This idea popped into my head and begged to be written. So I took a break from The Way We Are series and wrote this instead. I do intend to write another story in the The Way We Are and Disaster Follows universe. It's actually about half way done right now, but I am also thinking of writing up a follow up to this story as well.

I, in no way, shape, or form agree with James' father's opinions, in this story.

Rated T for hints of child abuse and violence, a few swear words, and excessive James angst

Disclaimer: I do not know or own Big Time Rush or any other affiliated character, nor is any money being made. The show belongs to Nickelodeon. The only thing I own is about 3 dollars, the laptop I'm writing on, myself, and Delilah Diamond.

Wishful Thinking

Delilah Diamond was a beautiful woman. With her long brown hair, flawless tan skin, and piercing green eyes she was the envy of all the other girls in high school.

And true to form, straight out of high school, she married the incredibly handsome, charming, wealthy, power obsessed asshole. A decision she regretted every single day of her life.

There was only one good thing that came from her horrible marriage to that worthless man that somehow made this all worth it. And that was her utterly adorable four year-old son, James David Diamond.

Her beautiful baby boy was the sweetest little thing and at four years old, he could already charm the pants off of anyone, but his overbearing father.

James decided he wanted to be like his mommy today because 'she was so beautiful and he wanted to be as pretty as her.'

Delilah tried to tell him he was beautiful the way he was, but the stubborn child would have none of that. She easily caved to his demands. A little bit of dress up never hurt anyone, or so she thought.

James was very adamant about picking out his own clothes to wear from her closet. Delilah prided herself on her keen fashion sense. It had been her dream to be a fashion designer since she was James' age, a dream she let slip away. But she could dress anyone, any shape, any size, and make them look beautiful and stylish in seconds. She always had the right flare to any outfit she wore.

Fashion was one of the few things, besides her son, that could truly make her happy these days and she was very proud of her talent and skills.

James was beginning to take after her, and though he was still so young, he could still make a snazzy outfit for himself.

He chose a floral summer dress that pooled around his feet and dragged along the floor, with a matching pearl necklace and bracelet. His tiny feet were lost in a pair of black high heels. The boy had no talent with makeup though, and there was more red lipstick smeared across his face than on his lips and more purple eye shadow across his cheeks than on his eyelids.

As he flashed her a bright smile, proud of his accomplishment, her heart warmed at the sight of the only source of joy in her life.

"One last thing," she told her child who stood before her for her approval. Delilah grabbed her comb and her hair gel. The comb was a family heirloom. Her great grandmother brought it with her from Ireland and though it wasn't particularly fancy, it was still very precious to her. It was her lucky charm.

With her lucky comb and a little bit of hair gel, she fixed her child's unruly hair.

"Perfect," she said and scooped the giggling child into her arms, hugging him tightly. "You look wonderful!"

James beamed at her.

"He looks ridiculous," a scathing voice scolded.

Slowly, Delilah turned to find her husband standing in the doorway of their room. Gently she set her son down, who immediately cowered behind her.

"James, go to your room, sweetie."

James nodded, but her husband stopped him.

"Take off that attire, and wash your face," her husband demanded. "You look stupid."

Tears welled in her little boy's eyes and he immediately threw off the dress and jewelry before running from the room.

"What are you trying to do, Delilah? Turn the boy into a faggot?" he snarled and grabbed her arm.

"You're such an asshole, David," she hissed and pulled her arm from his tight grip.

It was their usual argument after that. They yelled and screamed at each other, until David left in a huff, probably to go spend the night with his whore of a mistress.

She found James after their screaming match was over, trembling in his closet, tears running down his face as he hide from the harsh words his parents exchanged.

"I'm so sorry, mommy," James sobbed as she gathered her little boy in her arms.

"It's not your fault, sweetie," she soothed the crying child.

"But, but you guys were fighting over me."

"What we fight about, it's…it's not about you, sweetie, okay? I want you to remember that." Her little boy nodded solemnly. "And don't listen to a word your father says. You are gorgeous any way you are."

He hiccupped softly, his crying dying down slowly. "Here, I've got something that'll cheer you up."

James looked up at her cautiously, his eyes still wet with tears and his bottom lip trembling.

