[September 2001]
"I think we all know what went down at the end of last year," the principal began his speech, adjusting his tie for the fifteenth time with his big, sweaty hands. It must've been hard on him, thinking that he let one of his own students be bullied by half of the school. It must've been hard knowing that he allowed that to happen right under his eyes. He did nothing, just like everyone else.
The crowd was silent, except a few guys, some familiar faces. Some of the guys who harassed Andy and Patrick. Yet another reason I wasn't excited at all to continue going to this godforsaken school. I clenched my fists around the border of the bench, but after a few moments of feeling my fingers going numb, I calmed down. If I were to follow Chris' advice, I should be the smart guy, not the one who takes every chance to throw a punch.
Psychological bullshit that is probably repeated to every person with mild anger issues, but I did want to avoid things like this. I wanted to avoid this entire city, actually, and move back to Florida or Ohio, but honestly, I felt no thrill when I thought about the swamps or bearing my family's shit. I also tried to convince Mom to let me move to another school, but all I got was an uninterested "You'll get over it, Joseph."
Fortunately, it seems that I wasn't the only one that was completely fed up as the principal continued his speech. Yet another person that hated me with a burning passion, Patrick Martin Stumph was right there, in the crowd, on the brink of punching someone in the jaw between the sessions of blinking repeatedly to hold back a wall of tears.
I wasn't expecting to ever see him step in this school again.
Actually, I wasn't expecting to ever see him again, but there he was; standing in the middle of the crowd of students as the principal finally went back to his usual speech for the opening ceremony of senior year. And, suddenly, all of the things I had planned ahead to say if I would've ever had the chance to look directly into his eyes, were gone. We haven't spoken to each other ever since he left. Not a single word since he told me that he would've rather had me dead than Andy. Not a single word since I fucked everything up. For the rest of summer, all I knew about him was that he was on a tour across Canada with his dad.
He changed over the summer more than I thought anyone could. Patrick was almost unrecognizable when our eyes met from across the gym.
Patrick's lips parted when he realised who he was looking at, but instead of smiling and waving at me (because that was the most Patrick thing one could do), he held my gaze with a blank face. Though the rest of his face was completely inexpressive, there was an unusual darkness in his eyes, one that I got to see only once in my life before, when he untied the noose around Andy's neck.
Speaking of his face- he looked like he lost a shitload of weight. His skin was almost bloodless and his hair was cropped and messy; his sideburns were completely gone.
But then Patrick's attention diverted quickly to something else, disrupting the invisible connection that formed between us in those few seconds in which I got the chance of looking directly into his eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. My knees were trembling, and the peculiar feeling of having the air sucked out of your lungs settled in when Patrick made his way through the crowd and disappeared by passing the back doors of the high school.
I didn't realise for how long I was staring into the void until everyone started moving towards the door too and going to their classes. My bag's strap almost broke as I swung it around my shoulder and snatched the schedule out of it. I could consider myself the luckiest man in the world if I had any classes with Patrick this year, but I doubt that he wouldn't have done anything now, only to avoid me as much as possible.
***
I survived through the first four periods quite easily, only a bit surprised that nobody made rude remarks to me about Andy. All of the teachers I met that day were silent and hesitated when they called my name in class. The principal must've told them what happened, and I doubt that they didn't do the same with Patrick.
Now that I was going to lunch, I had to find Patrick. There was no way in hell that he would've skipped lunch, and I knew that that was my chance to talk to him. The only thing that I could think about all day after seeing him again was that I had to say something, even if he didn't want to talk to me about anything.
The only unoccupied table in the cafeteria was the one next to the queue, and one of the people that were waiting there to get their food was a short guy with his weird haircut. People probably noticed that I was staring right at him, because a few girls walked by my table whispering things. Patrick got his food and stepped away from the queue, looking for a table to sit at, but there were no other empty chairs except the ones at my table. Our eyes connected again and his shoulders dropped a little. He walked closer to the table and sighed.
"Can I sit here?" Patrick asked, rather shyly than with contempt, as he sat down on the opposite edge of the table. It was obvious that he didn't want to get closer to me than he already did, and this was his way of 'subtly' telling me that.
"How was your summ-" I started, immediately being cut off by Patrick getting his tray off the table, already running away from me. "We haven't seen each other in three months, do you really expect me to not care?"
He sighed again, a shard of guilt brushing over his face when he slowly put his tray down and let his head rest on his palms. "We talked about this before, Joe," he noted, taking a small bite of his poorly made burger. Patrick's body stiffened up even more when he looked up from his food and held my gaze. His eyes flinched a little when I finally opened my mouth.
