To Hate is to Love

•9• Why can you read me like no one else?

[Patrick]

His heart? Why would he want to make it stop, what reason would there be for anyone to want that? "Pete, what-"

"Oh no you don't." Pete says, cutting my sentence short and sitting up, his elbows digging into the couch cushion beneath him. "This is the part where you stop asking questions and let me go back to sleep."

I highly doubt that Pete is going to be sleeping anymore tonight. But I'm not letting Pete off that easily. "If you really think you're going to fall asleep after this, then you're a liar."

Pete's brow furrows. "So, what, you think you know me now? Is that it?"

"No. It's all a matter of me knowing when you're lying."

"You don't know shit!"

And here it goes again. I can already tell that another fight is brewing if I continue to argue with him. My common sense should tell me to stop right here but being the person that I am, I gotta have the last word. I don't have to know what Pete's insides look like in order to figure out how he works, how he ticks. It's all on the surface. It's like the words 'liar', 'hothead', 'insomniac', 'afraid', 'needy', 'doubtful', 'jealous,' and so many more are scribbled across the surface of his skin in permanent marker. You don't have to be a genius to learn how to read. And reading Pete is easy.

There's something hidden in him that's showing he's fearful of something. I could see it in his eyes that night we met and in his body when I saw him in my rearview mirror. I just need to find out what. "What are you so afraid of?"

Pete's eyebrows shoot up. "Excuse me?"

"What are you so afraid of?" I repeat slowly add if he's hard of hearing. "Everyone's afraid of something. I know you're not fearless."

He doesn't answer right away, he looks as if he might give me some kind of response. More along the lines of a lie but a response nonetheless. But instead he says, "Shutup, Patrick. You don't know what you're talking about." He says quietly, defeated.

"Pete-"

"Nope." Pete shakes his head. "Don't wanna hear it."

"Listen-"

"No, Patrick. Shut the hell up."

"Dammit, pete-"

"Oh for fuck's sake.." Then he snatches me up by my shirt and yanks me down toward him, crashing his lips into mine.

[Pete]

I just needed him to shut the fuck up for, like, two seconds and he wouldn't even do that. The more he talked and tried to ask questions, the more I'd have to think. Think of ways to evade his questions and think of different lies just to get him off my back, so my brain wouldn't have to scramble for anymore information. I don't want to lie but he's making it really difficult, asking me all this personal shit. I just want to shut my mind off for a while.

But, man, I could never forgot how soft his lips are or how his mouth tastes or how his tongue feels. It feels right for his lips to be touching mine, like they belong there and were never meant to be separated. Like my whole life I've been waiting to feel this, the spark that ignites between us when we touch, but I know I won't be able to keep it.

I break the kiss and look at him to try and read his reaction, but his expression resembled mine; emotionless. Cold like a fucking glacier. I think I may have fucked everything up. Again. "You should shut the fuck up next time." I say, and I'm surprised that I was able to keep my voice even.

"If I don't, will you kiss me again?" He smirks at me and, shit, that goddamn mouth of his.

I wasn't expecting him to say anything like that. I smirk back at him. "All you had to do was ask." Then I pull him back down toward me, attaching my mouth to his. And for the rest of the night all I can think about is Patrick and his fucking lips and the stupid questions that slip past them. But I don't care about the words, I care about the sounds. I want to hear every last one.

I'm dying to hear him moan my name.