Between the Lines 2

If Patricia refused to talk to him, Eddie guessed he would have to settle for watching. Watching Patricia was like reading an open book- he would know since he had written one himself. He could tell that she was hiding something. Possibly even many somethings. He desperately wanted to be baffled by the fact that she could prefer solitude over her close-knit, warm housemates, but it was probably a testament to his screwed up life that he completely understood her. People come and go, but you are stuck in your own body for life, literally. Eddie had thought that if everything ends, what's the point of starting in the first place?

Eddie sighed. It was lunchtime, and his goddamn father had insisted that he eat lunch with him at least once a week. At least it's Tuesday and maybe after he finishes his homework he can watch Patricia sing… He shook his head at his own mushiness.

"Hi, Dad," he said, stepping through the doorway into his office.

"Hello, Edison," Mr. Sweet chirped cheerfully. "How has school been?"

"Boring," Eddie stated blandly. He didn't want to have to try to have some sort of relationship with this man. His father had left before he had been able to pronounce Dada properly.

"Are you alright? You seem quite… upset."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"Okay," Mr. Sweet grasped at straws. "How was America? And your mother, Anna Miller?"

"Peterson," Eddie grumbled.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Anna Peterson. My mom remarried." Eddie reveled in the pain reflected in the older man's eyes. Why that was, when he didn't care about his father, he couldn't tell.

"Oh," Mr. Sweet deflated. "And how is her new husband?"

A douchebag.

"Why exactly am I here?" Eddie snapped instead. He didn't need any people trying to meddle with his life, especially when one in particular started the problem. "Do you even know how old I am? Do you know how long you've been gone?"

Mr. Sweet blinked rapidly. "Edison I-"

"Save it. I don't need this. If I survived the worst shit of my life for the past fifteen years without you, I will certainly be fine now."

Eddie stomped out the door, leaving his father behind to worry over how he could fix the damage he had caused years before.

Outside, Eddie lit up a joint. Yes, he had promised himself that he would stop… but he just didn't have the energy he needed to last the rest of the day without it. He didn't really need it. He could stop tomorrow if he felt like it. He just didn't feel like it. Taking a deep breath, he felt his lungs burn and tried to blow a smoke ring. It had been his stepfather who taught him how to roll his own cigarettes…

"What are you doing?"
"Jesus!" Eddie almost fell off the log. "Who're you?"

"Just me," Patricia said walking from behind a tree to sit next to him. He offered her a puff. She took the cigarette and threw it over her shoulder.

"Hey!"

"Don't be angry at me for preventing you from ruining your health!" Patricia snapped.

"Right" was all he could say. They sat in silence. Neither could be sure if the bell ending lunch had rung yet, but they could both be certain that neither cared. "I'll tell you my poison if you tell me yours," Eddie offered.

"Excuse me?"

"Tell me," Eddie spread his arms out wide, "what brings you out to this lovely stretch of woods."

"It's a log next to an oak tree," Patricia cocked an eyebrow. Eddie waved a hand.

"Use your imagination. I'll trade you, secret for secret," he dared her.

"And what would make you think that I would want to tell you anything?" Patricia challenged.

"Because we, believe it or not, are the same person." Eddie leaned forward, eyes scintillating. "So come on. No cheating."

"Fine," Patricia scoffed, picking at the bark on the log. "You go first then."

Eddie thought for a moment. "I came to England because my biological father wanted to meet me," he finally said when he decided on something that wasn't too revealing. "But I don't really want to meet him."

Patricia's green eyes suddenly met his. "Well you should," she said, "because at least that means he cares for you. Mine left." She tossed a pebble and watched it disappear in the woodchips. "Last summer, he left a daft note and never came back. Now my entire family, whatever is left of it, is in shambles."

"My dad left when I was two. He had to introduce himself to me when I met him this year," Eddie spat. Then he sighed. "My mom remarried some asshole named Adam. What about yours?"

"No," Patricia sighed as well. "We even kept his surname. We're all stupid; he's never coming back."

"We all?" Eddie questioned.

"I have a sister," Patricia mumbled absentmindedly.

"Oh. Only child."

"You're lucky, then," Patricia said. "No beautiful, talented, polite sibling to upstage you."

"I don't think that's true," Eddie said. Patricia turned away. Right. We don't talk about that, Eddie grumbled to himself. This conversation was exhausting, composed of half-truths and concealed thoughts.

"I'm going to give it to you straight, Patricia." She looked up, startled by the tone of his voice. "I'll tell you why I smoke if you tell me about those pills jangling around in your pocket."

She stood up. "They're keys."

"As if you owned a car!"

"To my house! To my secret diary! To my lockbox! To anywhere that is none of your business." She started to walk away, but this time Eddie wouldn't let her leave without a fight.

"Marijuana. Since I was fourteen. Because my stepfather showed me, my friends pressured me, and soon it was the only thing I could use to help me get through the next day."

