What the hell kind of twisted logic had convinced her that he was a happy bunny? How could she have thought that for one second? Being loved made people happy, not the other way around. It was too messed up. She lunged for her phone with both hands and dialed his number.
“What happened?” he said right away. “Are you okay?”
Marianne just sobbed into the phone. Simply hearing his voice pushed her even farther away from sanity than she’d been a moment before.
“Marianne, what’s wrong?” Now he sounded panicked.
She wished she could forge a nice bridge into what she wanted to say, but she hadn’t taken time to plan. Eff it. “Nothing’s wrong. I just...” She paused and got herself under control. “I just needed time. A little bit of time. I have to tell you something.”
“Okay,” he said so softly that she could hardly hear him.
“I just have to tell you... No, I want to tell you...” She started weeping again, and had to get through the rest in a high-pitched whimper. “It’s just that I love you, and I wanted you to know that. I didn’t want to go any longer without telling you that. It’s just hard for me, you know? But that was stupid. I’m stupid. I shouldn’t even be doing this over the phone, but—”
“Marianne...”
She answered him with another sob.
“I...” He whispered that, and nothing else.
The deed was done, and it was every bit as horrible as she’d always expected. Whatever. It was for his sake, not hers. She leaned forward, drying her face on the blanket and nudging the smashed clove with her foot while she waited for him to say something. When he still didn’t speak, Marianne grabbed the clove and relit it. “Are you there?” she breathed.
“I’m here.” His voice was stronger than before, and it startled her. “I’m here, I’m just so... Marianne, I love you so much, and I wish so badly that I was there with you right now.”
Marianne smiled, almost crying again. “Me, too.”
“I could be,” said Patrick. “I could come home right now.”
“You’d get fired.”
“Who cares,” he said.
Marianne closed her eyes. Shooting heroin couldn’t feel any better than this. No way. She blew out her smoke in a sweet, steady stream. “I love you,” she said.
“And I love you,” he said. “It must be a lot, too, since I don’t want to kill you right now for scaring the crap out of me.”
“Yeah, I kinda wigged out. Sorry.”
“Yeah, you did,” he said. “And I think it was the most adorable thing I’ve ever heard.”
Marianne snuggled down into the blanket and pulled it up to her neck. “Nice try. Not one bit of that was adorable.”
“Baby, are you okay? Now you sound like you’re drugged.”
Marianne snorted. “Am I slurring or something?”
“A bit.”
She sat up and tapped out her cigarette on the bottom of her shoe. “I’m not surprised. I feel like I’m going to pass out and wake up with a huge hangover from all this.”
“As if you would know what a hangover feels like.”
Marianne laughed once.
“You should go to bed, I think,” he said. “Are you sleeping in Danielle’s room?”
“On the couch.” She’d actually been sleeping in his room, but she wasn’t about to admit that, too.
“Did you eat?”
“Yeah.” Or maybe she didn’t... she couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t hungry, in any case.
“Are you going to school tomorrow?”
Marianne coughed. “I’m not sure yet, Inspector.”
“Sorry.” Patrick laughed. “I’m just worried about you.”
“Don’t be.” Marianne stood up and took all the dead cigarettes to the trashcan on the side of the house. “I just need to make it to the bed, and then I’ll be fine. Maybe I’ll even watch a scary movie.”
“You’re alone; you should keep it to mildly creepy.”
She exhaled dramatically. “Yes, sir.”
“Oh, knock it off,” he said. “You had to leave the room during The Twilight Zone last week.”
“Fine!”
“Goodnight, baby. Thank you.”
“Goodnight.”
Marianne hung up and took all her stuff inside. She put her mug in the sink, the book on Patrick’s messy shelf, and the pack of cloves deep, deep within her duffel bag. She locked the back door, brushed her teeth, and lay down in Patrick’s bed to watch The Princess Bride. Patrick was right about the scary movies. She slipped off her shoes and pantyhose and chucked them across the room onto a heap of laundry. She curled up under the blankets and fell asleep with her halo still on.
20
One of the Classic Blunders
Marianne woke up abruptly and tried to roll over in bed. She couldn’t though, without bending the wire angel’s wings still attached to her back. She ripped them off by their Velcro and tossed them on the floor. The TV... Hadn’t she already seen this part of the movie tonight?
“Patrick?” she gasped.
He was leaning back in his swivel chair, using his jacket for a blanket, watching the beginning of the movie. He looked over at her with concern. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
She leaned up on her elbows. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”
“About four.”
She blinked at him through the darkness. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you. What the hell do you think?” He dropped his jacket on the floor and came to sit on the edge of the bed.
“How did you get home so fast?”
He smiled down at her and touched her halo. “It’s called speeding.”
Marianne grabbed his shirt and pulled him down till he was leaning awkwardly on top of her. He scooted toward the wall so he was on her other side, and she put her hand under his face on the pillow. “You’re cold.”
“I know.” He smiled. “This house has a heater, you know.”
“I feel funny turning it on.” The blanket was pinned between them and she yanked at it until he pulled the edge over himself. “You didn’t have to come back for me,” she said, putting her hand on his chest.
