This is my first story about the Mentalist. Will contain sexual content and language. Please forgive me if I get my tenses muddled up, I speak and write it fluently but English is my second language. Please review for your thoughts. I know it's not a popular ship but it's my favourite
Patrick Jane woke up to sunlight streaming through his curtains. He shielded his eyes and blindly reached for his clock on the windowsill. "Shit!" he cried out, jumping out of bed and pulling on his clothes hurriedly. He stumbled out of his tiny room, piece of toast between his teeth, doing up the belt of his pants when he saw a middle-aged woman sitting at the table.
"Oh sorry hun," she said. She was scantily dressed, smelling of cheap booze and cigarettes. "I'm waiting for him to wake up so I can get paid." She pointed her horrifically long and painted fingernail in the direction of his father's bedroom. Patrick sighed and threw her a fifty dollar note. "Here, is that enough?"
"It'll do," she said tucking it into her bra and standing up eyeing off Patrick. He was attractive. Tall and handsome with piercing green eyes and curly blonde hair. "Forgive your mother," he offered to her as he ducked under her arm and headed for the door. "You need to bite the bullet and accept help so you can start being a good role model for your son."
He hated the way his father's ladies-of-the-night looked at him like that. He was worried his father would take notice and find some sort of horrendous way to get money out of that. He was nineteen now and fast growing out of being a boy wonder. He ran to his Jeep as was late for picking up his best friend. He could have walked to her trailer in a matter of minutes but he enjoyed the few minutes of car ride they had alone together. It prepared him for the rest of the day full of conning and deceit.
Patrick pulled his beat up Jeep outside Angela's trailer. She was waiting for him on her step wearing his pin striped hat she had claimed a year ago. He thought it looked better on her anyway. She flung her satchel full of books over her shoulder and sauntered over to his car in those quirky high waisted shorts that showed off her slender legs and willowy figure that Angela had developed. He was nineteen and Angela was seventeen now and no longer a child. Patrick had paid attention to this fact. Unfortunately so had every other man.
"Hey Boy Wonder, you're late," Angela teased him jumping into the passenger seat, taking off her sunglasses looking all starry-eyed and glowing. Patrick thought she looked incredible since she barely ever got any sleep and was up doing god knows what til god knows when with her fuckhead boyfriend of one week, Rory, as they had gone out last night. She always looked incredible though. To him, anyway.
"Good morning, my dear," he said. "You're looking positively radiant today."
She rolled her eyes at him as if he were teasing her and put her sunglasses back on, a small smile dancing on her lips. Patrick knew Angela was not a morning person and was mystified by her apparent happiness.
"What's got little Ruskin all lit up?" he asked curiously. She was too confusing for him to read which he had given up on years ago. Angela usually would tell him the truth to whatever he asked anyway. She was a terrible liar.
"Oh, nothing," she sighed happily biting the corner of her bottom lip and smiling mysteriously to herself. She went to fiddling with the suspenders she had clipped to her high waisted shorts. Always an odd sense of style, that one but it suited her.
"Well, it's not often that I get you this cheerful pre-coffee….what's say we ditch and muck about town for the day?" his eyes danced at the thought.
"No, Patrick!" she protested sitting upwards and facing him. His heart thudded whenever she called him Patrick. "You've got your shows today and I've got all my jobs to do. We would get in such trouble."
"Always the good girl, Evangeline," he chuckled tucking a wavy tendril of her dark hair behind her ear careful not to displace her trilby hat.
Angela stiffened at his touch, her lips turning into a slight frown. He retracted his hand. Was it something he said? She was always fake-annoyed at the worst when he teased her with her proper name. His touch was far less intimate then most of the nights they spent laying on Patrick's small bed, their conversations getting more ridiculous the more delirious with sleep they got until they feel asleep holding one another. He cleared his throat and got back on topic.
"Well, for you. Only because you're my best friend," he smiled turning toward the Big Wheel of the carnival. And I'm in love with you.
Yep. He was in love with his best friend. His taken best friend. He first realised it last year at Pete and Sam's wedding that they went to together, at the carnival when the marks had cleared out and they set up. He had an excuse to hold Angela in his arms all night and it seemed so right and she looked so beautiful and smelt so good that he saw her as a woman and not as his troublemaker tomboy best friend. Sure, he knew he loved her all along, but that's the night he knew for certain it was serious, all consuming, all encompassing love. It's definitely fucked.
