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If there was one thing Rosemary had learnt since she'd begun attending Summer School was that the school itself was Hell on Earth. Though that being said, she was still fortunate she only had to attend for three hours a day. Mondays, Thursdays and Fridays she attended from eight-thirty to eleven-thirty. Tuesdays and Wednesdays she'd attend from one to four, and it was these days that she found herself wanting to jump head first into oncoming traffic.
The biggest dilemma of her Summer schooling however, was the combined presence of Henry Bowers and Patrick Hockstetter in her Mathematics class. Having failed Mathematic, Social Studies and English, Henry attended Summer school for most of the day, all week. As well as that, he still hated Rosemary with a passion that surpassed simple hatred and boiled his blood every time he saw her.
Patrick was different. He studied her and the way she acted because there was no denying the fact she acted differently in comparison to her last day of school. "She's quieter" Henry had stated as they sat in Belch's car outside of Victor's apartment. "Now that she's with a bunch of faggots she's not talking"
It was true, and Patrick finally realised the situation and motive Rosemary possessed when she pulled him in the night she murdered Mark. He came to this realisation whilst in the hazardous mess of his room, his hand slid down his boxers as he jerked himself off to the image of Rosemary's mouth around his pecker. He'd stopped just as his pelvis was starting to squirm and sat up, eyes wide.
Rosemary was a user, it was what she did.
She used Gretta for her loyalty. She used her brothers and friends for protection. She used Henry until he proved a threat and even now she still had a hold on both Henry and himself because Henry still wasted time thinking about her and Patrick was thinking of nothing else but her in that moment. Rosemary had used him to dispose of the corpse she created.
The only thing he couldn't understand was why? Why had she killed Mark?
He pondered this for well over an hour, his mind concocting every possible situation his sick mind could imagine.
But of course, his male mind couldn't even begin to understand the complex inner workings of a highly functional female psychopath.
Still clad in his boxers, Patrick made his way downstairs to do something he never thought he'd find himself doing; consulting his parents. Running his hand up his acne dotted forehead and through his hair, he glanced briefly at his father whom sat in the lounge as his feet hit the uncomfortably cold steps of the staircase.
"Patrick?" His mother whom had been wiping a plate stopped all actions as she stared at her son in shock. "Honey, what's wrong?"
Mr and Mrs.Hockstetter had long since acknowledged the undeniable fact that their only remaining son was an exceptionally disturbed individual. They hated Henry and his group, but they where also the only social interaction they ever saw Patrick achieve beyond his teachers. He didn't speak to them if he could help it. They rarely saw him inside the house and although they didn't approve of his behaviour, they didn't stop him.
They where smart enough to know they couldn't stop him.
"Nothing's wrong" Patrick stated with a lack of emotion she'd grown used too. Standing on the lower steps of the staircase, Patrick leant against the bannister as he scratched his jaw in thought. "Why-" He stopped himself, trying to phrase his question correctly. "Why might a girl..." The moment the word 'girl' slipped from his lips he wanted to suck it in and whack himself over the head as his father turned off the television from the opposite room.
"You're asking me about a girl?" Mrs.Hockstetter asked enthusiastically, hastily placing the plate down as she approached her son. "What is it dear? Do you like a girl?"
She was disillusioned to day the least.
"What would a girl be thinking if she hit a boy a lot? What reason would she have to do that?"
Her face fell slightly as she jumped to the conclusion that it was Patrick himself he was referring to. "Oh honey. Did a girl-" Moving her hand to stroke his cheek, he yanked away viciously, retreating a step as he stared at his mother accusingly. "Did a girl hit you?"
"No" His father entered the room, staring at Patrick questionably. "There's a girl in one of the classes who's quite large...and she beat the shit out of a student not to long ago. Why would she do that?"
"Uh-" His parents shared a glance. "Well she may have been angry, and felt that she needed to take her fury out on someone else?"
"Right..."
"She could be doing it for the attention, she may have felt that the student deserved it"
"You never really can tell what a girl's thinking, at least not unless you ask them" His father stated, his hands tucked in the pockets of his jeans.
"You need to ask them?"
"Yeah! That can be a quick way of making conversation with her to. I-If you wanted to that is" His mother chuckled and Patrick stared at the door blankly before giving a slight nod and running up the stairs. "We love you Patrick!" Slamming his door shut, Patrick moved quickly around the coordinated mess on his floor, grabbing clothes as he sat atop his bed and quickly pulled on his jeans and boots. Pulling on a black tank top and jacket he shoved his lighter, the smokes he'd pocketed off one of Henry's victims and his knife into his back pockets before pushing open his large window and lithely stepping out onto the large tree branch that grew along his side of the house. He scaled it in seconds, stepping on his mothers daisies as he jumped their fence.