"Why are you so obsessed with me?" Patricia demanded. Now they were both standing up, yelling at each other, weapons drawn. "Why do you keep trying to meddle with my life? You barely know me!"

"So let me get to know you," Eddie begged.

"Why?"

"Because I know what you're going through and I want to help you."

"You barely know me," she repeated, shaking her hair in the wind.

"You are an open book, a screaming radio, a huge painting begging to be seen," he shouted back. "You're frustrated that your friends can't help you and hurt that your father left. You keep things hidden because you're afraid that no one would understand when in reality no one understands because you won't explain!" he fingered her red hair. "You feel the need to change yourself to fit in instead of changing your surroundings to fit you." Eddie waved his hands. "This is only as good as you make it!"

"You are just as bad," Patricia accused him. "You come here for your dad but refuse to make things work. You want to find yourself but keep reverting to old habits. You insist on helping me yet you can barely heal yourself. In fact, you think these stupid cigarettes are helpful but instead they hurt you even more, and then you can never stop. You depend on them for your life and-" suddenly, Patricia clutched at her chest and fell to her knees.

"Patricia? Oh my god," Eddie rushed over to her. She was hyperventilating, wheezing, and shaking. "What do I do?" He pulled out his phone to dial nine-one-one but only received a dial tone. "Damn it, how do I call an ambulance?"

Patricia shook her head vigorously and rifled through her pockets. Giving up, she gripped at Eddie's shoulders. She was terrified. Never had she had a panic attack this bad; her throat was constricting, her vision was sparking, and she couldn't tell if Eddie was swaying or not. Eddie was forced to watch as she fell through consciousness, in and out of memories.

"Stay with me," he urged her. "Breathe with me, come on." Her eyes slid back and forth, her hands gripping herself tighter against him. He tried to support her body while he went through her pockets, hopefully finding what she had been looking for. "No, no, look at me," he told her as her eyes slid out of focus. Breathe with me, slooooowly." All she could manage was a strangled hiccup. He could feel his own heart shattering out of his chest, sweat making his palms clammy, as he tried to keep himself calm enough to help her. Finally he found the little orange pill bottle. "How many?"

Patricia held up two fingers. He slipped them in to her mouth and held her as she managed to calm down and started to cry.

"Are we going to talk about what happened today?" Eddie asked as Patricia walked into her bedroom.

"Jesus, Eddie!" she startled. She had just taken a shower. Classes had ended and she was preparing to go into town for therapy and to work at the café. "No." She grabbed mascara.

"Could you at least explain to me what happened?" At her lack of response, he shoved his hands through his hair and said, "You had me worried."

Patricia blew air through her lips and pivoted to face him, mascara wand brandished like a sword. "I had a panic attack," she ground out robotically. "I'm fine." Eddie had never seen Patricia without her heavy makeup, but in contrast with her dark armor of the day, her clean face looked better without it. Fresher. Younger. She spun back around.

"You don't have to put all that gunk on, ya know."

"And what if I like to?" Eddie put his hands up in mock surrender, knowing she could see him in the reflection in the mirror.

"You look stunning either way."

Patricia rounded on him. "I don't know who you are or why you're here or what your goal is, and I don't like it."

"I'm just trying to be nice!" He sat up from where he had been lounging on Patricia's bed. "When was the last time you didn't freak out because someone was being kind?" He sighed. "Just tell me what happened today."

"It was just something I said that made me wig out. Not important." She sagged against the bed next to him.

"Something you said?" He thought back. What exactly had she said just then? "You freaked yourself out?"

"I guess," she shrugged.

"What exactly was it?" he insisted.

"Nothing I want to remember now. But," she said at his pleading glance, "It was definitely the most terrifying panic attack I've ever had."

"You've had more?" Eddie frowned.

"They started when my dad left, but usually I could handle them on my own. Today, though… I think I would have died if you handed been there." Edde gripped Patricia's shoulders reassuringly.

"You are very much alive, Patricia. Now keep living." Patricia leaned into his embrace.

"You too," she said, reaching into his pocket. "You should get rid of these. They rot you out from the inside." She held up a cigarette. They hurt you more than they help you.

"They hurt me more than they help me," he repeated.

Patricia ruffled his hair before standing up to leave. "Stop hurting yourself."

Woo hoo, an update! Thank you to those five reviewers for encouraging me to write!
Expect updates, usually about every two weeks.
If you haven't caught on yet, this story is about people who have problems but never really tell anyone. Rather, they hint at them and sometimes hope that others catch on and understand. Sometimes, they themselves might be in denial.
So, dear reader, as we travel this road together, I challenge you to try to figure out what is going on not only to Eddie and Patricia (I've made their histories vague on purpose), but to other people around you in real life.

Much love and thanks for reading,
Liss