There wasn’t any point in staying. Therewasno fixing things, no taking things back. The damage wasdone, our mistakes had been made, and on shaky legs, I stood up. I sucked in adeep breath, wishing I could control the tremors that surged through my body,and on my exhale, I looked back at him. Face still hidden, shoulders movingsoftly.
“Bye, Patrick,” I whispered, and walked away,fists clenched at my sides, my tongue dry and sticking to the roof of my mouth.
I walked next door to my parents’ house. Ithrew my soiled shoes away, sat through a silent shattered-heart Easter dinner,and I ran away, and didn’t look back.
Not until my father had his heart attack.
Not until I didn’t have a choice, and I didn’tstand a chance.
CHAPTER 11 |
Arseholes & Announcements
Patrick’s place wasa two-bedroom apartment aboveMrs. Montgomery the Church Lady’s garage. It was where he lived alone since theseparation, and where his daughter came to stay two weekends a month. The placewas dark and uninviting, and he kept a hand on my back while we climbed thestairs, as though afraid I would run away if he dared let go.
I wasn’t going anywhere.
I had agreed to his one night.
He fumbled with the lock, and cursed at it. “I shouldreally install a better light out here,” he explained.
“I see that,” and I bit at my lower lip.
Standing so close to him, shrouded in darkness,my mind had enveloped itself in fantasy. With little more than the glow from astreetlamp below us, we could be anyone with nothing to work through, nobaggage to carry. He could be any other man with a hard body and anintoxicating scent of cologne and pheromones. It would have been a perfectopportunity for him to shove my back against the bricks, slide his hand to thatneglected juncture between my legs, and with nobody to see us, I would havegranted him access to go further.
But, without seizing the opportunity to read mythoughts, he pushed the door open, and turned on a light. The small living roomwas packed with a leather sectional that was far too big for the space, and aTV that could have rivalled a movie theater screen. There was little room foranything else, but the guy had managed to wedge a coffee table in the mix.
I was in a Hobbit’s hole furnished by giants, and I bit mytongue to keep from laughing, pressing a fist to my mouth.
Patrick narrowed his eyes, flashing me a warning glare.“Hey, watch it. This crap looked a lot better in the house, but there was noway in hell Christine waskeepin’ my couch and TV.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
He closed the door and hung his keys on a little hook.“Yeah, I guess you never did see the house.” I shook my head, casting my eyesdownward. Patrick rubbed his hand through the hair at the back of his head.“Right.”
The word oozed with guilt and regret, perfectly matchingthe feelings that had threaded through my blood for over a decade. The roomthat was already too small seemed to shrink, crushing me with cushions andleather upholstery.
I sat down, because there wasn’t much else to do, nowhereelse to go, and I clasped my hands in my lap. My eyes looked toward the coffeetable, and I saw the magazines there, but the words wouldn’t register. I staredbeyond everything, unnerved by being there, so secluded and vulnerable in histiny place with the door closed. And because he knew this, because he kneweverything, he left me alone, stepping from the room into the next, humming allthe way.
Driving, backyards, hot dogs, and dancing were all innocentenough, but this? Sitting alone in his apartment? This was something elseentirely. There was an endless bout of possibilities laid out before us, all ofwhich seemed to involve us naked on any one of the various surfaces.
I wondered how long it would take for it to happen. Iwondered if I could go through with it.
Because on the stairs, in the dark and against the bricks,I could imagine he was anybody. But there, in the light, he was Patrick Kinney,taker of my heart and my virginity, and my stomach pulled at the apprehensionof wondering if it would be the same, all those years later.
I was scared to find out. I was scared I’d disappoint him,and make him regret those two years of chasing after me. I was scared that wehad changed too much, and I was scared that we hadn’t changed at all.
Scared that I wouldn’t be able to stop, scared that I’dnever give him up again.
Why did I give him up at all?
“So, do you wantsomethin’ todrink?” he asked, pulling me from thoughts better left alone.
My eyes focused again on the coffee table, fading themental guessing game of what he might look like under that t-shirt.
“Um, sure. What do you have?”
“I bought two six-packs of Bud, and a case of that girlyshite you like.”
