Two Lost Souls • Paul Lahote

28. Fear

AN: JUST ANOTHER REMINDER:
TW- ABUSE, ALCOHOL ETC

As soon as Paul stepped foot into the house, as soon as the door had closed behind him, he regretted it. He regretted not going to Elizabeths. He regretted not telling or listening to Sam. He started to regret everything he had done since dropping Lizzie off that had led to this moment.

As soon as he had entered the house, the scent of alcohol, mainly vodka with a hint of rich wines and scotch, had rushed to his nose. Followed by the sound of a bottle smashing and feet pounding against the hard wooden floor. He knew what he should have done. He should've turned on his heel and ran. He should've ran away. Anywhere. Elizabeth's house. Sam and Emily's house. The beach. The forest. Anywhere he could think of. Anywhere but here. But, as soon as he had heard the looming voice of his father calling to him, his feet were glued to the spot. Paul Lahote froze.

Before he could even comprehend what was happening he felt a harsh fist hit his cheek followed by his body dropping to the floor, kicks made contact with his stomach and back. Apart from a few grunts, no sound left his mouth. He was used to this. He had learnt to stay quiet. He bit his lip, almost instantly tasting the metal flavour of his blood seeping into his mouth as he attempted to stop the yelp threatening to escape his mouth knowing very well, it was a lot better on his end not to make anymore noise than necessary. Accompanying the brutal kicks to his body was a smashed glass which struck his left cheek. Shit.
Kicks and punches left bruises. With his abilities, bruises would heal easily overnight but a cut caused by glass with that amount of force would take longer. A couple of days to fully heal, hopefully without a trace or scar.

He knew this as soon as he saw the blood drip from his face into the wooden floor.

He knew it would likely scar, just as a wolf bite would've.

Following the brutal blow was a low, slurred laugh as well as more insults. But as he fought unconsciousness, a specific statement caught his attention, 'no one cares about you, boy'. It made him really think. His fathers voice became a distant whisper, drowned out by his thoughts.

He thought about his pack brothers and the way they always, always had each other's backs no matter what, even if you were arguing or at disagreement at the time. They care.

He thought about Sam and Jared specifically. Jared being his pack brother and best friend. Sam being his alpha, pack brother and close friend. They care.

Then, he thought about Elizabeth, his Lizzie. She cared. She cared more than he deserved. He remembered all the 'I love you's they had exchanged. The kisses they had shared. The way she felt in his arms. They way he felt when she would hold his hand. She cared.

In that moment, thinking about the people in his life who do care, who don't think he's a disappointment, a piece of shit or a waste of space, who have even started to love him, he gathers all the strength he has left. He picks himself up from the ground, ignoring the warm, oozing blood dripping down his cheek and neck, staining his shirt, ignoring the agonising pain spreading throughout his whole body from his legs to his back and chest to his cheek, he ignored all the pain focussing on one thing. He was not taking this any longer. He would not take anymore crap from this poor excuse of a man. He was done and that was final. He gave the man as strong a push as he could manage, sending the drunk male staggering back, tripping over a box that had been there who knows how long, before turning around, blocking out his fathers voice, thinking purely about how good it felt to walk away from him.
He was free. He would be okay.