A/N: Up to this point the story has been from Dave's POV. For this chapter, and probably the next, I have decided to switch things up and make it from his dad's POV. I don't know how many chapters this will end up being, I will simply keep writing until I feel the story is told.
Chapter 3: Papa, Can You Hear Me?
I'm Paul Karofsky, husband to a wonderful woman and father to David. I love my family and I would do anything for them. My son is clearly in pain and I don't know how to help him. Never in my life have I felt as helpless as I do right now. Not even when he was a tiny baby, completely dependent on his mom and me for everything and I felt unsure about what kind of a father I would be. When David was little and he was sad and hurting I could just wrap him up in my strong arms and he would know I was there and that everything was going to be okay. Things just aren't that simple anymore. You can't imagine how much I wish they were. I have watched my intelligent, hardworking, outgoing son become an angry, depressed, and hollowed out shell of his former self. It is truly terrifying to watch. We used to be able to talk about everything, but now I can't get him to say two words about what is bothering him. I am so scared. I am scared that if he doesn't open up soon he is going to do something very drastic, the likes of which I can't even bear to think about. When I look at David I still see that tiny boy, so trusting and happy. What did I do wrong to make him stop trusting me to help make the hurting go away?
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"David? Is there something you need to tell me?" I watch my son's face crumple in anguish. I am sure he knows why I am asking, that I saw what he was holding so lovingly to him as he slept last night. I know I shouldn't have looked at it, but I am so worried about him, and it was right there in plain sight. I was just looking for some kind of clue to help me figure out what is causing my David to slip away. "Please, son. Whatever it is, you can tell me." He is crying so hard he can't speak, and it is scaring the hell out of me. I haven't seen a person cry like this since my wife lost her mother, and at least then I knew what was wrong. I say a silent prayer, Dear God; please help me to know what to do. My boy needs help and I don't know why. I move over and sit next to David and put a reassuring hand on his shaking shoulder as I ask him once more "What's wrong son? What can I do to help you?" I see that he is trying to speak, but all that escapes his lips is an agonizing wail of pain. I wrap my arms around him and he responds, holding on for dear life. I let him cry for a few more minutes, and when he seems to have gotten some control over himself I release him and wait for him to be ready to talk.
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"I can't tell you, dad. I just can't say it." I am not surprised to hear this; I expected David would say as much. I need to find a way to get him to open up to me. His mother has gone out to meet some friends for her regular Saturday "girl's day out", so he and I have the house to ourselves. I cannot let this opportunity pass. "David. I love you son. You know you can tell me absolutely anything, and it won't change how I feel". He tries to look me in the eye and fails. "I think this just might do it, dad." I ask him a question that I know may cause him to close off again, but I have to try. "David, is this about that poem I saw you holding last night?" The look that crosses his face is sheer terror, but he does not turn away from me. He nods his head so slightly I almost miss it. "Did you write it, son?" Again he nods. I am terrified of my next question, because I think I already know the answer. "Does this have something to do with the Hummel boy?" The shattered look on David's face tells me everything. He gets up and staggers his way to his room, and I let him go because I have absolutely no idea what to say to him. It all begins to make sense to me. David's treatment of Kurt Hummel, the anger, the low grades, the depression. I knew something was terribly wrong when David was expelled for threatening Kurt's life, but until I read that poem I had no idea of the depth of my son's agony.
An hour passes, and I know my wife will be coming home soon. This will be easier if David talks to me alone first. I go to David's room and knock on the door. I hear a barely audible response, "come in, dad." I sit next to my son on the bed and wait for him to speak. I have a feeling that whatever he is about to say is going to change all of our lives in a very permanent way. "Dad?" I reach over and put my hand on his shoulder, "What is it, son?" David looks down at the floor as he begins to speak. "That poem? I was feeling so awful when I wrote it, and I still do. You already guessed who it's about, but I just don't know if I can tell you what it's about." I know this is a crucial moment, and saying the wrong thing could have disastrous results. "David, I am going to take a guess that you have some very confusing feelings toward this boy, and something happened between the two of you that really scared you. Am I right?" A quick nod from David is all the confirmation I need. "Okay son, I think you've had enough for now. Why don't you take a walk and clear your head. I've got some things to think over myself, and we'll talk again when you're ready, okay?" David looks relieved and says "Okay dad. Thanks dad, for not being angry with me." All I can do is reassure him by telling him I love him and want to help him in any way I can. How I will do that I have absolutely no idea.
A/N 2: Though I had this story marked as complete I decided to make some serious changes to chapters 4 and 5. I have chosen to remove them until they are completed to my liking. I have gotten some wonderful feedback and suggestions from vcg73 and can't wait to incorporate them! There may even end up being more chapters, I won't know for sure until I get there.