He pulled up near the Big Wheel where all the shitbombs were parked and younger crowd were congregated, loitering and avoiding helping their parents. Most of them came from families of drifters and never staying in the same carnival circuit for very long. Angela's thirteen year old brother Danny and Patrick's friend, Jack who was being trained as a magician, were delicately repairing some sort of gadget for a performance whilst half-heartedly listening to a recently-acquired twenty year old, a slimy looking weasel by the name of Aaron who had his arm around a redhead who worked in the showbag stand.
Nearly everyone was paired off in the carnie life. Even the newbies were finding solace in strangers of the carnival. It would seem like the natural thing for Angela and he to be together, except that she has a tendency to date assholes and he seemed to be putting his dick wherever these days.
Patrick cut the engine and jumped out the car, running around the back to open Angela's door for her but as usual, Angela had already flung her door open and clumsily toppled out of the car. All the grace and balance of a three-legged giraffe that girl. She was too clumsy to work in any of the shows so she was usually scattered everywhere doing all sorts of errands and jobs. It bothered Patrick that she always opened her own doors, pulled out her own chair, took off her coat before he got the chance to do it for her.
He helped her to her feet and wrestled her book bag from her to carry and wrapped his arm around her small waist. She leaned into him with ease and fit so perfectly and comfortably into his side. They walked over to Jack and Danny who smiled as soon as he saw the pair of them.
Aaron smirked when he saw Angela and dropped his arm from Leonie, the redhead, to swagger over to them. He lazily slung his arm over Angela's shoulders and she cringed leaning further into Patrick's side. Aaron whispered something into Angela's ear before laughing and poking her in the ribs.
"Shut up!" Angela snapped, her cheeks going pink. Patrick stared blankly at his fiery one still holding her.
"Oh, no! Paddy doesn't know?" Aaron chuckled teasingly, while the rest of them exchanged confused looks. Clearly, he wasn't the only one that didn't know what was going on.
Angela's face was contorted with fury and embarrassment as she freed herself from Patrick's hold and stormed off in Pete's direction. Presumably to help him with the animals or the lights as she usually did.
"What's she done now?" Jack asked, but Aaron shrugs and walks off with Leonie. "Dick," Patrick thought as he held Danny back from walloping Aaron. Danny may be tall and quick but he was built like a beanpole and five years younger.
It was his lunchtime break by the time he got to see Angela again. Usually when she got a break she would come to watch his show, in his pin striped trilby hat pulling faces at the most inappropriate times when he was in the most serious parts of his performance. But he had done three shows and still no sign of her. He could spot her through the sea of people with ease. She was sitting cross-legged under a tree with a notebook in her lap. Patrick could tell she was composing as she had her eyes closed, lips parted slightly and her fingers were drifting over invisible keys. Her eyes would then pop open and she would scribble down the notes she had composed in her head. She looked sad, not positive like she did this morning when he picked her up.
He silently sat beside her and rested his hand on her knee. She jumped slightly. "Sorry," he apologised looking into her startled blue eyes. "What's wrong, troublemaker?"
"Nothing," she whispered. "I'm fine. It doesn't matter."
"Why can't you tell me? Of all people, we tell each other everything, Angel."
"It doesn't matter," she repeated softly closing her notebook and packing it away. "It has no bearing on our friendship so it doesn't matter."
"If you're keeping things from me, then of course it has an affect on our friendship," he argued putting his other hand on her back.
"Jesus, Patrick, just…I, I slept with Rory," she confessed in a strangled voice fiddling with a lock of hair being careful not to look at him. "I know you hate him and I didn't want you to be mad at me."
Patrick blinked once. Twice before a haze clouded his vision. HisEvangeline is no longer a virgin. That fuckhead took it from her. He couldn't comprehend it. Someone else touching her, having her that way. She told him she wouldn't ever sleep with a guy unless she loved him –they were somewhat different in that aspect of their lives.
She couldn't love this Rory guy. She couldn't. She's too good for him and he was three weeks new to the circuit. He hadn't been dating her for over a week and a half.
"You...you love this guy?" Patrick managed to get out, trying to keep his voice and holding in the pain so much so it felt like his ribs were going to crack.
