The Will of Love and Life (Peterick)

Chapter Ten

Twenty-one years earlier

August 30, 1995

Patrick was a master of forgetting. He didn't like to remember, especially since anything he could recall was awful. He repressed so much that it was a miracle one day managed to stay in full. It was, from his memory, the happiest day of his life, which said a lot considering how sour it was.

It was the first day of school, second grade, to be exact, 1995. Patrick's dad would be going away for two weeks on a business trip, and Patrick couldn't stand it. The idea of his father dropping him off at school and not being there when he got home killed him in more ways than one. Sure, he loved being able to spend time with his mother, but she couldn't make up the greatest bedtime stories of all time. She wasn't good at cutting the crust off of sandwiches.

Before Patrick could get out of the car, his father turned around and placed his brown fedora on his son's head. Patrick had to tilt it back to where the brim was raised so he could actually see.

"You should keep a hold of that for me," his father said, "so that I won't seem so far away."

Patrick smiled, and he even managed to get out of his dad's Pontiac with a confidence he never had before. He managed to keep his head up, instead of staring down at the sidewalk. He was a shy kid and tried to avoid others. But that made him a target for those that were looking for prey.

As soon as he saw another boy walking towards him, he ducked his head and shoved his hands in his pockets. He hoped it would make him invisible if he just stared at his Converse and quickly made his way inside to the classroom he was assigned to, but luck never ran in Patrick's favor.

The kid halted immediately in front of him, making Patrick stumble on his feet. He plucked the fedora from the blond boy's head and held it up. Patrick was short (and the height gene never did catch up with him), so even if he jumped he wasn't be anywhere close to reaching it.

"Give it back," Patrick muttered to the brown haired boy, who just smirked and raised it higher.

Patrick bit his lip in anger, trying to push away the urge that got him kicked out of private school before he was seven. But he was never good at handling that one emotion. It seemed to reign over the rest, so when he punched the kid in the jaw, the sound of the collision made everyone look over.

The fedora dropped to the sidewalk, but Patrick didn't dare to bend down and pick it up. He knew his hit was coming, and he didn't want to make himself more vulnerable. When he saw the fist coming towards him, he ducked down, grabbing his hat. By then a teacher was charging over, fury etched into her botoxed face. She took both boys by their wrists and dragged them to the principal's office, lecturing along the way that they should both be ashamed of themselves for picking a fight on the first day.

Patrick wasn't sorry. He stuck his hat back on his head and looked over at the boy on the other side of the teacher. Tears were threatening to spill from his gray eyes, and his jaw already looked red. He didn't think that such a small kid would pack quite a punch, but Patrick knew how to fight, even though he was young. He had an older cousin who liked to beat him up when he stayed with his aunt in Florida for two weeks last summer. He picked up more than a few things.

When they made it to the office, the teacher sat them down on opposite ends of the couch, said that they shouldn't dare to move, and went in to talk to the principal.

Patrick curled his lip and stared at the white wall with his arms crossed and nose turned up. He heard the boy sigh, and he felt the end of the blue couch shift.