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One day an autistic boy named Paul was sitting in class, having a sensory overload.

One day an autistic boy named Paul was sitting in class, having a sensory overload. The scorching July sun was beating down upon him relentlessly through the open windows, and between the heat, hunger, the overwhelming cacophony of his classmate's conversations and the chafe of his shirt collar, he prayed to the god he had just made up that this period would end NOW.

One day an autistic boy named Paul was sitting in class, having a sensory overload. The scorching July sun was beating down upon him relentlessly through the open windows, and between the heat, hunger, the overwhelming cacophony of his classmate's conversations and the chafe of his shirt collar, he prayed to the god he had just made up that this period would end NOW. He needed to go to the bathroom and take his Xanax, Valium, Ativan and Klonopin.

One day an autistic boy named Paul was sitting in class, having a sensory overload. The scorching July sun was beating down upon him relentlessly through the open windows, and between the heat, hunger, the overwhelming cacophony of his classmate's conversations and the chafe of his shirt collar, he prayed to the god he had just made up that this period would end NOW. He needed to go to the bathroom and take his Xanax, Valium, Ativan and Klonopin. The teacher refused his request. He had another meltdown. A few things ended up broken. He punched the teacher. The school district short of funds decided to let law enforcement handle it. He got "perp walked" by the cops in front of everybody.

One day an autistic boy named Paul was sitting in class, having a sensory overload. The scorching July sun was beating down upon him relentlessly through the open windows, and between the heat, hunger, the overwhelming cacophony of his classmate's conversations and the chafe of his shirt collar, he prayed to the god he had just made up that this period would end NOW. He needed to go to the bathroom and take his Xanax, Valium, Ativan and Klonopin. The teacher refused his request. He had another meltdown. A few things ended up broken. He punched the teacher. The school district short of funds decided to let law enforcement handle it. He got "perp walked" by the cops in front of everybody. He was thrown in a juvenile detention center where he got into a big fight with other boys, extending his sentence.

On the ride home, Paul and his mother were silent in the front seats. He had no idea what to say to her; hell, he was barely able to glance every so often at her pained expression as she guided the steering wheel. Neighborhood trees and houses that flew past the passenger side window went unnoticed by him. They were silent, till his mother said, just above a whisper: "Paul..."

Paul woke up with a deafening scream of sheer terror, his shirt and sheets drenched in what he prayed was just sweat.

Paul went home and to be his autistic self.

Although his parents loved him so much even well after his diagnosis at the age of eight, Paul began to realize over the course of two weeks that followed that his parents had something seemingly bad in mind, even though it didn't involve him.

His curiosity began to grow, sometimes walking on his parents arguing with each other.

Paul watched his mother leaning over the stove as she turned the dials for temperature and time.
"Mom," Paul asked, his voice paper thin. "You wouldn't ever hurt me, would you?"

Paul's mom looked at him and said in a calm, cool voice, "Paul honey, why would your dad and I do that for?"

Paul knew something in her voice was not right, so he asked again, "Mom, you and Dad wouldn't ever hurt me?"

She sternly said to Paul, "Go watch some TV. I don't want you making me feel even worse. Honey, I had a busy day at work today like I often do, so go watch some TV, okay?"

Paul obliged even with hesitation. She noticed and said, "Paul, honey, is something wrong?"

Paul's dad then walked in the front door. Dressed in his work uniform, a sleek blue jacket with a tie and blue slacks to match alongside loafers. He set his suitcase next to the kitchen table and kissed her.

He then looked at the boy and embraced him in a loving way but noticed the boy's tension in his face.

He said to Paul, "Son, is something wrong? Did you get bullied again at school?"

Paul said once again, "Dad, you and Mom wouldn't ever hurt me?"

With confusion, Paul's dad said back, "Son, why would we do that to you for?"

Now Paul's dad was a lawyer to Paul's mom being a popular charismatic local journalist
and the host of a popular local talk show.

Janice expressed annoyance at Paul then looked at Sam (Paul's dad) in a similar way.

Sam noticed and said back to Janice, "Honey, what is your problem?!"