She didn't look at him but merely nodded and fidgeted with the grass, ripping it out and tearing it into little strips. It was his worst nightmare confirmed. Sure, Patrick slept around usually with older and more experienced women but never had he ever felt any kind of emotion for them. They were using him as well after all and it got a certain someone out of his head for a while. None of them were Angela, but he'd keep trying. Maybe one day, one of them will turn out to be okay and he could get on with his life. He didn't want to love Angela Ruskin, but he did and right now he felt dizzy and nauseated like he had been punched in the chest and winded.
"Is that why you seemed happy this morning?" he managed to choke out as indifferent as possible staring at the ground through the haze clouding his eyes.
She hesitated for a second and glanced briefly at him through the curtain of her hair, then whispered: "Yes, Patrick."
Something still seemed wrong. She may be the only one he cannot read but she was a terrible liar she certainly didn't seem happy now. Maybe that son of a bitch hurt her. Patrick's hand tightened on her knee and his hand on her back tightened into a fist, clenching the fabric of her shirt. He closed his eyes, exhaling painfully and swore to god - "Patrick," his Angel's voice calming him. "Stop fuming. I'm fine. I know you're getting angry. He didn't hurt me, no more than can be helped, at least…..."
"You seem very upset," he commented trying to keep her talking. He needed her voice. Her calming, beautiful voice to keep talking and distract him so he didn't commit murder.
"I am. It's my personal business and Aaron fucked it up." She rarely swore.
"Why does he even know to begin with?"
"Just drop it, Jane," Angela's eyes were fiery and she shoved her book back into her bag and ran off to her next errand. She was in a habit of doing that today. He ran after her, calling her name but stopped when he ran smack into a short blonde and her things go flying. I bend down to help her pick them up when he realises its Leslie Wilcox aka: Thanksgiving-in-the-back-of-the-Jeep. She was twenty three, a chain smoker and one of the burlesque dancers in the show. And always throwing herself at Patrick or any passing younger man.
"Hey, Patrick," she purred and gives him an enthusiastic smile. Angela's was out of sight by now and Patrick decided not to bother. He was the one who should be mad – not her.
"Leslie," he nodded. "Sorry, I wasn't looking where I was going."
"Chasing little Angela Ruskin, again?" she sighed dramatically putting her hand on her hip. "I think she is in the girl's bathroom. I can get her if you'd like."
"No matter, she's throwing a tantrum," Patrick said going to turn away before Leslie grabbed his wrist.
"Well, you can't blame her, Patrick. She is a child still after all. Not like you or I," she was trying to seduce him. He looked at her styled blonde hair, her brown eyes and tanned skin. Nothing like Angela.
"Hey, want to come for a drive?" he asked and then gave her a charming smile. She accepted his invitation, just as he expected and before he knew it, he was back in his car and she was in his lap, attacking his mouth with her tongue. Normally, he would have said no to a second encounter with Leslie not only because he didn't like to get them too attached but due to her jealousy and malice toward Angela. Patrick never understood why until now, it seemed Leslie was more perceptive to his attraction to this girl more than he had been. But right now, he had to get Ruskin out of his head. Now more than ever.
So the plan was: fall out of love with Angela as soon as possible. He liked the sound of that. No more of this stupid shit. Besides, he was Patrick Jane. He didn't do relationships or love or any of that stupid, pointless stuff. Evangeline Ruskin was not screwing that up for him.
Leslie unbuttons his pants hurriedly and his mind wanders back to his best friend. He wondered if Rory had been gentle with her last night, kissed her softly and stroked her face. If he told her that he loved her every second of the night, told her she was beautiful and held her while she slept. He shuddered at the alternative which Leslie took as a shudder of pleasure. Maybe he coerced or forced her into it. Angela could never say no to someone. She might have scared, lying there not knowing what to do. Maybe she had been in pain and he left afterwards leaving her alone and frightened. His chest started to ache.
"Stop, stop!" Patrick said, gently pushing Leslie's mouth away from his groin.
"What the hell?" she said angrily her lipstick smeared around her lips.
"I'm sorry," he said. "I'm just not...with it."
She sighed and flopped back against the passenger seat and lit up a cigarette and putting it in her mouth. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. When she finished she pulled out a compact and fixed her face, got out of the car and made herself look presentable before walking off to her trailer to prepare for her show.
