Fissure (The Patrick Chronicles 1)

“That’s right, good for you,” she said, working her tongue into the side of her cheek, but it didn’t stop a tear from falling. “I do have daddy issues. Thank you so much for the reminder.”

And then she was gone. Turning away from me like the toxic piece of sludge I was. She ran off into the night, in the same direction of the man I’d just become before I could say sorry for something that was unforgivable.

CHAPTER NINE

Sunday was a blur. I couldn’t recall what I’d done other than self-flagellation and internal—and external—Patrick bashing. By Monday afternoon, I was eager and anything-but-eager to walk into Psychology.

Getting curious looks from everyone I passed in the hallway, save for one twelve-year-old looking boy with his nose all but glued to his scientific calculator, I zipped my leather motorcycle jacket up, double-checking my fly to make sure that zipper was all the way north as well. Stupid jeans. I don’t know why I’d let Cora talk me into them when I’d begged her last night to help me come up with some way to apologize to Emma.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in public with anything of a denim nature adorning me. This was a first, but I’d become someone else when I’d said what I had to Emma. Someone who said mean things to nice girls. I didn’t deserve anything better than an eternity of jeans—cheap, department store jeans—for what I’d said, so I suppose this was my way of imposing a smidgen of punishment on myself. Instead of a thousand hail Marys, I wore jeans. I could think of few worse self-inflicted punishments.

I knew before I opened the door she wasn’t there yet, the connection I’d forged with her was that strong, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my best game face. Shuffling down the aisle, I ran through my play-by-play of the apology I was about to deliver. Mainly a lot of groveling for forgiveness, putting myself down, promising to never, ever say something so idiotic again, and the rest was a lot of fill-in-the-blanks as I saw fit. I’d rehearsed it all last night, it was ingrained in my head, so why did my palms feel like they were sweating?

I slid into my seat, wiping the fleshy parts of my hands on my jeans since that’s all they were good for. Why was I so nervous? I knew it didn’t have to do with the apology per se. If I had to interrupt Professor I-hate-the-world’s riveting lecture I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the class, or the entire student body caught it on youtube, and I certainly didn’t care if Ty witnessed it. Hopefully he’d take notes.

No, my nervousness had nothing to do with the environment surrounding the apology or the words weaving it together. My knees were bouncing like a methhead’s because of what I had to lose if it wasn’t accepted. I had, for melodrama’s sake, everything to lose.

This wasn’t a hey, sorry I left the toilet seat up for the millionth time apology to one of my sisters-in-law, this was one of those apologies that could upend my world if it went shunned. So, round of applause, I’d identified the source of the nerves.

It didn’t make me feel better.

“Sit down. Shut up,” our esteemed professor called out, our cue to take his daily greeting as a time to do just that. Bitter as he was, and I was quite certain he wouldn’t let me squeak by with anything better than a D just on principle alone, I kinda liked him.

I sensed the door about to swing open in the back, so my eyes were already trained on the spot before a pair met my gaze, narrowing and darkening. Ty slid into the back row, flipping me off.

Taking the moral high ground—eye for an eye style—I flipped it right back.

Emma wasn’t with him, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Women may be a mystery to men, but they weren’t to me, and Emma was one of the easier ones to translate. Except, of course, for the way she felt about me. If she felt anything at all.

Other than annoyance.

She wasn’t with Ty. She wasn’t here on time. Logical string of thought was to conclude she wouldn’t be in class today. Therefore, neither would I.

No offense to Professor Camp, but the only reason I came to class was to see Emma.

I was out of my chair and down the aisle before I could let the responsible fraction of my consciousness surface. And by fraction, I mean next to non-existent. So fractional it was incalculable.

“Stay,” I instructed the mass of meat in the back row in passing, raising a hand. Steam was all but pluming from his nostrils, but I couldn’t miss the cherry on top. “Good boy,” I said as I shuffled through the door, receiving the second hand gesture that would have earned him a night out in the barn had my mother still been around to see it.

I didn’t possess the dignity left to jog towards Emma’s dorm room. I ran. Ran like it was the only prayer I had left of saving my life. Ran like a wanted man. Ran because I wanted a woman and I wanted her bad.

Earning a gaggle more curious looks by the time I reached the dorm’s front door, I made my best effort to look out of breath. After the look the next girl gave me in passing—something that said, you’re certifiable—I’m sure I looked more like a panting monkey. I cut the act altogether, attacking the three flights of stairs with equal fervor.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d explain to Emma how I knew what dorm room she lived in, she’d never given it to me, but I knew confessing I’d teleported into each room in the middle of the night until I’d landed inches from her smiling-in-her-sleep face wouldn’t be the top runner. Although honesty was my policy, I didn’t think she was ready for that. I’d have to scrub the truth with a little white lie about someone I’d passed on my way up telling me what room she was in.