As he walked along Witcham Street, his mind begun to once again put thoughts and situations in his head. It was getting dark, fast, that was how he knew Rosemary would be running soon. Waiting on the corner of Witcham and West Broadway, he silently questioned whether she'd do anything to him again. The thought of fucking her at night on the side of the road crossed his mind and he felt his dick stiffen. "Fuck-" He muttered, hastily walking in the darkness until he stood in front of her house, leaning against the fence.
After twenty minutes the door opened and the moment he turned his gaze from the street she stopped, the pair of them quietly analysing each other as Patrick stood. "What're you doing here?" Rosemary asked irritably, crossing her arms as she stared Patrick down from behind the fence, stepping off the porch.
Unable to hold her gaze, Patrick looked away and cleared his throat, fiddling with the lighter in his pocket. "Uh..." He could smell the pollen off the bushes between them and the smell made him want to gag.
She lithely jumped over her fence, standing in front of him as he tried intently not to stare at the tight material covering her legs or the way her brother's shirt sagged off her shoulder. "Well?"
"I want to know why you killed Tue-!" Her hand was over his mouth so quickly he hadn't seen her move until she'd pushed him back down onto the fence, their faces mere centimetres apart as the pointed wooden plank dug into his lower back. Ignoring the fact her legs had crossed with his and her pelvis was pressed against him, he stared at her in shock.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She hissed, her fingers digging into his cheek as her other held the back of his head in place. "You don't casually bring shit like that up you fuckwit"
He shoved her hand away and she stood taller, her eyes narrowed as Patrick also stood and easily dwarfed her. "Why did you do it though?" He furiously whispered. "I need to know!"
"You don't need to know anything" She rebutted, glancing at her house as she turned and begun walking down Kansas Street across from The Standpipe and Memorial Park.
"Wait!" He caught up to her, grabbing her shoulder until she slapped his hand away.
"Do not touch me"
"You were fine with touching when you shoved my dick into your mouth" Patrick watched as she shrugged in the highlights of the moon, her blonde ponytail swinging between her shoulder blades.
"Yeah, because you let me do that. Just because I touched you doesn't mean you can touch me" She walked ahead of him and Patrick felt anger bubble in his stomach.
"Why?!" He screamed at her, finally drawing her attention back to him.
"Hockstetter, did you ever stop to think that maybe it happened just because I wanted it to? Maybe I did it because Mark got on my nerves, or maybe I did it just for the thrill of feeling his body still under me while his blood dripped down my fucking fingers!"
"But why pull me into it as well? I follow the rules around everyone so those nothings can't touch me" She closed the distance between them slowly and smiled in a way that sent waves of nausea to his stomach.
"Because you and I are much more alike then you care to admit Patrick. I'm alive and I am real"
Patrick's breathe shortened as he backed away from her slightly, his chest aching as he shakily stepped back. "No you're not. You're lying"
At this Rosemary laughed, a musical tinkle of sound which left a far darker undertone in his mind, "Patrick, there's one thing I can assure you of right now to put your delicate little mind to rest. Of everyone in this godforsaken town, you're the only person I haven't lied to"
And she left him there, not quite understanding how close she'd come to breaking Patrick's mind as he begun hyperventilating in his place, lowering himself to hold his knees as he tried to understand. She, the girl whom lied to the entire town called herself a real being, just like him.
He wouldn't have been so scared if he hadn't heard the same little voice in the back of his head mumbling to him. The voice that convinced him to grab the dogs by their collars from their owners yards, or the cats off the fences in the most delirious hours of the night.
It whispered to him in agreement as it knew: she was telling the truth.
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So, fun fact: this chapter was supposed to go in a COMPLETELY different direction, but I wanted to have some Patrick/Rosemary talks.
Rosemary is (quite obviously) confusing Patrick. I wanted to show his solipsistic view of the world being challenged by her as it begs the question: what about himself does Patrick identify as the elements that make him real? Rosemary has come in as this beautifully psychotic being that can play the game even better then he can, and he doesn't know how to respond having never met someone whom commits to the same acts of violence he does. As well as that, she can satisfy him sexually, something he's never experienced before by another person. Would it not imply someone is real if they can illicit feelings from you that even you yourself cannot?
This whole chapter sort of represents how Patrick is starting to obsess slightly more so around Rosemary's action and herself as an individual 😁 The next chapter will be introducing a new character and will be veeeeeery interesting with some Henry/Rose/Patrick action at Summer School.
Thanks to totallybitchin for being such a sweetheart and putting YOUNGBLOOD into her reviews book xx honestly made my day hon x
Also, more love to blipnopenah because her mother drove me to work the other night and I am extremely grateful 😂
Until the next update~
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