I know how it seems when I'm always staring off into nothing. I'm lost in my head again. I'm sorry I don't laugh at the right times (There, there)
Rhymes with Derry - Merry, Bury, Scary.
Welcome to Derry,
The townsfolk here is always merry
Trouble and doom is what we bury
Join us now, it isn't scary
(How we all LOVE IT here in Derry)
Annoyed with her boring task she stared at what she had written. It was that drenched with sarcasm that she could almost see it leaking out of her paper. How she hated rhyming. And really her first "poem", if it was even worth the title, was getting increasingly morbid. At least, she hoped for some bonus points for being so patriotic with her "love" for Derry. Hiding a yawn with her left hand, she irritatedly put her pen down. She had always hated false compliments and this poem seemed like a huge pile of those.
Her eyes roamed around the classroom. Next to her, Victor Criss was engrossed in his work. Messy scribbles had already filled about half a page. Didn't know he had it in him. Her classmates were also surprisingly quiet, taking in account that their teacher had left about thirty teenagers alone in the room. Then again it was Monday morning, they were probably tired. Of course, in the first row vivid communication took place. Bowie's clique formed a chain to pass on their precious messages. Mary for once not as excluded as she was sitting next to her. They always feared she would read their secrets. As if she cared that much. She already knew the most interesting ones anyway. She paused for a second. Her former seat next to Mary was empty. But just five minutes ago that's where Patrick Hockstetter took place, after bursting in the classroom all disheveled looking. Where could he possibly have gone to?
A soft touch on her shoulder made her jump. "Looking for me?", Patrick teased. Victor had also stopped his fervent scribbling to observe what was going to happen. "Maybe.", she coyly admitted, a small smile playing on her lips. "Now there's somebody sitting on my seat, what should I do about it?" Victor's warning in mind her smile dropped. Of course, he wouldn't want to sit in the first row. Grabbing her paper and her books she stood up. "I'm sorry. I'll just go back to my seat.", she declared, slight disappointment evident in her voice. "Oh, no.", he draped himself lazily on his chair, "there's room enough for two of us." His lanky fingers pointed to his lap. "The teacher isn't here, nobody cares." Flushing she avoided his eyes that were boring into hers. Caught up in the awkwardness of it all -especially with Victor watching them like they were performing some kind of soap opera for him- she still indecisively stood next to Patrick.
"C'mon Sweetheart, I just like having you close to me. And you'd prefer me over these girls, wouldn't you?", he practically purred only for her to hear. He was right. Sitting with him, even if it meant on his lap, appeared as a better option than to go back to them. If he wanted to take advantage of her or anything he would have done so last Friday, so she was safe with him. Probably. At least, Patrick gave her the sentiment of being wanted. Whereas Bowie's Clique regarded her with such disdain one would imagine she had the plague. "One wrong move and I'll leave", she threatened half-heartedly and finally allowed herself to make herself comfortable in his lap. As comfortable as one could get so close to someone you simultaneously fear and somehow feel drawn to. "Sure, Sweetheart.", his chuckle reverberated in his chest and therefore on her back. As his arms snaked around her, she turned her head incredulously: "And how do you think you're going to do your work?"
His usual smirk appeared again. Once she might have deemed it devious or predatory, but the more time she spend with Patrick Hockstetter, the more she valued how endearing it -and Patrick- could be. "How about teamwork? I'll make sure you won't fall and you can write. I'll even help you with these damn poems."
"Deal.", she confirmed. This time without facing him. The weight of his chest together with the loose embrace he held her in, had flushed her face in a shade of red, that she'd rather not give him the satisfaction of seeing. "So Patrick tell me about something or someone you love."
At this, he leaned closer to her. His hot breath tingling on her neck as he whispered softly into her right ear: "I'd love to, but keep in mind, I'll show you something of mine and you'll show me something of yours. That's the rules for our little trade."
Coughing to distract from the pleasant shudder his voice send through her limbs, she managed to regain some of her composure. "I was talking about the assignment, Patrick. You know poems about something or someone you love. Look at mine about Derry. It sucks. So I could really need your ideas.", her rambling however did little to hide her newly refreshed nervousness.
