Chapter
I know I told Patrick I would text him later, but after everything was said and done I couldn't bring myself to do so, which means the next time I see him is when I arrive at school the next morning. I open my car door to find him leaning against the back of my car looking about as happy as he did the previous day when he was climbing out of my window.
"I didn't get a text last night."
"I know," I reply curtly, "It was an eventful night so I shut my phone off and went to bed."
"In other words, you're freezing me out."
"Don't put words in my mouth."
"Well, you're making it pretty easy to do so while you're not saying anything," he snaps, "Did you hang out with your friend all night or something?" He asks accusingly. I shove past him, hoping that my shoulder brief hits him in the crotch as I do, because that comment warrants it.
I keep walking, and he follows, "Yes, you caught me," I begin without glancing back. "We sat in my room all night and poked pins in a voodoo doll with strands of your hair glued to it. Oh, and then we sat around and laughed about how you think you're badass because you wear a leather jacket and drive a motorcycle."
"And I spent the entire night laughing at how naïve you are for forgiving that jackass and not letting me beat the shit out of him for you."
I stop and turn to face him now that the issue has been brought to the surface. "I didn't stop you because I had forgiven him. I stopped you because I didn't want you to get involved." I realize after I say it what a slap in the face it is. He's so dedicated to me that he was willing to beat Evan up for wronging me before we'd even met. I take a deep breath and try to regain calmness. "It isn't that I don't appreciate your willingness to cause bodily harm to someone that hurts me; I just think it would have been more trouble than necessary."
"It wouldn't have been any trouble at all," he replies slyly, cocking his head to the side and smiling as if he thinks it's cute that I would think otherwise.
I scoff at how poorly he's thought this out. "Yeah, until he called the police."
"That wasn't going to happen."
"Oh, right. Because by the time you were done with him he wouldn't have fully functioning limbs to call the police with."
He smiles and nods, obviously impressed, "Now you're getting it."
"No, no I am not. You had no right to do what you did, regardless of how good your intentions were toward me."
He throws his hands up in defeat, "Point made. Beating people up is a no-no."
"I can beat people up myself anyway. You said it yourself once before," I say proudly. I start to turn around, but Patrick grips my arm, stopping me. He brings me closer to him and kisses me.
"That's what I like about you."
I gaze into his chocolate brown eyes as he examines my expression intently. "And what I like about you is that you like that about me."
He nods. "Is he gone…for good?"
"I'm pretty sure you made certain of that," I say. He smiles proudly, slides his arm around my waist and guides me toward the school.
I can't lie and say that I don't almost have a heart attack when I see Patrick sitting at my desk as I walk out of my bathroom freshly showered. I can't blame him for not wanting to wait outside, though, because it has gotten chilly.
"What are you doing here?" I snap accidentally. My snapping doesn't faze him--not tonight or any other time I do it. He greets me with a smile.
"I have a surprise for you."
"Another one?" I ask dryly, my heart is still beating from the surprise of seeing him in my room uninvited. He stands up and walks closer to me. Swiping my hair from my face he kisses me gently. When we pull away, I'm not given a chance to react to the kiss. Instead of waiting for my response like he usually does, he pulls two slips of paper from the back pocket of his jeans and holds them in front of my face. It takes a moment for me to realize what they are.
"Oh my gosh!" I laugh excitedly as I take them from him. I'd mentioned a few weeks earlier that I wanted to see Filthy Souls in concert again since I wasn't able to see more than one song at the club. Now, thanks to Patrick, I'm holding the tickets in my hands. I hug him, catching him off guard and knocking him off balance a bit, "Thank you so much!" I pull away and excitedly look at the tickets again.
Patrick moves toward me and wraps his hand around my waist. "So here is what I have planned: we'll head out early afternoon, go get some dinner, book a hotel room, go to the concert and then crash--"
"Whoa, wait a second," I say, my smile fading. He looks at me questioningly, "We're going to stay the night? In a hotel…together?"
"Unless you want to drive two hours home at one in the morning while I sleep, yes, that's the plan."
"My dad isn't going to let that happen."
He sighs and points to the tickets in my hands, "What date is listed on there?"
I glance down, "December fourth," I say, unable to see how this matters. With his hand still wrapped around my waist, he moves me over to the calendar that hangs on my bulletin board. Lifting the month of November up, he reveals the 31 days that make up December and points to the first one, which is decorated crazily in purple marker with circles and a sloppily drawn birthday hat. He slides his finger three days over and then looks at me. I stare blankly at him because in my excitement I'm still not grasping what he is trying to explain to me.
Seeing this, he explains. "By December fourth you'll have been eighteen for four days," he says, "Your dad doesn't have to approve of this."
He's right. Technically I could do whatever I want come my birthday, whether that be buying a lottery ticket or getting a tattoo of Tweety Bird, but for some reason that seems so wrong. It seems wrong to rub my age in my dad's face by spending the night in a hotel with a boy that he hasn't approved of from the beginning, "Patrick, I can't."
He lets out a sigh of frustration. "Don't you ever just want to do something to please yourself? Something you'll enjoy regardless of what anyone else says or wants?" he asks coolly.
"I--" I begin to defend myself but stop when he holds up a hand that informs me of his lack of interest in what I have to say.
He leans closer to me, "All you ever talk about is doing your own thing regardless of what other people expect of you, but you're not really doing that. Your dad controls your entire life and you don't even see it."
"That is not true!" I argue vehemently, trying to think of any other situation that could have given him the idea that what he says is a fact.
"Then agree to make this concert an overnight experience," he challenges. I don't like the way he is testing me, and I am tempted to hand the tickets back to him and refuse to accept them. Before I can, though, he turns around and starts walking toward the window. He glances back before climbing out.
"Sleep on it," he mumbles. And although I roll my eyes like I'm not going to think about anything other than REM sleep tonight, I do think about it.
In fact, I think about it too much. Maybe he's right. Maybe in my quest to not do what everyone else wants just to make them happy I actually have really been doing just that. But not for everyone, just for my dad. If not for him, maybe Patrick and I would have been together sooner. Maybe I would have been more apt to show what I actually felt for Patrick if I hadn't thought it would disappoint my dad so much. Perhaps everything would have been easier if I had truly been trying to please myself instead of inadvertently trying to deny what I wanted in order to keep him happy.
A scary thought enters my head; maybe I should be more like Bianca. Not in the wanting everyone to adore me for shallow reasons way, but in the having more interest in making myself happy than caring about what all the negative people say kind of way. Bianca has been putting up with my insults about her shallow ways for years without giving in and giving them up. Even my dad has thrown some unenthusiastic comments about the subject her way a few times. Yet, through it all she has managed to keep her mind set steadily on what she wants.
I've never known what I wanted when it came to Patrick like Bianca does with her popularity. Granted, they are slightly different in obvious ways since one is a person and the other is just an idea, but I still feel as if it means something. Sometimes I want Patrick to disappear and other times I want to be with him. Sometimes I don't care if my dad hates him and other times it worries me. My mind has never been set on having Patrick like Bianca's is on becoming popular. I guess she has one-up on me when it comes to achieving things that she wants purely for her own personal life, for her enjoyment and no one else's.
I've never questioned who I am and what I want more than I have since Patrick has been in my life.
