Paul Atreides

Help Please

Paul knew you well. Maybe too well. That's what scared you about him, he could read you like a book, he knew every page word-for-word. You loved that about him, yet you feared it about him.

When your mother's boyfriend moved in with you, he was sweet at first. He tried to bring you along to his work, do activities with you, watch movies or just talk. One day he got overly mad at something your mother did and slapped her (something you didn't know until later) and it didn't take long before 'only one time, I won't do it again' turned into every week, then every other day, then every day. You got really good at makeup, and wearing long sleeve tops and sunglasses became your best friend. 

Paul had found you acting off. When he'd go in for a hug, you were sceptical about it, or sometimes flinch if he put his hand around your shoulders or offered you a high-five. Paul had thought of ways of gently bringing up why you flinch so much. He turned the reasons why you did over in his mind hundreds of times, and the only explanation he could think of was you were being abused. When he thought of it, your mother's boyfriend was always helicoptering them when they were over, and you always had to be back at home by five pm every single day. 

You seemed terrified when your mother's boyfriend slammed his fist against your door frame when Paul was over, and it seemed like he forced you to drink a weird liquid, and when you denied he pulled you out and minutes later you came back with red-ish eyes, you said it was because your mother was cutting up onions in the kitchen. 

Finally, after months Paul had enough. He told Jessica he was going out and asking you about your situation, and that he should be back in a few hours, and if he wasn't to call the authorities. Jessica gave him a hug and sent him on his way.

At your place, you were sitting in the living room, curled up on the couch reading a book that you'd been trying to get through for the past few weeks. Harsh mumbling fell into your ears from the direction of your mother's room. Your mother's boyfriend shouldn't be home, he should be at work, so you figured it was your mother talking to herself. 

You suddenly heard a shattering, and a loud, guttural scream. 

You leaped up from the couch and sprinted down the hall and flung open your mother's bedroom door to find your mother's boyfriend towering over your trembling mother. She had blood trickling down her face, and her boyfriend had his hand raised in the air, a picture frame that had blood dripping off it in his hand. 

'Stop!' You screeched and leaped up on him.

'Y/n, no!' Your mother called out.

You ignored her, trying desperately to tackle your mother's boyfriend to the floor. You managed to knock the picture frame from his hand, but he tossed you down on top of it. You screamed as you felt the glass pierce through your clothes and press into your skin.

'Little bitch.' He spat on you before kicking your stomach. 'Stay down.' He raised his hand to punch your mother.

Paul suddenly burst into the room and hit your mother's boyfriend in the back of the head with a dining chair. 

'Get off her!' He shouted as your mother's boyfriend collapsed to the ground, groaning in pain. Paul ran to your mother, as you'd sat up and was in better condition than her. 'Are you okay? I'll call an ambulance.' 

The series of events happened quickly. The ambulance came for your mother and you. The both of you passed out on the way to the hospital from blood loss. Your mother's boyfriend went to a medical clinic away from the two of you where his bruise was treated, then sent to jail. Your mother had to have a blood transplant, and you'd fractured a few bones in your spine and needed surgery.

A few days later, you were able to sit up in bed. 

'Y/n, you've got a visitor.' The nurse said softly.

'Let them in.' You said after sipping your tea.

'Hey.' Paul said as he walked in. He held a large bouquet of peonies and baby's breath. 'How are you feeling?'

'Alright.' You smiled weakly as he put the flowers beside your bed.

'Why didn't you tell me what was going on?' Paul asked. He sat down on your bed.

'Wow, straight to the punchline.' You awkwardly chuckled. 'I don't know. I guess I was scared.'

'Why? If you had told me earlier then I would've known and could've helped. This situation wouldn't have happened.' Paul said.

'I guess it's kind of Stockholm syndrome.'

'Stockholm syndrome?' 

'Yeah, when a victim is so beaten down that they don't feel like they can reach out to anyone. I kind of felt like that with Mother.' You looked down at your hands. 'I'm sorry.' 

'Don't be sorry, Y/n. I'm sorry for not seeing and taking action earlier. What's important is that you're now safe and healing.' Paul took your hand. 'I'll always be here for you, don't forget that.' 

'I won't.' You smiled, genuinely smiled for the first time in a very long time. 

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