Tomorrow's Sorrow (Peterick)

Part 14: Unholy

Pete's POV:

One could say I was having the most hellish week, and I had no idea as to why everything was just so sucky. The world had turned grey, and I became stuck inside this endless loop of the same drawn-out hours of pretending to enjoy the company of the irksome plain Jane's and average Joe's who happened by the diner. I was desensitized to it all, and I just didn't care anymore. Brendon had left the diner early once again to check on Sarah, and I didn't feel like sticking around for a few more hours, so I decided to close up before sunset. Whilst wiping down the counters I realized how I'd subconsciously transfixed all of my attention onto the jukebox and was now staring at it too intently.

The memory of Patrick and I grinding against each other was fresh and unbearable like an open wound. Who was I kidding trying to stay away from the one person who had made me feel more alive than I'd ever felt in years? It stung every time I had to remind myself that I couldn't see him. Perhaps the lack of him as a distraction contributed to the misery I was burdened with. What I would do to be able to kiss him just one more time, but I knew it to be unrealistic.

I had to use all my will to tear myself from him the night I gave him oral pleasure. It would be impossible to leave his presence if we kissed again. I knew I needed another distraction if I wanted to avoid being lynched, but it introduced a lot more risks, risks that I had to accept in order to forget the kid I'd become too infatuated with even if I was only forgetting for one night. When I arrived at Brendon's home I saw a figure circling the perimeter of it, and as I came near that figure become recognizable.
"Dallon, what're doing here?" I confronted him.

He didn't stay to chat. Instead, he took off running like a roach who had been caught when the lights were switched on. I went inside to see Sarah napping on the recliner undisturbed, but there was rustling coming from upstairs. I slowly made my way up the stairs and into the cloak of darkness that overtook the hallway. The sound was coming from their bedroom, so I let down my guard, and walked casually inside, thinking I'd just see Brendon.

How wrong I was. Patrick stood there, and out of genuine surprise I said not a single word. We were both silent for a good minute, but he spoke first.
"I..I wanted to know where you've  been," he said, inching ever so closer, "My-my dad grounded me and all, y'know. I couldn't reach out to you, but you haven't tried to talk to me either."

"So you sneak into Brendon's house and scare me half to death?"
"I guess so. Haven't you missed me at all?"
"You shouldn't be here," I warned.
"How come? I've been here plenty of other times. What makes right now different?"
"Patrick...just-just leave."

"Fine. I was going to anyhow. I've got to pick up my suit for prom."
"Prom?"
"Mhm. With Elisa. So excuse me. I'll be going and never coming back."

I reached out to him as he passed, and my heart was telling me to kiss him, to pour my guts out to him about my conflicting feelings, but I released my grasp soon thereafter, allowing him to go. Once I heard the echo of the door closing I wrote a quick note to Brendon and took his car keys. I knew where the best spots were in Chicago, so around the evening when I arrived I waited, the truck being a vessel of safety from being recognized. The first one who showed was questionable. He was dressed casually, nothing too flashy, a simple leather jacket, black t-shirt and skinny jeans, but he was shifting his weight from foot to foot and smoking a cigarette.

He was a newbie. I drove the car up beside him and rolled down the window.
"How much?" I asked.
"Ten for a handie, twenty for anything to do with a mouth, and sixty if you want more entrance," he recited as if he had practiced it inside his head on multiple occasions.
"I'll take the sixty," I told him.

He got into the truck, and we parked in an alley. The boy was nervous as hell.
"Am I your first customer?"
"No. Just the first to ask for more."
"Hm. What's your name?"
"Mikey...not a lot of people like to ask for my name."