*Sorry for the incredible lateness, I had a really important project that I've been working on for school recently so I didn't have time to write. Only a few more chapters left after this - Enjoy!*
Patrick's face turns from happiness to concern when he opens his door.
I look at my reflection in the window across from his apartment door and cringe.
After Mikey left I didn't really know what to do. I paced around my apartment a few times, but nothing felt right.
That's how things work. Nothing feels right when everything's perfect.
It's the universe's way of having fun.
My eyes, my cheeks, my expression, everything boils down to the conclusion that I've been a sobbing mess for most of the morning now.
And Patrick, well, he doesn't say anything, he just wraps his arms around me.
He smells exotic, and sweet, like home. I breathe in his scent as he holds me. I feel childlike, but up until now that's how I've been acting.
I'm not sure what's changed.
I know it's because of Patrick, though.
Maybe we're growing together, like a real couple.
All the cliches, huh?
I'd like that.
"I love you." Is the first thing that he says. Only he doesn't expect me to say it back. Not right now.
"You did the right thing." He assures me, pressing his lips to my neck. It doesn't surprise me that he figured it all out. Hell, he could probably tell from last night.
He's attentive, I'll give him that.
"Mikey deserves to be happy." He says, but he soon likely wishes he didn't because as soon as he says it I start shaking and crying all over again because of the main factor that I didn't make him happy.
I crushed him in the end.
I broke his freshly made heart.
He'll look back at our relationship in a decade and he'll remember me as his first heartbreak.
As long as he doesn't forget about me.
That's one thing I've learned. It hurts more to be forgotten. It's better to go out with a bang.
Mikey got to feel both.
Both because of me.
We killed the children in us this morning. We realised that nothing is pure and simple like the storybooks made us think.
"He deserves to be happy." He repeats himself, running his finger in a small circle on my back. I think he's trying to take my mind off of it.
That's right, we're not good with the sentiments. Not as good as we used to be, anyway.
"But so do you."
"What?"
Patrick looks unsure of himself when he pulls away to match our eyes. "I want you to be happy." He states simply, and when he realises it isn't enough to explain, staring at my blank face, he sighs a little. "And I'm not sure if I can do that."
I stutter, not knowing what to say, not knowing how to react because I'm not even sure what he means. "But I thought you wanted me to-"
"I did. I wanted nothing but... just you." He says, sounding as if half of his head is off in another world, one where he's thrust back in time, where all he wanted was me to himself. His words sound scripted, like it's more of a test of faith than anything. But I can tell by his face that he's serious about this.
"You still want that, right?" I ask, bordering on desperation; whether I already passed it or I'm just before it I can't quite work out.
He holds my face his in his hands and looks into my eyes, and my doubt of him not wanting this, not wanting me slouches away like a bad cough. "Of course I do."
In the relief I think we both forget his point momentarily, and I pause, wondering whether I should remind him or not. "Then what's the problem?" His hands slide from my face and he turns his head away from me, almost ashamed of himself.
I want to grab his shoulders and make him believe that there's nothing he could be ashamed of about himself, but this isn't about his insecurities, at least not his physical ones, not right now.
Those conversations are for late nights in high school dorm rooms, we've been there a thousand times.
These conversations, though, are for when perfection's on the horizon, but still miles away.
"I can't be what you need me to be." He says, the horizon suddenly slipping back a few miles. "I don't know how to be a proper boyfriend, I don't know how to treat you the way you deserve."
I'm not sure how to proceed, not with anything well thought out and planned. Nor with something romantic like 'you're all I need' or 'I don't want that, just you.' I could say it, but it'd be hollow. It wouldn't mean anything to either of us.
So I turn his head with my hand so he can face me, and I tell him "You're not a machine, Patrick. And I'm not a kid." firmly, so he listens to the words. So they stick in his head and remind him that when he forgets. We don't have to be perfect to achieve perfection. And we certainly don't need it to want it.
And although the words stick, I can see their meaning, their impact slowly sliding down until they splat to the ground and he says, "I can't hurt you again."
"You won't." I tell him without thinking. I know he wouldn't dare, not intentionally. And that's all that matters to me. But it isn't about what matters to me, it's about what matters to him.
"You can't know that." He states, his eyes wondering away from me again like he can see the destruction in our future path that I can't.
"I promised you, so you promise me too." I tell him, as if it's that simple, even if it isn't. There's no point in promising something without meaning, and you can't pull sincerity out of thin air.
