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Chapter 2
Seven year old James was watching cartoons on the couch of his cozy home in Minnesota one autumn evening. He heard the front door open with a click, and a draft of cold air washed over him as his father entered, home from work.
"Daddy!" he exclaimed, hopping off the couch and dashing over to his father, who was hanging up his coat and hat on the peg by the front door.
"What's up, my man?" his father said with a grin, coming down to James' level and giving his son a hug. "How was school today?"
"Good!" James piped up. "I tried out for the baseball team after school, too!"
"Oh yeah? And how did that go?"
James faltered. "Well, I didn't make it. But the coach said I did a really good job, there were just too many people to give everyone a spot on the team!"
He felt his father stiffen and loosen his grip on James. "I see." He slowly released his son and stood up, avoiding eye contact, and made his way into the kitchen.
Curious about the sudden change in behavior, James trotted after his dad. "What's wrong, Daddy? Aren't you proud of me for trying out? I was really nervous before. But I did it!"
"It's fine, James. Go back to your TV. Daddy has a headache." James' father wearily opened the fridge.
James shrugged, still confused but willing to go back to cartoons. "Okay." The boy whirled around and ran back to the TV in his sock feet. Halfway there, he tripped over a lamp cord in the hall and came crashing down onto the floor. The lamp unfortunately followed him down, shattering into a million pieces in front of James.
His father, hearing the noise, strode over from the kitchen. Upon seeing the mess, his face contorted in anger. "God dammit, James, can't you do anything right? What kind of a pathetic excuse for a son are you?" he fumed, bending over to pick up the biggest pieces of glass.
James crawled away into the corner, whimpering. His elbow was scraped from rug burn, and he was trying to fight back tears. The lamp falling was an accident. And he had been so excited for his father to come home. So excited...
James woke up with a gasp, breathing hard. Frantically looking around, he found himself in LA, in the bedroom he shared with Carlos at the Palm Woods, all alone, with a broken alarm clock resting on the floor across the room. Glancing at his phone, he saw it was close to 9 pm. The TV was playing softly outside the door.
Trying to catch his breath, James wiped the sweat from his forehead and lay back down, trying to go back to sleep. The dream had felt so real...the memory was sadly identical to his childhood one. James barely mentioned his father, and couldn't help wondering why the dream had come about all of the sudden. His father wasn't worth talking about. Over the years following that incident, the abuse had only gotten worse. His father's words about his dreams of stardom were very hurtful, etched into James' mind for eternity. He couldn't seem to please his dad, no matter what he did. Well, if he's not going to like it anyways, why not become a singer? he had thought upon hearing about Gustavo's auditions coming to Minnesota. In fact, his father's scoffing about him wanting to become a professional performer only made James want to be one more. If nothing else, he wanted to prove his father wrong. Make him proud to have a son like James Diamond.
With a sigh, James turned over again and closed his eyes. The headache he'd had hours before was slowly making a comeback, and he felt himself getting more and more irritable as the minutes ticked by. All he wanted to do was sleep, without having any luck.
Frustrated, James sat up abruptly and yanked open the drawer to his bedside table. Rummaging around, he finally found what he was looking for: a small bottle of Tylenol PM.
Scarce thoughts of potential dangers skittered through James' mind as he flipped open the bottle top. He knew deep down inside that it probably wasn't a good idea to take these if he wasn't actually that tired. But the impulse to just sleep, forget the confusing thoughts and the headache overpowered his conscience, and James swiftly tapped out 3 tablets and swallowed them before he could stop himself.
Immediately growing drowsy, James sighed contentedly and lay back down. With luck, the drugs would keep him so deep asleep that he wouldn't have any more dreams. That was the last thing he wanted...
/
"Is James still sleeping?" Logan wondered from out by the TV.
"Haven't seen him come out at all," Kendall answered. He was sprawled out on the couch, eyes glued to the screen of his phone.
Carlos bit his lip. "I hope he's okay. He was sure annoyed with me earlier."
Logan reached out and rubbed the younger boy's shoulder comfortingly. "I'm sure he's fine, Carlitos. Stop worrying!"
"He'll be back to normal tomorrow," Kendall said, sounding unconcerned. "If anything, I'd put money on him wanted to get out of rehearsal."
"Still..." Logan couldn't seem to be as nonchalant as his blonde friend. "If he doesn't improve soon, we should investigate. I don't want him getting really sick."
Kendall chuckled. "Roger that, Doctor Oz."
/
Little did Logan know that he was more accurate than both he and the others knew, including James himself.
