Wounded (Patrick)
Title: Wounded
About: Patrick + Kay (moi)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1.253
Summary: This was written over a year ago and was my first venture into writing about my relationship with my characters. Patrick was the first OC to kind of move in with me in September 2007. He's from my PotC universe, a short intro to him can be found here. His big secret that binds him to a PotC character hasn't been revealed yet in my canon so even though there are vague allusions to it here nothing is said explicitly. I iz mysterious.
Wounded
You should have gotten used to this by now and you thought you have. You’re always surprised that the heavy silence he wears like a cloak still cuts your heart. But it does. You don’t want to bleed for him. You promised you wouldn’t, the first night you met him. You’ve tried to hate him. Sometimes you still think you could succeed. For brief moments you can almost believe you already do: his bloodstained hands, his armada of lies and masks any lesser man would get lost in, his brutally sharp words that push you to become stronger, his iron willpower that is like an impenetrable shield to your advances, and the future he is determined to have and you know not even you could talk him out of. When he’s sitting on the floor leaning heavily against the wall wrapped up in icy silence you almost believe you could hate him.
Except all you want is to hold him and make his pain go away. But he doesn’t let you, probably never will. He’s not like all the others who hide and push you away and run but in the end always give in and welcome your love. He doesn’t want your love. He doesn’t want your soothing embraces. And you don’t know how to handle that. There were times when you thought he wished you were someone else, someone better. You thought he resented you for wanting to heal his aching heart. Maybe he did. Maybe he resented himself for coming to you in the first place. Maybe he saw it as weakness. An admission that he couldn’t do this by himself. Maybe that’s why he kept challenging you. Testing you. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that you were a worthy ally. And you still don’t know if you passed the test or if he just got tired of your failures.
You wish you could tell by that look he gives you whenever you push a bit too hard, but you still don’t know what he’s thinking most of the time. Not even after 15 months. And you’re still too much of a coward to admit to yourself that he might hide behind too many masks, and maybe not even you can get to him. You still keep pushing, testing the limits of his patience and you love the way his lips curl slightly in amusement, wondering if it’s strength or stupidity that doesn’t let you learn from that painful slap that is still so vivid in your memory. And you can tell he’s not sure how to handle the fact that you’re the one feeling guilty even if he hit you. And you know you will never try to answer his unasked question, you’re too happy there is a part of you not even he can figure out. You will never tell him you’re happy he hit you because you feel closer to him ever since, like that slap tore a tiny whole in some of his masks and you could peek through.
He still doesn’t believe you when you say you couldn’t give him up, no matter who asked. Then again, he knows much more about lies than you do. He even knows much more about this crazy modern world you’re trying so desperately to escape and sometimes you fear he knows you more than you know yourself but that idea is just too frightening to really dwell on it. Yet whenever he gives you that look you shiver because you know this time you’re not the only voyeur.
The others are wondering what’s up with you two. Shaun keeps watching silently, Beth is jealous, Lucy keeps telling you to fuck him already, Gabriel is too preoccupied to notice, and James ignores it completely. And only Shaun knows this isn’t what everybody thinks. This isn’t really friendship, the lack of sexual tension is almost insulting, and it certainly isn’t love. You don’t know how to call what’s between him and you, which is strange, because that is what you do. You name the unnameable and create worlds out of words. But this - him - you haven’t been able to put your finger on.
You even have the key. You know his deepest secrets. But your hands are always trembling when you try to open the door, scared that you might just make everything worse. It wouldn’t be the first time, you can’t help thinking. And you faintly wonder when your conscience started to sound like him. And you know that maybe you should worry because that’s clearly not a good sign but you are too absorbed in watching him, trying to really see inside. Because this is wrong. He’s not supposed to be the one you worry about most. But he is. And you can’t even tell him because he would push you away like he always does. So you keep watching him sit on the hard floor like he’s punishing himself for something he insists he doesn’t regret and would do again. You know he would and you can’t even blame him.
And you just keep watching him sit there, his eyes empty yet too full at the same time, his body unnaturally tense and motionless - maybe you should just call Rose - like a wounded lion that is bleeding in too many places but is still able to pull off the act of being at the height of his powers. And you know you should keep away because one unguarded movement is enough and he could tear you apart.
But you never do.
“You talked to him, haven’t you?” He doesn’t flinch at your voice and only you can tell you startled him, dragging him back into the present from a past you know more about than you want to yet still not enough.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” His voice is too tired and dry, and though he can change his voice in all colours of the rainbow this is not one of them.
“What did he say?”
“Just drop it, ok?”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t push it, Kate.”
“Patrick…”
“Nothing.”
“Why won’t-“
“Nothing. He said nothing, alright?”
He grabs your arms and is suddenly too close, yet not close enough and you know you should be scared of the sharpness of his features, the hardness of his eyes, you know how dangerous he can be, you know what it’s like to feel his palm connect with your jaw. But you can’t fear him and you’re not sure if that’s suicidal or just dumb or something completely different. You can’t bring yourself to care, though. You just stand there, searching his soul looking much calmer than you really are, until he closes his eyes.
His fingers are still pressing into your arm and it hurts so much you know it will bruise tomorrow. He’s shaking inside, you can feel the little tremors that manage to reach the surface. You want to do something, anything, this is your chance, a window into his soul but you can’t even move. And you don’t know if it’s his grasp that paralyzes you or the fear of breaking the fragile construction of his being by pulling out an essential element.
Suddenly he lets go and you can breathe again.
The moment is gone.
“You should be studying.”
His smile is perfectly charming and insincere. He’s himself again.
Whatever that means.
He sits back on the ground as if nothing happened, leaving you to deal with your guilt for missing your chance.
Again.
