On Loving Paul [McLennon]

I Hate Lying To You

Within another couple of weeks, school started again. John was in his second to last year before college while Paul was in his third to last year.

The third day back to school, after his English class, John caught Paul in the hallway. "Shall we have lunch together?"

Paul smiled. "We shall,"

They headed to the cafeteria, side by side, and began discussing what they should do later on. John suggested that he come over to Paul's house, but Paul said that they should go to John's house, or even the park.

John sighed. "Paul, do you not want me to come to your house? Is it about your dad or your brother?"

Paul shook his head and shrugged his shoulders. "It's nothing, just - I don't know. Let's just stick to your place, John. Mimi doesn't mind me, does she? Because if she does, then we could go to the - "

"No, no." John shook his head. "She adores you. She's always going on about how you're the best friend I've ever had because you're a good influence on me." He snorted. "I suppose she still hadn't realized that no one - no matter who they are - influences me."

Paul smiled. "Well, my dad doesn't really like new visitors unless he invites them over, so it's best if we just stick to your place."

John nodded. "Okay," he didn't question Paul further....yet.

Paul unlocked the front door and stepped into the house. It was nearly midnight. Time had gotten away from him. He and John had been writing music and time had just flown by.

Paul's dad was sitting at the table with a newspaper. When Paul closed the door behind himself, his father laid it down and slammed his fist down on the table. "Curfew was nearly an hour ago, you idiot!!"

"I - I'm sorry, dad, I just - "

"No excuses!!" Mr. McCartney roared. "I trust you to be home by eleven sharp and you have let me down!! You're a miserable excuse for a son!!"

Paul frowned. His father had been drinking again, he just knew it. He could tell when his father got drunk. The signs were always there, plain as daylight. "I'm going to bed," he sighed.

Mr. McCartney continued to shout after his eldest son, but Paul just ignored him and went up to his room. He kicked off his shoes and crawled beneath the covers without changing and sobbed into his pillow....that wasn't the worst his father had ever said or done to him....and - though he could not have possibly been aware of it at the time - the worst was still to come.

The following morning, Paul woke earlier than he usually did and quickly git ready for school, hoping to miss his dad on his way out of the house....no such luck.

"Where are you going?" Mr. McCartney snapped.

"School," Paul replied shortly, picking up his bag full of books from the counter and slinging it over his shoulder. "It's a Friday. I have school."

"You don't need to leave for another hour," Paul's father scowled. "So where the hell are you going?"

"Some class mates and I are meeting early for a school project," Paul lied smoothly. "I have to go. Bye." He ignored the angry shouts that followed him and left the house without another word, now somewhat concerned about how his father would treat Mike when Paul's younger brother woke up.

As Paul approached the school, he saw John sitting on a bench out front. "What are you doing here so early, Johnny?" He asked.

"I could ask you the same thing," John smirked. "I just needed to get away from Mimi and he constant nagging. And what about you?"

Paul shook his head with a deep sigh and sat down beside John. "My dad's being an arse, that's all. Everything has been so different and strange and....and wrong ever since my mum died. My dad's gone a bit crazy, if you ask me. Stress and grief, it's ruining him. But Mike is only eleven, so he sees him as the big bad wolf who's out for his blood."

John furrowed his brows with a deep frown and thought about Paul's words for a long time. Eventually, he spoke again. "Has he hit you?"

"What?" Paul looked up in shock.

"Has he ever hit you or your brother?" John repeated his question nod Paul could see a glint of dangerous anger in his eyes. And concern. Something no one else ever saw in him. Worry, care, and sentiment.

"No," Paul shook his head.

"Okay," John nodded and stood, immediately acting as if the conversation had never happened. Without another word or explanation, he just walked away.

Paul sat there and sighed heavily. He was mad at himself. Angry. Enraged! How could he do this? He mentally punched and kicked himself over and over again until he was mentally exhausted. Because he hated lying to John.