Patrick ran his fingers through his unruly blonde hair. What the hell was wrong with him? He punched the steering wheel twice before leaving the car. He had no shows of his own scheduled for the rest of the night so he headed to see if Jack was in the middle of a show. Instead he found Danny selling tickets and handing out tokens for the Big Wheel. Danny's face lit up when he saw Patrick. He idolised him.
"Hey Patrick!" he said energetically.
"Hey Danny," Patrick said swinging to sit on the rail. "Where's your sister?"
"Oh, Angie," he said smiling and rolling his eyes in an 'of course you want to know where she is' sort of way. "She went off with Rory. But she told me to give you this if I saw you."
The young boy handed Patrick a folded note. Patrick thanked him, ruffled his hair and walked off.
He unfolded it and saw Angela's usual lovely hand writing.
Patrick, I'm really sorry. Please meet me at eight o'clock so we can talk before dinner. Love A xx
He folded up the note and put it in his jacket pocket. Just remember the plan, Jane, he thought to himself: Fall out of love with Angela. Easier said than done.
Angela was already waiting at his car when he returned to it at eight o'clock and she was leaning against it. It was a warm evening and the sun is shining off of her dark hair and making her skin glow warmly. She's enjoying the warmth and looks more at ease then he'd seen her that day. Maybe her afternoon visit to her beloved Rory made her light up like that. Why couldn't he do that? He could charm any woman; they would become putty in his hands but the one the truly wanted was immune to his talents.
He walked over and she could hear his footsteps so she slowly opened her eyes and turned to face him, offering an apologetic look. She ran up and threw her arms around his neck. He automatically wrapped his arms around her waist but before he could bury his head into her hair or pull her tighter against him, she was out of his arms again and standing in front of him.
"I'm so sorry, Patrick," she said. "I was so horrible to you. You care for me so much and I treat you so badly. I'm so sorry."
"Hey, it's okay," he said brushing her cheek. "You're allowed to get upset and vent on me sometimes. It's what I'm here for."
She reached up to his face and his heart stopped at her touch. She touched the corner of his lip with her fingertip, wiping off the excess pink lipstick Leslie had left there.
He looked at her as she stared at her finger. Patrick searched her eyes for any sign of jealousy on her face. He was surprised to see she was thoughtful and then….hopeful? She smiled up at him. "Shall we go for a drive before dinner?"
"Of course, my dear," he said leading her to his car. He opened her door and took her hand to help her in.
"So you disappeared today," Angela prodded as they drove through windy hills and beautiful trees.
"Yep," he replied smugly. She stared out the window at the passing flashes of green. He loved to speed, she knew, but never when he had her in the car.
"Why do you do it?" she asked. Patrick turned to her and saw her blue eyes were so wide and curious. "I mean go and do whatever with whomever?" 'Whatever with whomever'. She was so polite and well mannered dancing around what he actually did with women.
"You've known me for how long and now you're questioning my morals?" he chuckled curiously. It wasn't very Angela to go around asking stuff like that. She would make jokes about him, called him somewhat of a manwhore, but never tried to get into his 'psyche' so to speak.
"I just want to know."
"I like sex," he answered simply.
"It's nothing more than that?"
"Nope," he answered confidently, popping the 'p'.
Angela sighed at his admission while fidgeting with her seat belt. He sighed as well. Like he'd really tell her he was trying to fuck away his love for her. "Why?" he asked.
"Just wondering," she said smoothing out her shorts.
"Ange," Patrick said taking a sharp corner and they were nearly back at the carnival. "What did you really want to tell me?"
Angela stared out the window and thought for a moment. "I didn't have sex with Rory."
"What?" he yelled nearly swerving the Jeep off the road before regaining control. "Why the hell would you lie about something like that?"
He stopped the car out the front of his trailer. He looked over to her and she had her lip tucked between her teeth again looking pained. "I'm sorry, Patrick," she murmured. "I just thought…I can't keep…" His usual chatterbox was lost for words. He took her hand and kissed it. "Hey, hey. It's okay, Angel," he whispered. "Come inside with me. Everything's okay."
His chest was swelling like a balloon. She didn't lose it to a dickhead like Rory. He knew that somewhere there was someone good and pure and honest who deserved Angela and could love her, not as much as he that was impossible. But enough to make her happy and give her a better life.
