It’s not fucking fair. Why can’t I enjoy my time with Sam?

I try to tend to my wounds as best I can, but it feels futile. They’re all over me, covering my face, neck, arms, and back. There are even bruises on my legs. I look at the time and calculate that Sam should arrive home soon. I don’t know what else to do but get in the car and head toward his place.

I know it’s probably unwise to drive in this state, but there’s no way I can walk. I struggle to walk up the stairs to his apartment and weakly knock on the door. After a moment, it swings up.

“Holy shit, Paul….” Sam breathes out. “What the hell happened?”

To my dismay, tears stream down my face, and I can’t speak. Sam doesn’t say anymore. Instead, he wraps me in his arms and pulls me inside.

9

Sam

IhelpPaulinside.He can barely walk, and his breathing is labored. I guide him to my bedroom and gently sit him on the bed.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” I say and run to the bathroom. I dig out all my first aid supplies and hurry back to my bedroom. “Hang on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

“Thanks…” he finally says, his voice weak. “I’m sorry, Sammy… I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Don’t apologize, please.” I help him slip his shirt over his head. I’m momentarily struck silent by the extent of his injuries. “You’re always welcome here. If you’re in trouble, I want to be the first person you go to.”

I dab a moist towel over the cuts and scrapes covering his body. He winces with each motion. I want to hold him, but it would probably hurt like hell with all his bruises.

“Jerry,” he whispers. I hear him take a sharp breath as I clean a particularly deep cut. I could’ve guessed that, but I let him continue. “He showed up at my house. He said this was a warning, threw some slurs around, and spat on me.”

“Jesus…” My voice is shaky. I’m so full of rage I already see myself beating Jerry’s ass. “Listen, you’re going to stay here tonight. If you’re pretty sure you don’t need to go to the hospital I’ll get you as fixed up as I can. We’ll figure out what to do about Jerry in the morning.”

“He’s never going to stop,” Paul says so softly I barely hear him. “Not until I get far away from here.”

There’s a pang in my chest as he reminds me he won’t be in town after we finish the house. It’s selfish but it’s there. I wish there was another way. I brush it away and focus on cleaning his wounds. I grab the hydrogen peroxide and begin dabbing it as gently as possible.

He hisses as it bubbles and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry. It stings. He threw a bottle at me and kicked me into the broken glass. That’s where all the cuts are from.”

---