West stared at his front door. He'd been standing there for a couple of minutes, he couldn't bring himself to enter and face his father. Part of him felt like he was being overdramatic, and another part of him felt like he had the right to feel like this.
He took a deep breath then pushed the wooden door open.
He wasn't surprised to see his father sprawled out on the couch, asleep.
Beer bottles littered the mahogany coffee table, but upon closer inspection, he noticed that they were unopened. He frowned, then softly closed the door, so as to not disturb sleeping beauty. He tried sneaking up the stairs as quietly as possible, but of course, Lady Luck despised West Rickert. The final step creaked the creakiest creak it had ever creaked, which in turn, alerted Paul that there was somebody in the house. He sleepily called out to West, who felt like punching himself in the face. He gave up on trying to remain unseen and unheard, and sat at the top of the stairs.
Paul rubbed his eyes then tore himself from the worn leather couch. He grimaced at the sight of the beer bottles... he almost caved. He was grateful that he fell asleep before he could indulge in the slow poison again. He inclined his head towards the staircase and saw West watching him intently. He nervously gulped, then cautiously approached him so he could be seated next to him.
West said nothing. He stared blanky ahead as his dad sat by him on the top of the stairs. He saw Paul bury his head in his hands out of the corner of his eye, and he still said nothing. He only tilted his head a few moments later when he heard sniffles coming from his dad. He watched him with furrowed brows, and waited until the tears ceased. Even after that, Paul still kept on sniffling.
"Dad. Stop."
Paul glanced up at West.
"I'm not going to feel sorry for you just because you let out a few tears."
"That's not-- I don't want you to feel sorry for me. I just-- I need help, Weston. Please help me."
"Only you can help yourself."
"I can't do it without you, I need you. Please, don't cut me out of your life, son."
Irritation pricked at West. This sad and sorry Paul was aggravating and seemed too fake. His dad never begged. He wondered if it was all just an act. If tomorrow, Paul would pull out those "Sike" or "You thought" memes that Brittany sometimes sent to him in the middle of their texting conversations. He shook his head at the thought.
"Cut the act. We both know you never wanted me to begin with."
"No. No. That's not true. Your mother, she was the only woman I'd ever truly loved. You remind me so much of her, I'd never want you to go. I Deserve to burn in hell for the way I've treated you. And I'm willing to change. I want to change. I want to at least try. I know I failed you, I failed Jennifer, too. But please allow me to make things right, son. Please. You're the only thing, the only person that matters in my life. I Love you, Weston." Paul pleaded, his eyes quickly glazing over.
"No, you don't. You don't know the meaning. "
There was once a time when West would've jumped for joy at the mention of those 3 words, especially coming from his father. But Paul had shown him time and time again that Love didn't mean a thing. A person could say those words today, then turn around and hurt you the next day. Those words meant nothing to West, now. In his eyes, his father was just throwing those words around just so he could keep an emotional chain around him... so he'd feel guilty for wanting to leave.
"Son--"
West ignored his dad and left for his room, leaving him moping on the stairs.
To Hell with forgiveness.
-------------------------
Monday, After School
"Why are you here? You know we can't be seen together anymore." George angrily whispered as Harper strode into his classroom to sit at the top of his desk.
"Relax, Killian isn't going to say anything."
George got up from his desk and scrambled towards the door to perform a quick glance outside. Just to make sure Harper wasn't followed. When his paranoia was eased, he stepped away from the door, but stood a good distance from Harper. His shoulders were tight, an obvious sign that he was feeling very tense.
"Still, this," George gestured with his finger between the two of them, "has to end."
"It doesn't have to."
George looked at Harper quizzically.
Harper smiled at George's confused expression. His nose was wrinkled and his lips were caught in-between a pout and a grimace, somehow he still managed to make it look cute. He thought George was cute.
He stepped down from the desk, then stood in front of George, who took a step back.
"I mean... We can see each other outside of school."
George frowned, "Harper, what are you talking about?"
"I could come over to your place after school." Harper suggested, his face seemed to brighten at the idea of being in George's house. Would it smell like him? A mixture of leather, rosemary, and a hint of aloe shampoo that he savored every time they got together. "And I'm graduating in a few months, we could try and work this out. You know, see where it takes us..."
"Harper, no. There's nothing to work out. I'm getting married soon and Stacy--my fiance, is pregnant. I can't."
The color drained from Harper's face, "Stacy? What? What do you mean?"
"I'm sorry I kept it from you, but I have people depending on me, now. I won't abandon them just because you developed a silly crush."
They stared at each other for several beats.
George's words hurt Harper. He felt like someone had driven a stake right through his heart. His eyes got glossy, so he brought his attention to his white Nike sneakers. He wouldn't cry in front of George.
"So all of this meant nothing to you?" He whispered, though he already knew the answer to his own question.
God, I sound like a girl.
"I'm not gay, Harper. This was just an urge I wanted to sate before I settled down. I appreciate the time we spent together, though."
George offered Harper a pitiful smile, and his eyes darkened at the action.
He pities me!?
"I can't fucking believe this!" He sneered, while running a hand through his hair, effectively ruining his gelled style. "You used me."
I could fucking ruin you!
"Harper, that's not--"
"Save it." He concluded. He shot George a disgusted look before leaving the empty classroom, slamming the door on his way out.
-
"So?"
After Harper confronted George, he had broke down in the school's parking lot in his car, only for Killian to find him. He tried to comfort him, tried to find out why his best friend was sobbing so hysterically, but was roughly pushed away. They were now back at Killian's house, in the bedroom he shared with Trenton.
"I'm an idiot. I'm the biggest idiot of all time. B.I.O.A.T. I just invented that term. I'm a B.I.O.A.T."
"Dude--"
"He dare rejects me? Harper Graham? The hottest guy in Easton?" He fumed, as he paced around the small bedroom.
"Hmm. Not too sure about that last part."
Harper stopped pacing and calmly sat down on the bed next to Killian, only to whack him over the head a second later. "Excuse me?"
"You're excused." Killian scowled, as he rubbed his head to ease the pain. Harper stuck his tongue out at Killian, who only sighed, "I'm guessing this is about Mr Jensen?"
"Whatever. I'm over it. His loss." He stated, his voice slightly breaking. He got up and started pacing the room again.
"Harper--"
"Clancy's throwing a party on Friday night. You game?"
Killian sighed for the 100th time that night. He decided to let the matter go, for now. Harper must've really been hurting if he was avoiding talking about George at all.
"I Can't. Night shift."
"God, I hate that pansy ass job'o yours."
"It's actually really fun."
"Yeah. As fun as sticking a toothbrush up my ass." Harper deadpanned.
Killian scrunched up his nose in disgust, "Why would you do that?"
"I didn't-- Fuck you."
"Get in line, asshole."
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