"We never talked about anything. You just left," I said, a little more bitterly than I wanted it to get out. His eyebrows furrowed and he dropped his burger back on the tray. He pushed it away furiously, attracting a few curious looks from the neighbouring tables. Patrick shot them a cold glare and looked at me again.
"Oh, and why the hell would've I left, I wonder?" he retorted, bent over the table, his face only a few inches away from mine.
More people were now staring at us, and Patrick noticed that soon enough not to start yelling at me in the middle of the cafeteria. He sank into his seat and returned to his meal without looking at me again.
Three months after I fucked up, I still have to be yelled at to realise that I'm a fucking idiot.
***
I ran the whole way from Glenbrook to Chris' house in a few minutes, and when I finally knocked on his door, I couldn't even breathe anymore. But I still could choke out a few words before collapsing on his couch, trying to catch my breath and calm down.
"Chris, he's... he's back! Patrick's back!"
"What?" he asked quickly, throwing me a bottle of water. He didn't mind that I just splashed it all on my face and his floor, probably because he was going to do the same thing soon enough. "I thought you said he moved to Canada!"
"Well, that's what I thought too! And then he just shows up at school like it's fucking nothing."
"Did you talk to him?"
"Of course I talked to him."
Chris waited a few moments, gesturing back and forth between me and him before he opened his mouth. "And...?"
I shook my head as he sighed and sat on the couch. "How bad was he- you know what, don't answer that... but, dude, you have to make up to him. I can't keep on babysitting you, and you know that. I have a job to maintain and college."
"Yes, yes, I know that. I have to go to school too, you don't have to worry about that."
"Come on," he said, grabbing me by my armpits and pushing me to the door. "We're going to Reckless Records. If he still works there you're gonna get another chance with him."
"What? No way. We have to give it time, Chris!"
"How can you not understand this? There is no time. Stop making excuses for yourself and go! He's your best friend, goddammit!"
"Is he really?"
He rolled his eyes, took one of his skateboards in his hands and slid it down on the asphalt, then pushed me from my back until I caught some speed and left him behind. Chris followed me right after on another board and kept pushing me until we got to the junction, where I had to stop him until I would've gotten hit by a car.
I haven't been to Reckless Records ever since Patrick left, but Andy's and Patrick's absence didn't cease to be felt when you stepped into the cold main room of the store. There was no music running in the background or the constant laughter from behind the door to the staff's room. There were no t-shirts on the shelves or weird signs made made out of chopped cheap paper and colored with some really bad markers, pointing at some new releases or things that they just wanted to sell already.
The only trace of something that used to be there was a framed picture on the cashier's desk: a picture of Andy caught right when someone threw a cake over his head. I sighed to myself and smiled nostalgically. "One hell of a ride, Hurley," Chris said when he saw the picture too, patting my shoulder.
My smile dropped when the back door opened and a short guy made his way to the cashier's desk, his gaze lowered to his old pair of red sneakers. The badge stuck on his chest read "Stumph, assistant".
"How can I help you, folks?" he asked with a stale voice. "We just got this really dope Bowie repress a few days ago. Have you guys ever tried this-"
Patrick stopped his usual employee lines when he looked up and saw Chris first, and then me. The corners of his eyes dropped and his posture broke, just like seeing us triggered some sort of malfunction in his muscles. "You're not here to buy records, right?"
"Joe is here," Chris began, grabbing my arm and pushing me against the counter, "to talk to you and be friends again."
"We're not two-year olds, Chris," Patrick retorted, throwing his hat on the counter and running his hand through his hair.
"Well, you're definitely acting like some. And if it's not obvious already, I'm not leaving until you two talk this shit out."
I turned around to him and clenched my teeth angrily, trying to signal him that it was more than enough, but he didn't back down. "I guess we're leaving then!" Patrick exclaimed, looking at his watch. "I'm already on extra hours."
Patrick got his uniform down right in the middle of the store, put another shirt on, took his hat and opened the door for us. Chris dragged me out, regardless of the fact that I was frantically shaking my head that I weren't going anywhere. But Patrick stopped Chris when he stepped out of the store by putting his hand on his chest. "Oh, you're not coming. We need to talk this out by ourselves, am I right?"
Chris squinted his eyes and smirked a little, puffing out the air out of his nose. "Well then, who am I to interrupt you?" He winked at me and started walking backwards to his house, with his skateboard in his hand. "It's good to have you back, Cider."
Patrick nodded shortly and then hopped on his bike. "What happened to Trohman '84?" he asked with a dissapointed voice when he saw me getting on the skateboard.
