Weddings

Chapter 03

Paul ignored the growing discomfort he felt, focusing instead on the walk back to his car. The sounds of laughter and merriment coming from the party seemed to taunt him and he found himself feeling truly miserable at the thought of all his friends, happy and oblivious to his internal conflict. Why didn't I just stay at home tonight?

Schneider called out to him from a group of men sat smoking and drinking, "Not going home, Paul?" He pretended not to hear, quickening his pace. "Paul?"

"Yes, Schneider. Gute Nacht." Paul couldn't hide the note of exasperation in his voice. He just wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?

Luckily Schneider seemed to pick up on this, and returned his attentions to the other guests. Paul opened the gate to the farm and slipped through, trying to remember where he had parked.

I can't drive. He turned left, and walked down the centre of the street, seeking out his car like you might search for a familiar face in a crowd; he knew he'd feel better once he'd seen it. I'm drunk.

There. Black, and shiny, and beautiful. Paul felt relief well up in his chest. He moved a little faster, wanting to get away from this party, this night, this feeling. He got out his keys, unlocking the door and throwing himself into the driver's seat. As the door slammed shut he was encased in silence; the party noises being blocked out as the car's metal frame held him, as if it knew he needed comfort. Paul was sore, a constant, stinging reminder of what he'd done. He moaned and slumped forward, arms gripping the steering wheel, tears pattering softly as they hit the leather and dripped slowly down onto his lap.

Richard. Paul's body shuddered as he sobbed. What have you done to me? The internal light of his car blinked out and the night swarmed in around him. He needed to get home. He'd made a fool of himself, he'd done something stupid, and now it was time to go home.

He slotted the key into the ignition, starting the engine and steadily pulling out of his parking space, wiping his clouded eyes with the sleeve of his shirt.

A couple of feeble sniffs and then he set off, the darkness and silence of the car only being punctuated by streetlights and the occasional stifled sob from Paul. Eventually he was pulling up outside his flat, having made a few drunken errors on the way home. He got out, locking the door and moving into the building.

He just needed peace and quiet now. His wife was at her mother's and so he was certain he could just curl up and cry himself to sleep. The thought seemed oddly comforting to Paul. He moved towards the apartment building with some difficulty. I'm too drunk.

"Dad!" A familiar voice greeted him as he entered the foyer. "I've been waiting for you, where've you been?" His son sniffed, Paul noticed he appeared to have been crying too. "My girlfriend cheated on me, I caught her. Can I stay here tonight? What's up with you, Dad? You look rough!" I need a drink.

"Hello Emil, I'm sorry about that, yes, and nothing; just had a bit of a shock tonight." Paul moved to the lift. Just get me to bed.

"What kind of shock?"

"Doesn't matter."

"You could confide in me Dad. We could, y'know, share our feelings. Not that I'm gay or anything, but like, talk about how much of a bitch life is?"

Gay.. "Since when did emotions become gay, son?" Paul asked bluntly.

"Well, come on Dad, they are a bit."

Any other night Emil's response would have made Paul laugh, not tonight. "I'm not in the mood to talk." Paul stalked down the hall to his apartment, unlocking the door and throwing the keys on the table. "Night." He started towards his room.

"Dad?" Paul felt a bit guilty for just leaving Emil when it was clear his son needed him but, if he sat down now and had a heart to heart, Paul was worried what he might reveal in his drunken state. Now was not the time to take risks.

Paul entered his room, closing the door and leaning against it with closed eyes. A relieved sigh escaped his lips, and he sunk to the floor with a heavy thud. Richard. Memories of what had happened earlier came flooding back. The feeling of his bandmate stretching him, pushing inside. Paul felt his cock give an interested twitch as he thought about the rough, commanding voice in his ear. The way he'd done everything he'd been told, like a good little whore. It had felt so good to be controlled; to be weak in the arms of a passionate man. Paul groaned, slamming his elbow into the door with anger as he thought about how Richard had treated him after. That bastard! Who does he think he is? Paul gave a sarcastic snort as the answer hit him; a rockstar.

The small man stood up, moving over to the bed and collapsing onto it in a fully-clothed, wet-haired heap. He heard the soft click of the door behind him.

"Dad? Can I sleep in here?"

"Well, fuck Emil, I thought you were 23 years old but apparently I got my dates wrong and it's just 3, is it?" Paul's voice was muffled into the pillow, but Emil's heavy, shocked breath behind him let him know his son had heard and understood.

"No need to be so harsh Dad. I just can't be bothered setting up a guest room, and if I'd gone to mum she'd have cuddled with me."

Don't make me compete with your mother. "Why didn't you go there, then?" Paul suddenly realized how harsh that sounded, letting out a defeated sigh. "Sorry, son. I've just had a shit night, that's all." Paul slouched up on the bed, turning to look at Emil, who seemed a little startled by how angry his father was. "C'mere." Paul beckoned his son to sit beside him, encasing him in tired arms when he did so. "Tell me all about it, Emil. I'm listening."

Paul listened to his son talk, finding some comfort in his ability to push his own troubles out of his mind when he focused on those of his youngest boy. Love. It was truly one of the bitterest forces in nature, when handled wrong. Love. Paul sighed heavily, cuddling Emil closer, perhaps having his son there wasn't such a bad thing after all.