Chapter 5

Walking toward the flashing lights of Isis House, Patricia couldn't help but feel a little giddy. That was new. She had never had much interest for boys in the past and had always assumed no one would be interested in a wreck like her. But when she walked arm-in-arm with this, admittedly very attractive, American, she couldn't help but feel different. She saw the way his eyes widened as she walked down the stairs. She kept replaying in her head the way he stuttered. As her boots crunched through the premature frost and his grip tightened when she stumbled on a rock, she couldn't help but think one word: maybe.

"There's just one problem," Patricia said, breath fogging up the air.

"And what would that be?" Eddie questioned playfully.

"I don't dance," she said flatly.

"We'll get you to dance," he smiled as he twirled her through the door.

The group arrived a little late, so the party was in full swing. Everyone on the dance floor was doing some sort of dance in sync, and tables to the left offered drinks to the crowd.

"Come on, Yacker, you've got to know this song. Plus, it practically tells you what to do – dancing could never get easier!" Before she had time to figure out if she actually did not the song or not, Eddie had already dragged her to the dance floor.

"To the left, to the left, to the- come on, Yacker!" Eddie sang. She stepped on his foot. "No, your other left! Okay, now we're walking by ourselves. Pivot, pivot!"

Despite what she had said earlier about not dancing, Patricia couldn't help but laugh, "You are the biggest doofus I have ever met." Now they were facing each other.

"Oh, my god, Patricia, you were supposed to swivel to the left! Now, you're doing everything backwards."

In a rare rush of adrenaline, Patricia wrapped her arms around Eddie's neck. She leaned close and whispered, "I don't care." Eddie swallowed and imitated a fish. Leaning even closer, she teased, "Now, go get me a drink." The look on Eddie's face was incredible. Maybe dancing wasn't so bad after all.

While Eddie went to get them drinks, Patricia wandered outside to the patio for some fresh air. He could text her if he couldn't find her. Presently, a few boys in her year swaggered up to break her peace.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't little Pattycakes," one drawled.

"Go away, John," Patricia grumbled in response.

"What's going on with you and the new American, Pattycakes?" another named Ryan asked.

"Absolutely none of your business, bonehead. Now leave," she barked.

"I personally thought she had the hots for Sweetie's bastard child," Paul remarked.

"You leave him out of it!"

"But everyone knows that no one would ever step out with poor little Pattycakes," he continued. Patricia looked past the boys and at the trees, trying to focus on how her foggy breath made her feel like a dragon.

"Yeah, mate. She's so stupid," John started.

"Ugly."

"Aggressive."

"Ungraceful."

"Suicidal."

"So crazy that she's on medication…" Paul quirked an eyebrow. Her back was against the wall, the boys were surrounding her. She lost her composure.

"Who the hell told you that?"

"Pattycakes, who else would know?" John asked exasperatedly.

"Was it Eddie?"

"Obviously. Americans can never keep their mouths shut." Ryan smiled dangerously. In her panic, Patricia didn't notice John and Paul whisper to themselves, "So the rumors were true!"

"You do know that he is one giant player, don't you?"

"Please, Paul. And you're not?" Who else knows? Who else did Eddie tell? Why did I ever trust someone I knew for a few months?

"Well, no. But at least I don't pretend to like a chav like you." Paul licked his lips. "As soon as you fall for him, he'll have you up against a wall," pinning her wrists above her head with one hand, he said. "And he'll have his way with you," he whispered.

"Stop! Get off of me!"

Pinning his hips against hers, he whispered in her ear, "You do know what you mean to him, right, Pattycakes?" She could feel his breath against her neck. Disgusting. "You're an enigma. A puzzle. Forget your pretty green eyes or your nonexistent cleavage," he hissed. Patricia's eyes watered and Paul's friends whistled as his free hand wandered. "As soon as he's cracked you, it'll be like you'd never even met."

I don't want this. I don't like this. Get off, get off, get off, GET OFF!

All of a sudden, Patricia bit down, hard, on the cartilage of Paul's ear, causing him to howl and free her hands. Closing her fingers into a point, she struck his eye three times with her nails. Never had she felt so thankful that she had forgotten to clip them. Using the wall for leverage, she slammed her feet into his abdomen, forcing him stumbling back all the while screaming bloody murder. The other two boys stared at her in horror.

"We try to have a little fun, and this is how you treat us?" Ryan sneered.

"We tell you the truth about your little lover boy, and you fight us like your abusive daddy?" John chimed in.

"What a prude. Let's get outta here, mates," Paul muttered after finally regaining his breath. For once they had perfect timing – Patricia was starting to glow a malicious shade of crimson. Gritting her teeth, she let them go before she decided to start a bigger fight.

She could not believe what they had told her. We try to have a little fun. Like she was required to partake in their little games. Nooooooo, thank you very much. It's called consensual sex for a reason. Not that she was very experienced in that particular area, but didn't anyone teach those misogynistic little brats better? Obviously not, since they were misogynistic little brats. She could report them. She should report them. Her face paled and she sank to the ground, back against the bricks, as she finally processed what had just happened. She tried to breathe in the pine forest in the backyard, focus on the beat pulsing from inside, stare at the grains in the wooden patio. Nothing could stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks.