I shrugged my shoulders, "Gave it to Trohman '89."
"Shame."
He passed a car and pedaled slowly in the middle of the road, keeping his head up in the sky and his eyes closed. If I hadn't known him, I would've assumed that he was just messing around to avoid talking to me, but Patrick was just taking in Chicago for the first time in a while. Chicago may also be the place to bring the worst memories for the both of us, but it was also the only place we felt at home in, after all.
Ever since him and Andy were kicked out, I had never stepped in Patrick's new house for two reasons: Patrick tried to tell me that I shouldn't come over until they found a new place to stay in, saying that meeting his father wouldn't be the best idea, and because I was too embarrassed to. I should've been the one to shelter them, but I didn't. The blame could be thrown on my parents, but it was completely my fault on this one.
The real reason he probably didn't want me there was that the entire place was a mess (and that was a nice thing to say). Being a 'famous musician' (or at least moderately known in northern America), his father was almost never home, so the house looked like it didn't have a clean up in a long while. Patrick couldn't stand any kind of dirt, which was the reason he and Andy almost never spent time there unless sleeping every once in a while.
"Yeah, uh- this place hasn't been cleaned in a while. Dad just left for another bunch of concerts," he apologized, rubbing the back of his head.
The house was incredibly small, the kitchen and living room combined on the ground floor, a bathroom with no sink and only a cheap shower head and curtain. Patrick's room and his dad's little studio and bed were in the attic.
"Watch it there," he warned me as we went up the flimsy stairs. "That step falls into the toilet if you put weight on it."
I almost fell over his dad's bed that was placed right in front of two white doors. Patrick climbed over the bed and opened the door. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the room until I fell on the floor. "This is my new room, I guess," he sighed as he closed the door behind us.
Obviously the cleanest place in the entire house, which was predictable for Patrick, his room was a lot more different than the one he had at his mom's. "That bitch," I thought when the image of his mom formed into my brain. The walls were painted in a soothing pastel blue and the ceiling was covered in posters of the Milky Way. Aside from that, his bed was messy and the only other things he had in the room were an old mahogany desk, a bookshelf with a few books and a collection of Ninja Turtles figures, and a second mattress laid in the corner of the room. An empty bottle of Carling was sitting on the desk, next to the bouquet of flowers.
"You like them?" he asked when he noticed that I was staring at those pure white flowers.
"What? Uh... yeah, they're beautiful."
"Lily-of-the-Valleys. I found them in the Margate Park. Seems that I forgot how beautiful they were."
I had the urge to tell him that I knew what they were, but that would've only brought back memories that still had to stay burried inside for a little more time. His face softened up when he told me about the flowers. Guess he didn't actually change- not completely, at least.
"Where's your record player?" I pointed out at the lack of vinyl records and his beloved turntable.
"At my mother's. She won't give it back to me, so I'm stuck with these things," he droned, taking a wrecked Bose headset and his Walkman out of the backpack.
I sat on the edge of his bed and flattened out the sheets. Patrick sketched a smile and sat next to me. "This is where I sleep every night, why should I make the sheets?"
"I didn't say anything," I snickered, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a little light flickered in Patrick's ambigous eyes. The usual faded green of his eyes looked a lot like some sort of grayish shade of blue now, with a little yellow line circling the center of eyes. I was obviously staring at him now, and he didn't seem to want to break the sudden connection, but he had to when my back seemed to have its own brain, leaning in to Patrick. I pulled myself away immediately after I realised what I was doing and pet my sleeves with unease. "So, uh... what did you do while you were away, actually?"
"Nothing really special, I guess. Canada is a really clean place."
"Did you play with your dad?"
"A little. He was the star of the shows, though. We didn't get that much money, but it's not like we expected to get any cash at all."
"Patrick, I know that you're tight on money. And you know that you can stay at my place if you need a home. I have enough room for you."
"You don't need to be nice to me, Joe."
He dragged himself a little farther and sighed deeply. "I'm fine, really."
"You don't seem fine."
"I guess I don't. Fine doesn't always mean happy," Patrick sniffled. His eyes started watering a little, but he closed his eyes tightly and held them back. He lowered his gaze to his shoes. "My, uh- therapist told me that I shouldn't hold back tears, because I can let go of all the negative thoughts, you know?"
I nodded. At least he had the courage to seek for help.
"But she didn't tell me what to do when I feel like my entire being- when I feel like... like my soul is being drained through all these tears."