"I want you to have my lucky comb," she said and handed the boy her great grandmother's comb. Her child's eyes lit up, his smile brightening once more. "Take good care of it, okay?"

James took the proffered comb with delicate hands and nodded.

"I love you, mommy." The words tore at her heart. She didn't deserve her child's love. Delilah knew she was a horrible mother. James did not deserve any of this, not the daily screaming fights or a father that didn't love him.

She tightened her hold on James. "I love you too, sweetie."

It was five years later, when Delilah took her last dying breath. Her last thought was, she never did make it up to James and she was about to leave him all alone with a monster.

James knew his father hated him. He told him so almost everyday when he walked into the house after school.

There was nothing more his father hated than failure, and James was just that. In his father's eyes, he had been a failure since the day he was born.

His mother had been a buffer between James and his father when he was younger, but after she died…things got really bad between them. It was to point where he was terrified to go home.

James wanted to be beautiful like his mother. He even took up an interest in fashion because it always made his mother so happy. Was there something so wrong with that? Was that really the reason why his father hated him so much? He couldn't help that he was so ridiculously good looking!

His mother used to tell him his father was incapable of loving anything, but still James can't help but feel that it's his fault.

James sank to his knees in the middle of his immaculate room, fresh tears welling in his brown eyes. He buried his head in his arms, but was painfully reminded of exactly why that was a terrible idea.

His left wrist was swollen, a bruise in the shape of a hand print wrapped around it from where his father tightly gripped his wrist, his thumb digging painfully into the soft flesh. He didn't think it was broken, but it ached something fierce. James was too terrified to go to the kitchen to get ice. He didn't want to risk the chance of running into his father again. There were bruises on his back, he knew, and James could tell by the way his face was swelling that by morning he would have a nice black eye.

It was just another bruise and at school tomorrow, it would be just another lie, just another excuse to hide what his father did.

The sprained wrist would be harder to lie away, but James knew he would put on a smile, and with false reassurances he would make Kendall, Carlos, and Logan believe it was nothing, but a silly accident.

Kendall never did believe him though and James doesn't remember anymore why he's trying so hard to hide it.

He falls forward, face first into the carpet and just lies there, too tired and too sore to move to his bed.

He's just so tired. He's tired of the lies, tired of the pain, and he's tired of hiding.

James just wants to give up. He wants to cave in and tell Kendall everything, what Kendall already knows, but does not voice.

He's not sure what holds him back, though. Maybe he's afraid of what will happen to him if he does tell and he's taken away from his father. Maybe it's because deep down, he still loves the man, even if he doesn't deserve it. Because even after everything he's done, it's still his father, even if the jerk has never given him a reason to call him such.

He knows Kendall knows, just like he knows Carlos and Logan know, but still he remains silent.

He's just so confused. He's only 13. He shouldn't have to make these decisions.

James pulled out his lucky comb from his pocket. It's the only thing he has left of his mother, besides a few pictures. His father threw out all of her things the day she died.

James cherished the comb and it comforted him in ways only his mother used to be able to do.

It's not enough, though, to soothe the burning ache in his chest. Instead it brings tears to his eyes that steadily fall down his cheeks.

He misses his mother; he misses her so much it hurts. He misses her smiles and her hugs and even her cooking. He misses the way she could always make him feel better, even after his father always made him feel worthless.

It wasn't fair, it just wasn't fair.

As he lies on the floor, unable, and unwilling, to crawl to the comfort of his bed, he vows that tomorrow, tomorrow he will tell Kendall. Tomorrow he will put a stop to his.

But tomorrow comes, and James half stutters out his excuse.

"You know how messy my room is," he easily lies because they have never been there. They have no idea how clean it really is. "I tripped over an old can of hair gel."

He can tell by the look in Kendall's eyes, that he doesn't believe James, he never does and James vows, he swears next time his father hurts him, he will say something, anything just to make the pain stop.

But that time comes and goes and James never utters a single grievance, never says anything against his father.

He's painfully aware of the dangerous web of lies he is weaving, that they are so tightly wrapped around him he might not be able to find his way out, that he might be beyond help.

So when the day (hopefully) comes that Kendall is finally tired of his lies and finally begs James to just tell him, he knows, he wishes, no he hopes the truth finally comes spilling out his broken lips.

And he knows, he hopes, everything will be okay.