Disclaimer: I don't own House of Anubis.
It hits her the hardest.
Then again, she was the closest to him out of the group. Sure, they were all his students, but at some point, she had considered something more. A friend, maybe? He had been her confidante before he turned on them all faster than she could say his name.
Jason Winkler.
The whole room is dead silent before everyone breaks out into hysterics, Mara and Fabian looking quite apologetic, Alfie and Jerome looking distraught. Even Joy looks upset, and she's never known the man. But the real commotion comes from Eddie and KT and Willow, all pitching urgent questions of who's Jason?
Because of course, they don't know.
But nobody answers them, because slowly but surely, every head turns to her, and she's frozen. In fear? In shock? It doesn't really matter because the only word running through her mind is that he's dead.
"Patricia," Mara offers her a sympathetic look just as Jason had years ago. Her head turns to the couch and she can practically see them there- a young Patricia in a black and white checked shirt and a worried Jason, decked out in his suit.
I'm worried about you.
Join the club, I'm worried about me too.
And then slowly, her chair scrapes back, a sharp, earsplitting sound in an otherwise quiet room. And she walks blindly, feet leading her to the foyer, where she looks up again, seeing him walk down the stairs.
What did he say to you? Mr. Winkler? JASON?
And though she's not in that classroom physically, she is mentally.
What's in the bag, Patricia? Not smuggling contraband, are we?
Girl stuff. That girls use. I can be really girly at times.
She had trusted him; he was the only one who took her seriously, who had been there for her. Who had helped her when she needed it, told her it would be okay and not just so she would shut up about it.
She doesn't even notice the tears leaking from her eyes until Eddie comes and wipes them away, asking frantic questions.
"Who is this guy?" he asks softly. "No one's telling me."
But she just shakes her head. The times she had with Jason are not ones she wants to share with Eddie. They're special and precious like some whispered secret, and nothing's a secret if you tell someone else.
So she just stands there in the foyer, surrounded by memories.
Because he had believed her.
But when he had come back to tell her about his degenerative disease during the dance, she didn't believe him, she didn't return the favor because there had been that whiny pessimistic voice in the back of her head telling her not to trust him again.
And she can almost picture him in front of her, in front of a vulnerable girl with hair full of colorful streaks and a mind full of conspiracy theories.
I believe you.