I felt two tears falling on my flustered cheeks as I sat closer to Patrick. I wanted to take him into my arms, but I was too scared to invade his space. He was as fragile as a snowflake, small and lonely, in constant danger of melting away if he got to warmth.
I knew that it wasn't the right time to step away from him, but regardless of my mind screaming at me not to run away this time, I sat up and headed to the door, saying that I was going to the bathroom. Truth is, I felt like I couldn't even breathe when I had to see the one person I cared about the most falling apart right in front of my eyes.
But when he finally looked up, I knew that I couldn't just leave. I stopped with my hand on the door's handle while Patrick was staring at me with his jaw dropped. He frowned a little as he stepped closer to me. I couldn't hear what he muttered the moment before everything went down, but, without any warning, Patrick grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, until our lips were just a few inches away. "What are you do-" I babbled out.
"I missed you," he breathed out with slight concern. "I missed you so much, Andy."
"Patrick, are you okay?"
"No. I wasn't okay. You left me... you left me and Joe."
Patrick was... talking to Andy? He was literally talking to a dead person through me. I swallowed hard and tried not to think how creepy it was. But I let him talk. If that was his way of coping, then who was I to stop him from throwing away all of his bad thoughts?
But it was going way too far. Patrick was now dragging me around the room, acting like we were slow dancing. I began wondering if he was on any sort of drugs, since it would've been pretty expectable.
"Patrick. Patrick!" I tried to wake him up from what looked like a hallucination. "Patrick, it's me! This isn't Andy, it's Joe!"
He put his arms on my shoulders, his hands resting on my cheeks as he slammed me against the wall and pushed his thighs in the space between mine. I felt the warmness of my face radiating embarrassment and awkwardness, the heat of my entire body building up while he was leaning in. I didn't want him to kiss me. Not while he thought I was Andy.
I tried to push him away from me, but his abdomen was firmly pressed on mine. Patrick wasn't willing to go anywhere.
Patrick's eyes locked on mine for a moment and I finally got a grasp of what was underneath his gaze. It was like nobody was actually inside, like a new person took over and controlled his actions under this confusing hallucination. He closed his eyes. His lips touched mine in a second, and I was disgusted at myself for the lack of disgust I felt in this situation. I ran my tongue on his lower lip as Patrick deepened the kiss. His hands stuck in my hair, pulling it in any direction possible.
I wasn't supposed to enjoy it. He wasn't kissing me now, he was kissing Andy. I hated myself for doing it, but, somehow, my body was totally okay with it.
Patrick was almost desperate as he broke the kiss and moved to my neck, and now something new was pressing my abdomen, something that felt a lot like a boner. I decided right there and then that I could live with kissing him, but never in a thousand years with having sex. I pushed my hands on Patrick's chest trying to get him off of mine for a good period of time, but after a few moments, he finally realised what he was doing. Patrick suddenly pulled away and stared at me with wide eyes. "J-Joe?"
His eyebrows connected as he slowly touched his lips with his fingers.
"I'm sorry, Patrick, I shouldn't have kissed-"
"You're... you're not Andy."
I stared at him without being able to say anything else.
"What- how did this-" he cried out. Patrick's eyes watered immediately and he let himself fall on his knees on the floor. "What the hell is wrong with me?" His eyes moved to his lap, and the sobbing became louder when he noticed the lump between his legs.
"She was right! She was right all along! I'm just another attention seeker, I- I'm a slut!"
"Patrick, no, listen to me. Your mom isn't right about you; she never was! You're none of those things-" I kneeled in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder, but he slapped it away. "Don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!" he yelled, coughing up a few more tears. He was breathing so fast I thought he was going to have a panic attack, but he held a hand on his chest and calmed himself down until he stopped sobbing.
"I- How did this happen?" he asked himself, raising his head to my level. His eyes were red and dry now, after all the continous rubbing. "Oh, my God, Joe. I- I can't even say I'm fucking sorry!"
"It's okay, Patrick. It's my fault."
He was rocking back and forth with his chin pressed on his knees, brushing away other new tears. "Leave," he whispered with a broken voice.
"Alright, I'll... I'll go. I'm so sorry, Patrick, you have to believe-" I said, stepping over the doorway and almost tripping over his dad's bed again.
"Just leave!" he growled, clenching his fists tightly.
"Please call me if anything happens-"
"I said LEAVE!" Patrick yelled, slamming the door in my face.
» author's note «
i'm. sobbing. literally
what have i done
*this was one of the pre-written chapters so i didn't have to squeeze in that much time to think about the whole plot so i just filled in here and there woo (this basically means that a quick update like this isn't gonna be usual srry m8s)*