Sexual assault. Sexual assault. Sexual assault. Assault. Assault. Assault. She was now a statistic. Her body felt tainted, tattooed by touch. Tarnished. She squeezed her head between her hands as she tried to forget how helpless she had felt while those three assholes took liberties with her own body. Chav, they had called her. So she liked dramatic eye makeup and dark tights. So what? Her skirts sufficiently covered her bum. She never did anything to lead anyone on – not a single finger out of line. Not even a suggestive blink. She'd never even kissed anybody.

Patricia shook her head vigorously. Did it even matter what anyone wore? She didn't care anymore. There was no way she could ever imagine reporting those three boys, regardless of the magnitude of their crimes. They could get suspended. They should get expelled. Sweetie was the staunchest believer in mutual respect among all students and teachers, but how could she describe to him where Paul had touched her? The vulgar promises all three of them had whispered to her, even before today? How could she repeat and relive the atrocities she had been through? Shame, embarrassment, and fear burned through her body.

"Patricia, wha-" A hand landed on her shoulder.

"Don't touch me!" she screeched, slamming her elbow against the intruding hand and into the brick wall. It was too much. She couldn't go through this again.

"Jesus, what happened to you?" The voice was getting closer and there was nowhere to run. She was cornered by the brick wall of the house and the wooden railing of the patio. She couldn't see. She couldn't hear. She couldn't breathe. Her vision was distorting, turning shiny and blackness scintillating across the horizon. "Fuck, where are they?" Unwelcome hands were patting down her body. She tried to push them away, but they were too strong. Unrelentless.

Suddenly, a plastic tube was shoved unceremoniously into her mouth. A puff of bitter air invaded her airways. "Breathe, Yacker," the voice begged. It was soothing. "You'll be okay, just breathe."

And she did. And everything suddenly became easier. She was rewarded by another puff of her inhaler before it was pulled from her lips. Everything felt hazy – had she been dreaming? Was this real? Two kind brown eyes looked at her.

"Holy shit, Yacker. You almost gave me a heart attack. What happened?" It was edit. Oh, no. She could not deal with this right now. She had barely had enough time to process anything that had happened to her, let alone the lies – hopefully – that she had heard about him.

"I really can't do this with you right now," she mumbled. She realized now that Eddie must have been patting her pockets, not feeling her up, for her emergency medication. His hands hadn't been too strong to push away; she had simply been too weak in the midst of her panic attack.

"What? What did I do?" When she looked up, she expected to see rage flashing through his eyes, but was instead confronted by the hurt swimming through them.

"It's not you – well, it is you – I just… Not now, okay?" she snapped in desperation.

"Can I at least take you home?" he murmured. Reaching for her hand, he noticed bleeding scrapes on the backs of her wrists. "What the hell?"

Patricia's body recoiled away from his. "Leave me the hell alone!"

"I'm just trying to help you!" he screamed exasperatedly. "Did you do this to yourself?"
"Of course not! I wouldn't…" She didn't finish her sentence because it wouldn't have been true. She slumped down. "Take me home."

Carefully gathering her into his arms, Eddie guided Patricia back to Anubis House. They didn't go back for their jackets – for whatever reason, Yacker didn't want to go through the dance floor. He was freezing in his thin t-shirt, but then again so was Yacker. Which only made her snuggle closer into his chest. Yeah. He could deal with that.

What he couldn't deal with, though, was her sniffling and the occasion errant tear. What kind of awful thing could have happened that would have made his tough girl break down like that? He grimaces as his subconscious wryly brings up a certain conversation in a certain forest. He frowned. Why was it always him causing all the problems? He swore he was only trying to help. Eddie saw too much of himself in Patricia: they were both angry, hurt, withdrawn. He only wanted to save her from the heart-wrenching path she was currently plundering into. He had been there, and it had taken much too long climb his way out. And he wanted to kiss her with his hands at the curve of her tiny waist. But that would have to wait for now.

He was walking on eggshells trying to make things right between them. He had screwed up more than enough relationships – if you could call them that. He really couldn't lie: he had been a total asshole. He was trying his best to change – he hadn't touched a drink in months but the cigarettes were proving to be easier said than done. The stress of dealing with his dad, worrying about his mom, and now figuring out what the fuck was going on with Patricia was really eating at him. At least he was doing better in school: he was finally catching up instead of trying to impress his friends with how little he cared about his education. He wished he had tried harder in the past – maybe then he would be in a higher math class or the words would flow easier on an essay. Maybe then cigarettes wouldn't be his primary solace.

He wished Patricia would let him in. Take a leap of faith and trust that he only wanted to help her. Realize that he had never thought of anyone else in the same way he thought of her. His heart shattered when he caught her looking at him not with the familiar look of wariness or even the expected glare of hate or anger, but with fear. His sassy angel was scared.

"What happened?"

"Please," she whispered as she stepped through the door. "Just stay away from me."

Heeeeeeey...
Thoughts?