Elusive Dreaming

Lovers Flames-Patrick Hockstetter

Lovers Flames-Patrick Hockstetter
Part Two

"One wrong move and you're a dead babydoll," Patrick whispered, kissing your temple. You thought you were finally dead. Until you remembered the backup things your Aunt made you carry in case of creeps just like him. Kicking him in the crotch and moving towards the door.

Kicking yourself mentally for not doing anything faster. Your own worst critic was you. Afraid of humanity but never him.

Chapter one of how to be alone in a big world one oh one. You made it inside with a bit of blood on your neck.

He bit you, "fucking child," you mutter walking into the Kaspbrak's kitchen. "Holy shit you're bleeding." Eddie noticed "No shit Sherlock where is your bathroom Kaspbrak?" You ask admiring the scarlet on your hand. Emotionally you weren't ready to deal with the new situation. He was a dirtbag, a dickhead, a prick, and a freak. To name a few. Far from the dreams of a white picket fence.

Deep in the woods on a crisp summer morning, it felt fall-like with a hunt of humidity in the air. You saw him flickering with a lighter. The flame caught your eye. You always admired the beauty in everything from the way the colors danced in the flames.

To the hues of sunset throughout the year. The thing you admire about him was his long ink black hair. Passionate about the things he was interested in to name another. You could see the beauty in him as if he was a diamond in the rough.

Although he was a dickhead, a dirtbag, a prick with gorgeous eyes. Falling for him wasn't an option because you knew he could kill you. Summer as children flew by faster until the weeks before school when you were bored at home. Sometimes you wondered how that past created the present and soon-to-be future you.

Patrick was passionate yet had a strong tendency for homicidal Ideation. Planning a simple bird at first. Watching the way they hopped around after he snapped their necks in two.

He thought he was relieving them of their pain. In front of the world, he was inflicting pain and ending it at the same time. You pulled out a gestation lighter from your front pocket square. Inching closer to him. You weren't afraid of him this time, although you knew he could kill you so could a rodeo clown.

Or Richie Tozier down the street if he truly wanted to. You peered from behind a tree with a stick breaking underneath your foot giving you away your heart pounding coming up your throat.

Patrick's head snapped back at the noise. Today's victim was a worm he was burning. The worm hissed and posed as the water evaporated from its body. "Who's there?!" Patrick said getting up from his spot on a small hill. Diving his feet into the leaves.

"I'm warning you. I will light you up like Michael Jackson." He said inching closer and closer to you. Your breathing stopped for a moment as if you forgot how to.

Your heart began to pound out of your chest relating to Edger-Allen Poe's Tell Tale Heart. It felt as if you could hear the thumps as it hit your chest. "What do we have here?" Patrick smirked and brought the back of his blade to your face. Paralyzed with fear for the first time.

"I don't need this Hockstetter. I just came for a walk." You said shoving him off of you with an act of newfound courage. "Woah, Woah slow down baby." Patrick whispered, grabbing your wrists and biting down on your ear. He found this erotic meanwhile you found it disturbing. "Let go of me Hockstetter before I knee you in the crotch so hard you won't be able to fuck Bowers for a week." You inform him he immediately holds tighter pulling one wrist closer to his pelvis.

You sense what he is doing and kick him like a donkey in heat. "I fucking warned you to creep, leave me the fuck alone!" You shouted hoping a car passing by would hear you.

You never wanted to be alone in the first place. You were just pissed off at your guardian. "Whatever you say, my love," Patrick smirked, licking the blood off his lips.

You felt the droplets roll down your neck. Trailing down into the fabric of your shirt Knowing that would most certainly ruin it. Running back to town felt like a nightmare with summer heat beating off of your back. Adrenaline coursed through your veins creating a second source for your body to create a high.

Alongside many others who were closer in town, you found Stanley first. Luckily he was bird watching and able to tend to the dried blood glistening with sweat on the side of your neck. Hesitantly you explained to him about the sexual frustration Patrick Hockstetter had for you.

He was an asshole with a collection of dead insects and maybe even animals. Something about you lit him up quickly. Later that same evening you were with the losers dining at a local diner. Clinging could be heard like any other shop when someone walked through the door. You ducked down everything those small bells rang. Although your car was parked outside therefore anyone could know you were there.

Even watching from afar he was infatuated with how intoxicating you were to him. Maybe one day you would be there, he hoped. One day you hope he won't understand you just wanted to focus on your future.

Life is so fucking inconsistent that he was a roadblock. Lighting up like the heat waves bouncing off the pavement. Creating a mirage at the bottom of the hill. In which you were desperately trying to drink. The thing about a mirage is that it moves because it isn't there. When you reach the water system you will realize that it isn't there. It left faster than your father did. Pointing and laughing he would be there to watch you die of dehydration and then drive you a sip of poison. His mind was far beyond fucked up imagination. He believed the world wasn't real.

Surely enough four people passed by your booth. They side-eye you and the rest of your friends. They sit right behind you. His greasy hair smell and sweat glitter on his body creating the smell of onions or fried food.

He passes you a note in the small gap between the booths and windows."One day you will be my marching flame love. Until then let our fires be dull." Patrick wrote his handwriting as scribbles yet you could read it. He burned the ending of the notebook paper. It smelled as if it was done recently. Why did he have to be romantic? Why did you have to choose me? Why? You wanted to smash your head into the table.

Yet you couldn't as you were trying to Richie put his hand underneath your head. Why did the psychotic prick have to be my matching flame?" You asked yourself.

If you play with fire you are bound to get burned.

Word Count: 1209