Walking down the third floor hall, I was again stupefied as to why I was worrying myself about explaining how I’d known which room she was in. She might not care or even remember she’d never given it to me. She might not even be there.

I ran two once again clammy hands through my hair before rapping on her door, not having to guess which side of the door she’d decorated, even if her name hadn’t been put up in cut out pictures of her making funny faces. The other side was black, cryptic, and I felt like I might get cursed if I touched the welcoming, cheery artwork. Instead of Julia’s name, it said, “Death is the best we can expect from life.”

Somebody forgot to tell Julia that she’s no longer a sixteen-year-old drama queen.

The door swung open, well, it banged open, and the spreader of sunshine and cheer straddled the doorway. Her face didn’t give anything away, and that manic look in her eyes that confused the hell out of me was still there, so I didn’t know if she was going to invite me in for hemlock and frogs’ legs or if she was going to tell me to eff off.

“Go away.” The door slammed in my face.

Okay, that was the eff off expression. I’d have to make note of it for future reference.

A whisper so soft if I was a normal boy I wouldn’t have been able to hear it told me all I needed to know. “Who was it?”

Emma was here. Julia’s instructions be damned, I wasn’t going anywhere when two inches of man-made material separated me from her.

“Like you don’t know,” Julia replied in standard volume.

Emma hissed a shush at her.

“Don’t you shush me,” Julia said, hissing her own. “I’ll shush you right back.”

“Why did you tell him to go away?” Emma whispered, completely unaware I was listening to every word.

“Because he’s so good looking he’s got to be trouble. And trouble is something you don’t need,” Julia replied, lowering her voice a decibel. “And there was this other thing he did, what was it?” I didn’t have to see her to know her face was screwed together in a searching expression. “Ah, that’s it,” she said, snapping her fingers. “He said something that made you cry. That’s a death sentence where I come from.”

I didn’t want to know where someone like Julia came from, but a few possibilities jumped to mind, the least bothersome of them being the land of brimstone and Beelzebub.

Emma stayed silent for a second, long enough for Julia to get another word in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you had a thing for a**holes. I’ll just invite him in and inform him it’s open season on your heart.” Julia’s boot clomping feet came at the door, but a scuffle ensued before the door opened.

“Wait a minute,” Emma whisper-laughed at Julia. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Do you have a piece of gum or something?”

“Get your nasty breath out of my face,” Julia said, as things toppled and turned over inside the room like an earthquake was taking place. “Here, take this before you decimate our room,”—I was listening so intently I heard every note of the piece of gum sliding from its container—“although I’m now questioning just exactly what kind of tongue thrashing you had in mind for our man behind door number one. Because the kind he deserves doesn’t involve gum, frantic hair brushing, or deodorant.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Jules,” Emma whispered. “Grab the door and stall a minute. I’ve got to put a bra on.”

My brain heard everything she said, but my body only heard the word bra. When the door opened for the second time, I was blushing like a girl.

Julia slid the door open a crack, blocking the space with her black and violet clothing wrapped form that managed to be rather imposing for someone as tall as what I’d been when I was eight.

“Hey,” I offered lamely, my vocal chords playing the puberty trick on me. All thanks to the bra word floating around in my subconscious.

“You hurt my Emma,” Julia greeted, folding her arms one over the other.

“I know.” My voice was back to its manly self.

“Do it again, and I’ll rip each and every appendage from its socket. Starting with your dick.” It wasn’t an empty threat—this was the full meal deal.

Clasping my hands in front of me, down in front of me, I cleared my throat. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t,” Julia said, casting a look behind the door. “They’ll promise anything if you threaten their manhood. That’s all they care about.”

“I promised that because I care about Emma.” It slipped out before I recalled the girl in question was hiding behind the door working her way into a . . .

Dammit. Red face alert. Again.

Of course the door thought this would be the ideal time to open all the way, revealing the lovely, bra-ified Emma.

“Hey,” she said, a small smile capping her greeting.

“Hey,” I answered back all witty-like.

I felt Julia’s eyes rolling in a big way. Before I could mess this up with any more comments of the “witty” variety, I unzipped my jacket, revealing the t-shirt underneath.

Emma gave me a look, waiting for me to say something, but that took away the whole point of the t-shirt. Taking an exaggerated look at my chest, I knew she’d taken the hint when she choked on a laugh.

“’I’m an idiot,’” she read, making a concerted effort to keep a flat expression.

o;That’s right, good for you,” she said, working her tongue into the side of her cheek, but it didn’t stop a tear from falling. “I do have daddy issues. Thank you so much for the reminder.”