She could literally feel his -annoying, but really enticing- smirk at his effect on her. "Alright, let's do it. But later on you'll write your poem for me. The rules still apply." She picked up her pen, shifting her posture a bit, so it was easier for her to write what he dictated. "Go on.", she encouraged him teasingly, "I'm excited to see what the great Patrick Hockstetter appreciates." He leaned forward, closing the arisen gap between them. "You should be, Sweetheart. Prepare to tremble in amazement, but don't worry I won't let you hit the ground when you faint", his breath tangling on her neck, before he shifted to properly see her face.
"In my arm", he began, staring at her intensely, "I'll never let her fall, ... Keep her save from any harm and" He snatched the paper to see what she had already written down, while she watched mesmerized by his words, "something rhyming with fall, let's see... She's made for me, so strong yet so small. Alright, my poem is finished, now it's your turn.", he cheekily smirked -no, this time it was a genuine smile- at her flustered state. Not only was her face grazed with a prominent blush, but pure amazement radiated off her eyes. She didn't assume he'd take it serious. Was this about her? It couldn't be. After all they didn't know each other that long. Still, his words lulled her in with a sense of security and adoration she knew she couldn't resist. Finally she trusted her voice enough to form a coherent sentence: "Patrick, that was beautiful. I don't think my poem could ever be as good."
"Glad you liked it. I knew you'd react that way, Sweetheart." There was his cocky smirk again. "Now give me your best for my poem." She tried. She earnestly tried to come up with something witty or heartfelt or at least anything non-embarrassing she could write down. The words in her head however were flying around as if they were hunted and whenever she wanted to catch one of it, billions of other words came rushing by. The omnipresent Patrick-Patrick-he's touching-you-Patrick chant in her mind didn't exactly help either. One disaster she didn't anticipate on that Monday morning had completely overthrown her. Caught her of guard and left her with no idea what to do about it. She was finding herself slowly falling for the lunatic, school bully - her protector- Patrick Hockstetter. No, that couldn't be happening. His body pressing against her was just messing with her mind.
She heaved herself up. The puzzlement in Patrick's face indicated that it had indeed been more abrupt than she had intended. "I just..need to use the bathroom", she excused her strange behaviour, her eyes averted, so he wouldn't see right through her lie. His fingers linked with hers, pulling her down to his eye level. "Hurry up, Sweetheart, I'm looking forward to your poem for me", he ordered. Patrick did that a lot, she noticed, demanding instead of asking. Though his demeanor towards her counted more as almost charming, with the constant pet names and teasing. At least, that's how she perceived it.
"Don't expect too much, Mister Hockstetter.", she teased back, encouraged by his playful mood, "But you can already start with the last poem, you lyrical god." This title brought his usual smirk back on Patrick's face. "I like the name", he went to add more to his statement, when an exasperated groan interrupted, "For goodness sake, can you two stop flirting? I'm actually trying to focus here." Both addressed teens turned to Victor Criss, whose irritated glare was mainly directed at his friend. Still, the girl was the only one to show some kind of remorse, as she sheepishly apologized. Patrick simply flipped him the bird.
Before the boys could argue over that, the noise in the classroom suddenly died down. Curiously, the students faced the front to recognize their teacher who had indeed returned for checking in on them. Though she barely paid attention to the students that were doing anything but their assignments. In frenzy, she rambled: "Alright class. Change of plans. You don't have to do the poetry now, finish it at home. We need some help outside. All the orders for the Derry Exhibition are coming in at once." That definitely explained her disheveled state. "All boys please join our caretaker outside and all the girls come help me cataloguing the arrivals. We'll go to our library."
Relieved to get out of the situation getting increasingly overwhelming, the girl standing between Victor and Patrick hurried to the door, where the other girls had gathered to follow their teacher. "If you don't give it to me by tomorrow I'll do what's needed to get it, Sweetheart.", Patrick called after her, immediately drawing the attention of their classmates. Great. I can't wait for all the rumours. Not bothering with an answer she rushed out of the classroom. Knowing Patrick he would gladly carry out whatever he had planned despite an audience. She'd prefer him not to. Going to her original destination, the bathroom, first, she turned left, only to look right into the menacingly grinning face of none other than Henry Bowers.
A./ N.: Alright so she will stay without a name (thanks for your suggestions and advise on that topic too) And I can't really stress enough how much your kind comments and votes mean to me - Thank you so much! Also I know the poems are bad, but it just coincidentally fits the characters ;) But if you want to find a longer/ better poem, go check out the comment section!