Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 17

TRIGGER WARNING - GRAPHIC MENTAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE AHEAD

Chapters 17 and 18 will deal with Paul's backstory. It was originally going to be one chapter, but with 5000+ words it got far too long, so I'm splitting it into two.

Chapter 17 contains a very vivid flashback, which includes graphic depictions of violence. If you are unable to cope with that, I advise you not to read it. However, you should know that it's only a memory and that it helps solidify AU JohnandPaul's relationship. Most people should be able to read it and not get upset by it.

Chapter 18 handles the immediate aftermath of chapter 17 and is angsty, but not triggering. Chapter 18 will also have comfort and some fluff. That one should be safe for everyone to read.

Please know that this is COMPLETE AND UTTER FICTION. Yes, I have borrowed elements from darker times in RL Paul's life to make this sequence more realistic, but he has never lived through anything like that and I do not wish any actual harm on the people I base my stories on. In fact, I'd be heartbroken if anything remotely resembling the events in this fic would happen to RL Paul!

And, don't forget: there's a happy ending to this story. I've put all the hardcore hurt/angst into this chapter, so you should be safe after this. Also, it's safe to read once you've cleared the trigger waring. It'll still be emotional and angsty, but there will also be comfort and a little bit of fluff near the end.

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!! TRIGGER WARNING - GRAPHIC MENTAL AND PHYSICAL ABUSE AHEAD. SKIP TO CHAPTER 18 IF YOU CAN'T HANDLE ABUSIVE SITUATIONS !!

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Lifeless.

There was no other way to describe the face that stared back at Paul when he looked into the mirror. He'd been doing that less and less, the sight of his dead eyes too painful a reminder of the hopeless situation he'd gotten himself into. There was no reason to look, anyway. He knew his hair, which had grown past his shoulders, was beginning to get greasy after not having been washed for days. He knew how dark the shadow on his jaw was. Ironically, millions would be envious of the thickness of his beard, but Paul didn't grow one to be cool. He grew one because he no longer could be arsed to shave it off. He only ever took a bath or picked up a razor when he was told to. Nobody ordered him to for days, and so there was no need to scrutinise his reflection as he opened the medicine cabinet to retrieve his migraine powders.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The moment he heard that voice, Paul could feel his heart rising to his throat. It had already been pounding before. In fact, it hadn't stopped racing since he walked into his uncle Joe that morning when he'd been running an errand for Rory. Of course, it was always for Rory when Paul went anywhere. It didn't always use to be that way but it was now. And he would come back each time because he didn't have anywhere else to go anymore. Or so he had thought for a long time.

Now, he knew better. His uncle had told him so when he begged Paul to come home, to come see Mike, who was in such a bad state. Paul knew Joe hadn't lied when he said Mike was in hospital. McCartney men, at least those of his father's generation, didn't cry unless someone they loved was dead or dying, but uncle Joe had feared up right before he hugged Paul, right there in the street. That's how he knew it was true, and that he had to leave. He didn't care for himself anymore, but he'd sooner die than let any harm come to his baby brother, so he'd made up his mind. At least, that's what Paul had to keep telling himself. He wasn't sure he could be totally convinced of anything anymore, least of all his own willpower.

Once upon a time, not even that long ago, he'd been known for his strong character, his ability to commit to something and stick with it. What happened? Why had he allowed things to get this fucked up? He didn't even recognise himself anymore. Who was this weak, cowering, submissive person? Certainly not him? It couldn't be, and he'd prove it. If only he wouldn't be so terribly afraid. Yes, his heart had been pounding because that's what it often did nowadays, but now it beat so fast and so hard, he feared it might actually give out. Gathering every morsel of courage he could find, he muttered, "I'm packing." He didn't look at the man standing behind him, knowing it would rob him of the little bit of dignity he had left.