Secrets Are Only Skin Deep

Chapter 5 - A Stroll in the Park

When Charolette woke, Patrick was no longer holding her. She sat up, panicking. "Patrick?" she said quietly.

No response.

She repeated, louder. Just before Charolette broke into a panic attack, Patrick rushed in the room with a glass of water.

"I'm here," he said, handing her the glass. "Uncle Clay called us in sick to school on his way to work. He said that if you're up to it, we can go to the park later... he mentioned you love the swings."

Charolette took a little sip. "Yeah, I do," her tiny voice barely hitting the sound barrier.

"Are you hungry? I'm making eggs and bacon for lunch!" Patrick smiled big.

"You can cook?" the girl said in feigned astonishment.

Patrick took her hand. "Of course. I am a man with class." He led her to the kitchen, where a table for two was set.

Charolette put her glass down by the plate before her as she sat. "Oh, it's so good looking!" she said as the eggs and bacon were slid from a pan to her plate.

Halfway through their meal, the phone rang - Clayton calling to check on them. That's when they realized it was nearly two in the afternoon. Patrick hurried and had soon finished his meal, showered, and dressed, Charolette soon after.

When Charolette came back downstairs from changing, she collapsed on the couch, holding her stomach, receiving a confused look from her male friend.

"So... full..." she said. "Can't... walk to... park..."

Patrick smirked. "Well, I could always drag you by your chestnut locks."

Jumping up quickly, she held her half-dry hair to her head. "I'll suck it up. Just next time don't make so much, okay?"

Patrick took her hand, smiling. "Not so many num-nums next time." And they left for the park, Charolette's key dangling from her precious neck.

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By the time they got to the park, it was 2:47 P.M; about ten minutes until everyone at their school would be released, and many would go to one of the three parks in town.

Charolette ran straight for the swings; Patrick followed, walking. He smiled, remembering the times at recess during elementary.

When Patrick had finally caught up, Charolette was already sitting on the seat and moving her feet to try and start the swing. He chuckled some and gave her a push. They laughed and both swang for a while, not noticing  when the kids from school started to arrive. They especially didn't notice the two pairs of feet approaching behind them as they had fun.

They did, however, notice when Patrick was being thrown off his swing and replaced with Aaron. "Hey, Char," he said, a hint of real concern in his voice. "How're you feeling? Mariana told me that your uncle called you in sick."

"He did," she replied, uninterested, as she started to get up to help Patrick up, "and you're making it worse."

Another boy came over, and he and the one that came with Aaron held Patrick up against the nearby tree. Aaron grabbed Charolette's wrist and pulled her onto his lap. "Stay with me, puppet. He's no-"

Charolette tore her wrist from his grip and stood. "I am not going to stay with you." She shoved Aaron from his swing. "I am not your puppet." He landed on his elbow hard, making a large crack noise. "And he is not nothing!" As Aaron howled in pain, Charolette went over to the other boys who had turned to grab her, and punched each of them in the face hard, making a crimson rain sprinkle her shirt, arm, and their faces. She helped Patrick, and they took off back to Clayton's house, the screams of pain growing quieter.

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Laying on the couch, Patrick could hear Charolette scrubbing vigorously, trying to keep her shirt from staining. He walked in with ice on his head. "Doesn't your Uncle Clay have that - woah! Could've warned me!" He walked back out of the room at the sight of Charolette in her bra, her skin still painted with blood.

"Oh, shut up," she said, smiling. "You know you don't mind." She checked her work on her shirt, then began scrubbing harder.

Patrick walked back in. "Okay, yeah, you're right." He held his ice with the other hand. "Doesn't Uncle Clay have that bleach stuff that's safe on colours?" he questioned as he leaned on the washer.

"No, and do you ever think he listens to me to buy some?" Charolette looked at her shirt again with a sigh. "Good enough." She threw it in the wash with some other clothes and turned it on. "I think I broke Aaron's elbow," she said to no one, then, before Patrick could respond, she added, "I need to get this blood off me. It makes me feel weird." And she left for the bathroom, leaving Patrick unsure of what to say or do but watch tv.

He'd hit his head hard, remembered from Health that there's a chance of concussion, so as much as he wanted to sleep, Patrick couldn't until his head got checked out. So there he sat, and began channel surfing.

"Hey," he yelled to the girl in the other room, "You called Clay, right?"

The rungs of the shower curtain scraped against the hanging bar. "He said he'd get here as fast as he could." The water turned on for a second, then back off. "If he gets here and I'm still showering, you don't have to wait for me."

The water resumed and Patrick's attention returned to the television, halted on a comedy talk show. He would chuckle at some jokes made by the people, make a frown of his thin lips to others. The ice that had been wraped in a hand towel started to melt and drip down his face.

He had just about fallen asleep when Clay's voice startled him. "Patrick? Where's Char?" His accent was covered in worry. "She needs her hand checked out, too."

Patrick sat up with a yawn and stretch. "Well, she was in the sho-"

"Here I am!" Charolette ran out in jeans and a green shirt, wet from her hair. "Just let me..." She pulled a small case from her pocket, then removed her contacts. She put on glasses from the drawer of the end table beside her, then her shoes.

Patrick walked to the door, behind Clay. "You have glasses?"

"Yeah, and my hand hurts like hell. Can we leave now?" Charolette ushered everyone out, the scent of blood still burning her nose.