𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙁𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙚𝙧'𝙨 𝙂𝙞𝙧𝙡

Ch.25 - The Gambler

Do you want to go out with me?

One sentence.

Do you want to go out with me?

Eight words.

Hot sink water streams over my hands as I absently wash the filth off of a porcelain plate. That's hardly the source of my attention, though. My gaze is rested on the kitchen window. There's nothing particularly interesting outside, and I can't seem to keep my mind from wandering. I am still blown away by the death warrant Dean and I willingly signed together less than an hour ago. His earlier words continue to chase each other's back ends around in my head.

Eight freaking words. Individually, each word was fine and the statement itself wasn't even true. Just something to ease my conscience. But, actually hearing it.

Patience Phillips, do you want to go out with me?

Here I am. A seventeen year old girl standing in the middle of a horribly tacky kitchen looking like she's gotten brain damage from the verbal drop-kick some hotshot street fighter has given her. I can't even say the awkward car ride home was much of a help either. Of course, Faye was observing the whole thing while in the silent confines of her car. I didn't even receive the chance to fully open the passenger side door before she began firing question after question at me. It took some creativity but a vague overlay of the details -which I hoped would seem less dishonest- was enough to satisfy her curiosity. Things got especially hairy when I finally came out and said that Dean asked me out, and that we were planning to do something Saturday.

Technically, it's not a lie...thanks to Dean, and my fear of lying. He did ask me out, and we do have plans Saturday. If those plans just so happen to be us punching each other in a grimy old gym, so be it.

A faint smile touches my features as I remember my best friend's bewilderment. She actually didn't believe me at first. Her eyes had initially observed me with suspicion, however when it finally sunk in that I was serious, those same eyes widened to the size of golf balls and her car nearly jerked to a stop in the middle of the road.

Another reason for the impending heart attack I'm sure to have before the day ends...

A mass warmth suddenly pools into my lower abdomen. Looking down, I hiss while jumping away. I silently scold myself as I realize I was so lost in thought that I let the sink overflow. I quickly turn off the faucet and plunge my hand into the bottom of the small inundated tub to pull out it's plug.

Way to be attentive, Patience...

Grabbing a discarded dish towel, I swab away any excess water on the counter, floor, and myself. Then return to scrubbing some hardened corn off another plate. I power through the rest of the dishes and retreat to my bedroom for a quick change, minutes later, I'm back downstairs enjoying the soft worn cushions of the living room sofa.

I take a single glance at the clock on a living room wall and assure myself that I still have ample time before my uncle comes home. I snuggle deep into the cushions and turn on the TV.

Sitting on this sofa -which is often considered to be Jack's sofa- feels foreign to me. Television has never been a recreation I've enjoyed for long. When my sister and I were younger, Joy was a severe television junkie. She would spend her summers sitting in front of our old set for hours on end, watching every thing from morning cartoons to late night talk shows. It was a bit strange for a little girl her age at the time, but she had been incredibly shy towards others and the TV seemed to be her escape from the problems in our family. With me being the only other person in the house while mom and dad were off at work, she would ask me to keep her company. If I refused, she would come out with a set of flooded puppy dog eyes and guilt me into submission. Long story short, I spent countless hours of my younger summers glued to a couch with a six year old clutching tightly onto my arm.