After Patrick puts you in a difficult position; you're spun into a world of fear and chaos.
Intended for readers 18+ ONLY
⚠️ MATURE CONTENT⚠️
- strong language
- sexual themes
- violence
All main characters in this story are over the age of 17+
*D...
Out of everything, your favorite thing about summer. Was sleeping in. Once your parents left early for work, the house was yours. To sleep the day away. You rolled over in your bed, wrapping the sheets around you as you lay there. In complete and utter bliss. That was until the loud, obnoxious sound of your front doorbell rang. You ignored it. Hoping to be left alone. If it was the mailman, he could leave the shit at the front door, or come back later. But you weren't so lucky.
The bell rang again. And again, and again, and again. Dear God, who was pressing it that many times!? You looked up at the boxy electric clock on your bedside table as the sound continued. Now mixed with banging and shouting. 3:50PM. Who the hell? You sluggishly got out of bed, rubbing your eyes and holding your head in your hands. The awful, horrific sound raging through your house and your head.
"Alright! Alright! Shut up!" You shouted as you stumbled through the halls. You leaned against the front before unlocking the few different locks and tossing the door open. The light hurt, it blurred everything. Painting an alien silhouette in front of you. You squinted to get a better look. Your mascara you forgot to remove bled just below your eyes. Giving you an even more unkempt look. But who cares? Not you. You didn't have the best reputation in Derry, why try to build one up now?
"Christ Y/N. It's 4 in the afternoon. Did I really have to wake you up?" A voice chuckled.
Patrick stood at your doorstep. Hands in his pockets, standing with his crotch leaning out first as he usually did. You note the shirt he's wearing. Mostly because it's your favorite shirt. It's plain, and old, and stained with god-knows-what. But the slightly fading face of a crazed Tom and Jerry character is still clearly visible. This shirt showcases Patrick, almost perfectly. But if Patrick is like Tom, who is his Jerry? You look up at him, your eyes stinging with sleep. Your face was still red and puffy. You scrunched up your face to make a disgusted expression.
"The hell are you doing here, Hockstetter? And where are the guys?" You questioned.
What reason would that asshole have for showing up unannounced? Without your boyfriend, his friend no less.
"Eh. They're around." He shrugged off the question. His gaze fell down to your body. A large shirt draped over your body. Hiding almost everything other than the short shorts that attempted to cover up your nether regions.
"Y'know a girl like you, shouldn't be answering the door like that." He snickers.
"What do you want?" You groan. He shrugs, and he gets this look in his eyes. This predatory, determined gaze that pierces you. He licks his lips and looks you up and down again.
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"I want-" SLAM!
You lock the closed door. Your eyelids still heavy, you're having none of Patrick's crap today. The hell was he thinking? Coming to your house thinking he could get some? You're not some whore. And you weren't gonna let him make you as such. Henry may not have been the best boyfriend in the world. But Patrick would be no better. And one thing you were not, was a cheater.