And then she was gone. Turning away from me like the toxic piece of sludge I was. She ran off into the night, in the same direction of the man I’d just become before I could say sorry for something that was unforgivable.

CHAPTER NINE

Sunday was a blur. I couldn’t recall what I’d done other than self-flagellation and internal—and external—Patrick bashing. By Monday afternoon, I was eager and anything-but-eager to walk into Psychology.

Getting curious looks from everyone I passed in the hallway, save for one twelve-year-old looking boy with his nose all but glued to his scientific calculator, I zipped my leather motorcycle jacket up, double-checking my fly to make sure that zipper was all the way north as well. Stupid jeans. I don’t know why I’d let Cora talk me into them when I’d begged her last night to help me come up with some way to apologize to Emma.

I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been in public with anything of a denim nature adorning me. This was a first, but I’d become someone else when I’d said what I had to Emma. Someone who said mean things to nice girls. I didn’t deserve anything better than an eternity of jeans—cheap, department store jeans—for what I’d said, so I suppose this was my way of imposing a smidgen of punishment on myself. Instead of a thousand hail Marys, I wore jeans. I could think of few worse self-inflicted punishments.

I knew before I opened the door she wasn’t there yet, the connection I’d forged with her was that strong, but that didn’t stop me from putting on my best game face. Shuffling down the aisle, I ran through my play-by-play of the apology I was about to deliver. Mainly a lot of groveling for forgiveness, putting myself down, promising to never, ever say something so idiotic again, and the rest was a lot of fill-in-the-blanks as I saw fit. I’d rehearsed it all last night, it was ingrained in my head, so why did my palms feel like they were sweating?

I slid into my seat, wiping the fleshy parts of my hands on my jeans since that’s all they were good for. Why was I so nervous? I knew it didn’t have to do with the apology per se. If I had to interrupt Professor I-hate-the-world’s riveting lecture I didn’t care. I didn’t care if the class, or the entire student body caught it on youtube, and I certainly didn’t care if Ty witnessed it. Hopefully he’d take notes.

No, my nervousness had nothing to do with the environment surrounding the apology or the words weaving it together. My knees were bouncing like a methhead’s because of what I had to lose if it wasn’t accepted. I had, for melodrama’s sake, everything to lose.

This wasn’t a hey, sorry I left the toilet seat up for the millionth time apology to one of my sisters-in-law, this was one of those apologies that could upend my world if it went shunned. So, round of applause, I’d identified the source of the nerves.

It didn’t make me feel better.

“Sit down. Shut up,” our esteemed professor called out, our cue to take his daily greeting as a time to do just that. Bitter as he was, and I was quite certain he wouldn’t let me squeak by with anything better than a D just on principle alone, I kinda liked him.

I sensed the door about to swing open in the back, so my eyes were already trained on the spot before a pair met my gaze, narrowing and darkening. Ty slid into the back row, flipping me off.

Taking the moral high ground—eye for an eye style—I flipped it right back.

Emma wasn’t with him, and it wasn’t like her to be late. Women may be a mystery to men, but they weren’t to me, and Emma was one of the easier ones to translate. Except, of course, for the way she felt about me. If she felt anything at all.

Other than annoyance.

She wasn’t with Ty. She wasn’t here on time. Logical string of thought was to conclude she wouldn’t be in class today. Therefore, neither would I.

No offense to Professor Camp, but the only reason I came to class was to see Emma.

I was out of my chair and down the aisle before I could let the responsible fraction of my consciousness surface. And by fraction, I mean next to non-existent. So fractional it was incalculable.

“Stay,” I instructed the mass of meat in the back row in passing, raising a hand. Steam was all but pluming from his nostrils, but I couldn’t miss the cherry on top. “Good boy,” I said as I shuffled through the door, receiving the second hand gesture that would have earned him a night out in the barn had my mother still been around to see it.

I didn’t possess the dignity left to jog towards Emma’s dorm room. I ran. Ran like it was the only prayer I had left of saving my life. Ran like a wanted man. Ran because I wanted a woman and I wanted her bad.

Earning a gaggle more curious looks by the time I reached the dorm’s front door, I made my best effort to look out of breath. After the look the next girl gave me in passing—something that said, you’re certifiable—I’m sure I looked more like a panting monkey. I cut the act altogether, attacking the three flights of stairs with equal fervor.

I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d explain to Emma how I knew what dorm room she lived in, she’d never given it to me, but I knew confessing I’d teleported into each room in the middle of the night until I’d landed inches from her smiling-in-her-sleep face wouldn’t be the top runner. Although honesty was my policy, I didn’t think she was ready for that. I’d have to scrub the truth with a little white lie about someone I’d passed on my way up telling me what room she was in.

