Delusional

Chapter Eight

I didn't sleep anymore that night, because I stayed up watching Patrick instead. I stared at his lips, remembering how they felt when I had him on my bed, and how different it was from the initial kiss, and I smiled to myself remembering how tightly he clung onto me.

It was early in the morning now. Maybe three or four, I don't know. I just knew the sun wasn't up, and at this point I was hoping time would stand still for just a few hours, the way it did when I felt his panting against my neck.

It was a Saturday, and I was wishing on every cliché thing that he would want to stay the day, but I wasn't even sure that what happened last night meant anything to him, and as I started to think about that a little more, I loosened my arms around him. What if this was just me jumping to conclusions again? The panic crept its way back in. I wanted this to be so much more than just a one night thing that he needed to feel whole for another week or so. I wanted him to need it everyday like I did, and maybe that was a little selfish, but it's all I could think about.

Patrick woke up a few hours later, when the sun had just begun to rise, and I was a little disappointed. It felt good to hold him, and I wasn't sure if he would still want me when he was awake, but he didn't move from my arms, not even an inch. In fact, he moved closer, and I felt it more than just physically when there was no space left between us.

We stayed like that for hours, nothing being said, but a lot going on inside. It wasn't what I intended. I always swore I wouldn't go blindly chasing after someone. I always thought I was stronger, different in a sense. I loved the idea of me being separate from the world I lived in, where everyone else my age was damn obsessed and possessed with the idea of a love I was sure didn't exist, but with Patrick I was beginning to think such a thing as love may actually exist. Well, love wasn't anything I read about in books, and it wasn't anything I've seen in movies. It hurt. I wanted to do everything for him, and I had no idea where to start. All the thoughts rushed in at once. What if I'm not enough? What if he dies? What the hell am I supposed to do to stop us both from crashing and burning?

-----

We rolled out of bed sometime around eleven, made our way downstairs, and started another episode of him eating cheerios and me sitting beside him having a staring contest with the counter. I wish I had food to distract me too, but I was never a fan of breakfast. It's always made me feel sick.

After we finished eating we both settled on the couch, but I was pulled from my thoughts when he moved over, laying his head in my lap as he gazed up at me with that damn smile. "Why do you smile at me, only at me?" It was meant to be a silent thought, but my mouth had other plans. However, his smile didn't even falter. "I don't smile just to smile. Some people do it to look happy and friendly, or maybe get what they want, but when you see and feel the things I do you just don't smile to be doing it. I feel safe right here." He hesitated before speaking again. "Feeling like I do when I'm with you is the only reason I have to smile." He finished. The most I've heard him say since he ran into me on the bus.

"Usually, I don't smile unless there's money, food, or sex." I tried to form a joke out of the awkward silence that followed, but it came out stupid and self conceded. My mouth does that a lot. He stared at me unblinking, with the smile replaced by a more confused humor one.

"I'm sorry. If we're gonna be like a thing you might as well learn first hand I'm no good with words." I explained apologetically, staring at him for a response of the 'thing' I mentioned.

"You're pretty good with your dick." He answered bluntly with a small smile tugging at his lips although he was trying to keep it serious. I had to admit I liked this side of him. I felt like I was talking to my best friend. He is my best friend. At least I skipped right past the friend zone.

----

My mom came downstairs, finding us in a not so 'just friends' position. I mean unless friends kiss shirtless. Who am I to say? I'm not very cultured.

My brain completely disregarded the fact that my mom had the day off, and I felt just over the line of fucking awful when she started to yell at the two of us. She forced Patrick to dress and leave. I put up a fair fight. I screamed at her too, words I can't even remember saying. I stormed out when she told me I was acting just like my father. I supposed I really was acting like him when I walked out on her, and it gave me a sense of satisfaction because I knew how much it hurt.

We walked for what felt like forever. I wanted to reach out and take his hand, but I stayed two steps behind, sensing that he was angry with me, but when I heard him sniffle I knew it was just hurt. I quickened my pace to catch up to him and wrapped my arm around his shoulders. "I'm sorry." I said quickly. "I forgot that she was home..I didn't mean for you to hear all of that."

"You don't understand." He shook visibly under my arm. "I don't want to sound like I'm just using you, but that was my only safe place." He finished, shuddering with a sob. The panic was clear in his voice and in the way his brows drew together as his eyes watered.

"Hey...we'll figure it out." I said softly, trying to offer him any sort of consolation. "I'm not just going to leave you alone. I'm going to protect you." I promised with a sense of confidence that was purely to make him feel better. I had no idea how I would stop this and save us.

Author's Note: All I ask is that you vote for each chapter and leave a comment on parts you liked. I'm very interested in what interests because I want to use it to make my writing better, but I get absolutely no feedback.