That, however would be a great magic trick.
But all retired magicians forget their tricks, their greatest performances, eventually.
And while Patrick used to practice magic, he gave up.
Me, however, my career as a rodeo clown's still ongoing. I'm still falling head over heels, even if it hurts, because the stinging sensation's worth the crowd's reaction.
Maybe Patrick and I could start up a double act, travel the world like the fools we are.
"I can't." He pushes his words like that should be enough, but it isn't. I curl my hands into fists and exhale exasperatedly. "Then tell me what to do so you can!" I snap without meaning to, fiercely and fiery, two emotions we're more than acquainted with now.
Patrick's open mouth shuts. He stands, blinking at me with wide blue eyes. He looks as lost as I've ever seen him.
"Tell me what you want with me already!" I shout, stepping towards him so we're touching, eye to eye. No backing down.
Patrick doesn't back down, not really. His shoulder's slump and his expression softens and he just looks so... infatuated. And God, I love that look on his face.
But he doesn't back down.
No, he says "I want you to need me." with that stupid look on his face, and his melodic voice and the way he grabs my hand when he says it.
Instead, against all odds, I back down.
"I already do." I whisper, barely letting the words escape my lips before they're drawn to his. The betting booth shuts down because the short lived match is over. We are back to us, and that's the only place we ever need to be.
Warmth floods through the connection and his hand drops mine and one flies to the small of my back while the other tangles in my hair.
I hold his face with mine, pulling him deeper into the kiss like it's everything to me.
The room feels like a wasteland with us standing in the centre of the war-zone.
This is the peace treaty, the end of the tyranny and tribulations.
This wasteland doesn't feel big enough as we crash and stumble through it, hands everywhere without thought.
We land against the wall, my hands bunching the collar of his t-shirt.
"You really need me?" He pulls back for a second, as if a wave of doubt, one last line of soldiers on the defence, has showed up in the back of his head, ready for the frontline.
"I always have." I promise, and it's the most honest I've been with him, because despite all of my internal fighting, all of the denial I went through, I always needed him. Every second I needed him.
And now that I have him, it just makes me need him even more.
It's like when you taste a little of something, and you're left with that sour taste in your mouth until you get more.
He smiles, and for a second it's thankful and sweet, but then it warps into one of his smiles, like a chameleon trying to fit into its surroundings.
And when that happens, when all we need to say has been said, in our wasteland, our war-zone, we don't need it anymore.
And we push past the boundaries of the doorway, into the hallway.
We knock over a painting and the glass smashes and we laugh into each other's skin, crunching the glass under our feet to show it that we don't care.
And we burst into his bedroom like a hurricane, and we tear through it like a tornado.
And finally I know now that he is not a hurricane nor a tornado, but us? We're both.
Patrick and I look at each other for a moment, not exchanging words because, if I remember right, everything's been said.
With the same gleam in our eye we nod in unison, because even though we're disconnected, we're never apart.
He'll tell me that later on tonight, and I'll say that maybe we're not so disconnected after all.
But back to the now and what this is, what we are.
We both knew we'd end up at this path again eventually. With both our hearts beating out of our chests like it should be.
Reunion sex. Break up sex. Make up sex. This is it, this is us. And I sigh into his skin, breathing in the scent like oxygen.
And it is, because now it's the only scent in the room: our bodies. And it's the only smell I'd recognise instantaneously.
His hair's matted and sweaty and he smells so like him, that I know now he really hasn't changed.
He's grown, he's lived. But he hasn't changed.
He's everything he was then and he's everything he is now. I like the new, and I like the old.
I like everything about him.
He's perfection in the body of a king.
He's him. And I'm me. And we're us.
That's the way I always want it to be.
And then it hits me.
Words pouring out of my mouth again and again before I can even hear them, his breathing stops just so he can hear me say it better.
"I love you." I kiss his skin in between my declarations, wishing I could engrave the words into him so he'll never forget them.
"I love you." I repeat, unable to believe that I forgot that fact in the first place.
Patrick's face, the one that's captured me in a spider's web, looks star struck. And now I know that feeling.
He tries to find the words, something that can make this all a fairytale moment. All the cliches.
We're right back to those, and he must realise that too.
So he just smiles with all of the universe sparkling in his eyes and kisses me sweetly once more.
"I love you too." He says, and it's enough.
It's more than enough.