Walking down the third floor hall, I was again stupefied as to why I was worrying myself about explaining how I’d known which room she was in. She might not care or even remember she’d never given it to me. She might not even be there.

I ran two once again clammy hands through my hair before rapping on her door, not having to guess which side of the door she’d decorated, even if her name hadn’t been put up in cut out pictures of her making funny faces. The other side was black, cryptic, and I felt like I might get cursed if I touched the welcoming, cheery artwork. Instead of Julia’s name, it said, “Death is the best we can expect from life.”

Somebody forgot to tell Julia that she’s no longer a sixteen-year-old drama queen.

The door swung open, well, it banged open, and the spreader of sunshine and cheer straddled the doorway. Her face didn’t give anything away, and that manic look in her eyes that confused the hell out of me was still there, so I didn’t know if she was going to invite me in for hemlock and frogs’ legs or if she was going to tell me to eff off.

“Go away.” The door slammed in my face.

Okay, that was the eff off expression. I’d have to make note of it for future reference.

A whisper so soft if I was a normal boy I wouldn’t have been able to hear it told me all I needed to know. “Who was it?”

Emma was here. Julia’s instructions be damned, I wasn’t going anywhere when two inches of man-made material separated me from her.

“Like you don’t know,” Julia replied in standard volume.

Emma hissed a shush at her.

“Don’t you shush me,” Julia said, hissing her own. “I’ll shush you right back.”

“Why did you tell him to go away?” Emma whispered, completely unaware I was listening to every word.

“Because he’s so good looking he’s got to be trouble. And trouble is something you don’t need,” Julia replied, lowering her voice a decibel. “And there was this other thing he did, what was it?” I didn’t have to see her to know her face was screwed together in a searching expression. “Ah, that’s it,” she said, snapping her fingers. “He said something that made you cry. That’s a death sentence where I come from.”

I didn’t want to know where someone like Julia came from, but a few possibilities jumped to mind, the least bothersome of them being the land of brimstone and Beelzebub.

Emma stayed silent for a second, long enough for Julia to get another word in. “Oh, I’m sorry. I forgot you had a thing for a**holes. I’ll just invite him in and inform him it’s open season on your heart.” Julia’s boot clomping feet came at the door, but a scuffle ensued before the door opened.

“Wait a minute,” Emma whisper-laughed at Julia. “I haven’t brushed my teeth yet. Do you have a piece of gum or something?”

“Get your nasty breath out of my face,” Julia said, as things toppled and turned over inside the room like an earthquake was taking place. “Here, take this before you decimate our room,”—I was listening so intently I heard every note of the piece of gum sliding from its container—“although I’m now questioning just exactly what kind of tongue thrashing you had in mind for our man behind door number one. Because the kind he deserves doesn’t involve gum, frantic hair brushing, or deodorant.”

“You’re a lifesaver, Jules,” Emma whispered. “Grab the door and stall a minute. I’ve got to put a bra on.”

My brain heard everything she said, but my body only heard the word bra. When the door opened for the second time, I was blushing like a girl.

Julia slid the door open a crack, blocking the space with her black and violet clothing wrapped form that managed to be rather imposing for someone as tall as what I’d been when I was eight.

“Hey,” I offered lamely, my vocal chords playing the puberty trick on me. All thanks to the bra word floating around in my subconscious.

“You hurt my Emma,” Julia greeted, folding her arms one over the other.

“I know.” My voice was back to its manly self.

“Do it again, and I’ll rip each and every appendage from its socket. Starting with your dick.” It wasn’t an empty threat—this was the full meal deal.

Clasping my hands in front of me, down in front of me, I cleared my throat. “It won’t happen again.”

“Of course it won’t,” Julia said, casting a look behind the door. “They’ll promise anything if you threaten their manhood. That’s all they care about.”

“I promised that because I care about Emma.” It slipped out before I recalled the girl in question was hiding behind the door working her way into a . . .

Dammit. Red face alert. Again.

Of course the door thought this would be the ideal time to open all the way, revealing the lovely, bra-ified Emma.

“Hey,” she said, a small smile capping her greeting.

“Hey,” I answered back all witty-like.

I felt Julia’s eyes rolling in a big way. Before I could mess this up with any more comments of the “witty” variety, I unzipped my jacket, revealing the t-shirt underneath.

Emma gave me a look, waiting for me to say something, but that took away the whole point of the t-shirt. Taking an exaggerated look at my chest, I knew she’d taken the hint when she choked on a laugh.

“’I’m an idiot,’” she read, making a concerted effort to keep a flat expression.