They walked to the door together and Alex Jane came stumbling out, looking slightly tipsy as usual. Patrick basically ran the show by himself now having no need for his father. The only problem was, he was nineteen and turning into a man and more than a boy wonder.
"Son," he said gruffly and then noticed Angela beside him. "Ah, Miss Ruskin."
"Hello, Mr Jane," she said politely. Patrick knew his dad only tolerated Angela's constant presence around his son because he knew she was the only reason he was still in this carnival circuit. That, and if Patrick got into the Ruskin family, their future in the carnival was concrete. He hated the way his father looked at Angela. It was the same look he gave naïve marks when he knew he could get a lot of money from them.
"You two coming?" he said walking away. Everyone ate dinner late together at least once a week when the carnival wrapped up for the night. An idea of Angela's father.
"Be there shortly," Patrick said entwining Angela's fingers with his own. "Just need to change my shirt."
They head up the steps to the tiny trailer he shared with his father. They barely manage to squeeze through into Patrick's small bedroom which had enough room for a window, his double bed (nearly touching both sides of the wall) and a dresser of clothes at the foot of his bed. The bedroom where the only females who had been in it were Angela and Sam if he ever needed some motherly advice. He liked to keep it sacred so he didn't bring any sexual partners back there. It would turn it into a place he loathed rather than loved and found solace in. It was his and Angela's place.
Angela plonked herself down in the middle of the bed and Patrick laid beside her, leaning on one elbow and staring at her.
"Why'd you lie about it?" he asked. "Sleeping with Rory. Not that I'm unhappy about that," he smiled.
"Aaron kept giving me crap," Angela admitted ashamed that she had let the taunts of some new annoying boy get the better of her.
"About being a virgin?" he said softly and she nodded.
Aaron was a real jackass and Patrick was sure what he said was nothing of consequence, just trying to stir Angela up. "So do you...I mean...want to have sex with Rory?"
"No. We broke up. I don't love him and I kept trying to make myself love him but I think….I don't think that's going to happen for me."
"Are you okay?" he asked propping himself up higher. Inside he was bursting with happiness. Because Angela didn't love Rory and she was perfect and she was here."Yes."
"Okay. Good," he smiled up at her making her smile too. God, she had the most beautiful smile. Shit, he thought to himself. Keep it together. He thought about their conversation in the car not ten minutes ago.
"Does your sudden interest in my sex life have anything to do with this, Angel?"
He expected her to giggle or make some witty remark but she turned the most lovely shade of crimson. "You could say that," she mumbled lying back and rolling over. He frowned. She was being awfully and annoyingly cryptic today. He took her hat off and rolled it off the bed before turning her over on her back.
"You're being very obscure today, Miss Ruskin," he said hovering his body over the top of hers. "I don't want to have to seduce the truth behind our erratic behaviour out of you but you're going to twist my arm."
She rolled her eyes again shoving him in the chest lightly so he chuckled.
"Oh come on, Angela! Just tell me what you want," he smiled eagerly. "What's going on?"
"Oh, it's so silly!" she sighed ridiculously. "I mean it's so silly and irresponsible, but then when I think about it more, it's so logical. I trust you more than anyone in the whole world; I don't think I could trust anyone else to. Oh, but then it might ruin things between us and you're my best friend and the best thing in my life. And if I ruined things what would I do?" her eyes widened in horror and she was more arguing with herself than explaining anything to Patrick.
"That makes no sense," he whinged bouncing her slightly.
"No forget it," she sighed. "It's too embarrassing. Let's just go meet the others…."
"Angel….when has anything been too embarrassing for us," he chuckled. "I rub your stomach when you have period pain. You iron my underwear!"
"You'll say no and then everything will be ruined," Angela cried out, trying to break free from his grip but he wasn't letting her go. Not when she got him this intrigued.
"When do I ever say no to you, Evangeline?" he countered softly staring into her eyes and taking her aback. Her cheeks were stained pink beautifully now.
"Patrick...I want you to be...I want to...I want my first time to be with you."
Is it awful? I'm sorry, I'm really not a storyteller but please let me know your thoughts and if you would like me to continue, I have a lot of ideas. Thankyou so much for taking the time to read.