About: Patrick + Kay (moi)
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1.253
Summary: This was written over a year ago and was my first venture into writing about my relationship with my characters. Patrick was the first OC to kind of move in with me in September 2007. He's from my PotC universe, a short intro to him can be found here. His big secret that binds him to a PotC character hasn't been revealed yet in my canon so even though there are vague allusions to it here nothing is said explicitly. I iz mysterious.
Wounded
You should have gotten used to this by now and you thought you have. You’re always surprised that the heavy silence he wears like a cloak still cuts your heart. But it does. You don’t want to bleed for him. You promised you wouldn’t, the first night you met him. You’ve tried to hate him. Sometimes you still think you could succeed. For brief moments you can almost believe you already do: his bloodstained hands, his armada of lies and masks any lesser man would get lost in, his brutally sharp words that push you to become stronger, his iron willpower that is like an impenetrable shield to your advances, and the future he is determined to have and you know not even you could talk him out of. When he’s sitting on the floor leaning heavily against the wall wrapped up in icy silence you almost believe you could hate him.
Except all you want is to hold him and make his pain go away. But he doesn’t let you, probably never will. He’s not like all the others who hide and push you away and run but in the end always give in and welcome your love. He doesn’t want your love. He doesn’t want your soothing embraces. And you don’t know how to handle that. There were times when you thought he wished you were someone else, someone better. You thought he resented you for wanting to heal his aching heart. Maybe he did. Maybe he resented himself for coming to you in the first place. Maybe he saw it as weakness. An admission that he couldn’t do this by himself. Maybe that’s why he kept challenging you. Testing you. Maybe he wanted to prove to himself that you were a worthy ally. And you still don’t know if you passed the test or if he just got tired of your failures.
You wish you could tell by that look he gives you whenever you push a bit too hard, but you still don’t know what he’s thinking most of the time. Not even after 15 months. And you’re still too much of a coward to admit to yourself that he might hide behind too many masks, and maybe not even you can get to him. You still keep pushing, testing the limits of his patience and you love the way his lips curl slightly in amusement, wondering if it’s strength or stupidity that doesn’t let you learn from that painful slap that is still so vivid in your memory. And you can tell he’s not sure how to handle the fact that you’re the one feeling guilty even if he hit you. And you know you will never try to answer his unasked question, you’re too happy there is a part of you not even he can figure out. You will never tell him you’re happy he hit you because you feel closer to him ever since, like that slap tore a tiny whole in some of his masks and you could peek through.
He still doesn’t believe you when you say you couldn’t give him up, no matter who asked. Then again, he knows much more about lies than you do. He even knows much more about this crazy modern world you’re trying so desperately to escape and sometimes you fear he knows you more than you know yourself but that idea is just too frightening to really dwell on it. Yet whenever he gives you that look you shiver because you know this time you’re not the only voyeur.
The others are wondering what’s up with you two. Shaun keeps watching silently, Beth is jealous, Lucy keeps telling you to fuck him already, Gabriel is too preoccupied to notice, and James ignores it completely. And only Shaun knows this isn’t what everybody thinks. This isn’t really friendship, the lack of sexual tension is almost insulting, and it certainly isn’t love. You don’t know how to call what’s between him and you, which is strange, because that is what you do. You name the unnameable and create worlds out of words. But this - him - you haven’t been able to put your finger on.
You even have the key. You know his deepest secrets. But your hands are always trembling when you try to open the door, scared that you might just make everything worse. It wouldn’t be the first time, you can’t help thinking. And you faintly wonder when your conscience started to sound like him. And you know that maybe you should worry because that’s clearly not a good sign but you are too absorbed in watching him, trying to really see inside. Because this is wrong. He’s not supposed to be the one you worry about most. But he is. And you can’t even tell him because he would push you away like he always does. So you keep watching him sit on the hard floor like he’s punishing himself for something he insists he doesn’t regret and would do again. You know he would and you can’t even blame him.
And you just keep watching him sit there, his eyes empty yet too full at the same time, his body unnaturally tense and motionless - maybe you should just call Rose - like a wounded lion that is bleeding in too many places but is still able to pull off the act of being at the height of his powers. And you know you should keep away because one unguarded movement is enough and he could tear you apart.
But you never do.
“You talked to him, haven’t you?” He doesn’t flinch at your voice and only you can tell you startled him, dragging him back into the present from a past you know more about than you want to yet still not enough.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” His voice is too tired and dry, and though he can change his voice in all colours of the rainbow this is not one of them.
“What did he say?”
“Just drop it, ok?”
“Tell me.”
“Don’t push it, Kate.”
“Patrick…”
“Nothing.”
“Why won’t-“
“Nothing. He said nothing, alright?”
He grabs your arms and is suddenly too close, yet not close enough and you know you should be scared of the sharpness of his features, the hardness of his eyes, you know how dangerous he can be, you know what it’s like to feel his palm connect with your jaw. But you can’t fear him and you’re not sure if that’s suicidal or just dumb or something completely different. You can’t bring yourself to care, though. You just stand there, searching his soul looking much calmer than you really are, until he closes his eyes.
His fingers are still pressing into your arm and it hurts so much you know it will bruise tomorrow. He’s shaking inside, you can feel the little tremors that manage to reach the surface. You want to do something, anything, this is your chance, a window into his soul but you can’t even move. And you don’t know if it’s his grasp that paralyzes you or the fear of breaking the fragile construction of his being by pulling out an essential element.
Suddenly he lets go and you can breathe again.
The moment is gone.
“You should be studying.”
His smile is perfectly charming and insincere. He’s himself again.
Whatever that means.
He sits back on the ground as if nothing happened, leaving you to deal with your guilt for missing your chance.
Again.