“I came home out of pure selfishness tonight, angel,” he whispered.
“Are you going to get in trouble?”
“Nah.” Patrick shook his head slightly against her hand. “They can finish without me. It’s only three more days.”
Marianne leaned forward and kissed him. Patrick put his hand behind her head and kissed her back. “Can I get a little sappy with you?” she said.
“Please.”
It was nice that he said yes, but nothing could have stopped her at this point. “You make me want to keep breathing.”
Patrick closed his eyes. Whatever he felt looked almost painful.
“I...” she paused, “I don’t get out of bed when you’re not here.” Marianne reached up and ran her fingers along his face. “I don’t eat properly.” She laughed quietly. “Everybody bugs me twice as much as usual.”
He opened his pretty brown eyes. “That’s awful.”
“Is it?”
“No.” He put his forehead against hers. “I don’t know.”
“Too creepy?”
He breathed a laugh and gripped her firmly around her waist over the blanket. “Just the opposite. That’s why it’s awful.” He exhaled. “I’m going to disappoint you.”
No, he wouldn’t. “That’s okay,” she said. “Disappointment is just a feeling.”
He smiled sideways at her. “You’re still mad at me for that, huh?”
“Forever.”
“And yet, you still love me.”
Marianne nodded. “Amazing, isn’t it?”
Patrick rolled his eyes and shoved her down on her back. “If you’re going to get snarky, I’ll make you take another nap.”
“Fine.” Marianne rolled over to face the other direction. “But I’m stealing your bed. I’m t
oo cold to move.”
He kissed her hair. “Your ears are frozen.”
“Will you stay here with me a while?”
“You think I’d drive almost three hundred and fifty miles and then leave you after ten minutes?”
Marianne smiled at the TV. That great feeling from before came rushing right back. Warm and safe, her favorite movie playing, and Patrick right behind her. She could stay up all night just feeling it. Patrick brushed a few random pieces of hair off her neck and started kissing her behind the ear. Then down to the back of her neck. He bent his knee so that it touched her leg.
Oh, my... Her cozy little world was suddenly on crack. Alone in bed with her super sexy boyfriend. In an empty house. In the middle of the night. “Oh crap,” she breathed, but the sound was so garbled that he didn’t notice. Then his mouth was right there under her chin... his hand was wrapping around her upper arm. She couldn’t even think. She didn’t even know if she liked it or not. It was like... like being slowly tortured by Christmas. She tilted her head deeper into the pillow to expose more of her neck. It would probably make her collarbone look sexier, too.
Oh yeah, it did. Patrick moved his mouth right down to the curve of her shoulder. He reached over the blanket and flattened his hand against her stomach, pulling her slightly closer to him.
Marianne twisted her shoulders back and turned her head toward him. “I love you, Patrick,” she said. “Did I tell you that yet?”
He pulled her a few inches closer. “Yes, you did.”
Marianne pulled the blanket out from under his arm and then back over the both of them. He moved his hand over her ribs. Then down... down the side of her slinky dress, across her hip and onto her bare upper leg. His exhale said that he hadn’t known about the hooker dress until that exact moment. And the immediate, nearly smothering French kiss she got said that he liked it very much. Some angel she was. Marianne rolled onto her back and twined her feet around his calves. She pulled herself closer to him. As far as she could.
She didn’t feel self-conscious when Patrick moved the flat of his hand along her stomach to her ribs and back again. Her abdomen felt flat and firm to her then. When he kissed under her jaw, it made her neck feel slender and graceful. Whatever part of her that Patrick was interested in felt beautiful.
Marianne ran her mouth along his neck, his collarbone, anywhere she could reach. And, oh man, he had that same dark five o’clock shadow as the last time he came home. She might have to bite him. She put her hands under his t-shirt and yanked it up as far as it would go without help. Patrick leaned up on his arm and pulled it off, his gazillion tattoos looking blurry and mysterious in the dim light. He rolled halfway on top of her, keeping his weight on his elbow, though she was happy to be crushed. He kissed her neck, tickling her face with his hair. And then her shoulder. Her collarbone. Marianne reached up and slipped the strap of her dress off her shoulder. He got the idea.
Marianne sat on the edge of the bed and tugged her dress back in place. She had to pee, but she didn’t want to do it half-naked. She zipped up the back of her dress, and slipped the bobby pins out of her hair, tossing her fuzzy headdress on the floor. They hadn’t actually had sex, but she felt like a whore.
Actually, no she didn’t. She felt like she ought to feel that, though. They’d gone way too far, after all. Where was the shame? She looked back at Patrick and realized what had been bothering her about him for the last few minutes. At first, she’d thought Patrick was just tired, content to just watch the movie and fall asleep. He wasn’t tired, though; he was distant. Pensive. Cold. She could see that he was feeling guilty enough for the both of them. He was staring at the ceiling, absolutely blank-faced. She knew him well enough by now to know that a non-expression was a bad expression. Marianne’s shoulders got tense. If he wanted to talk to her or be anywhere near her, he wasn’t showing it. “I’ll be right back,” she said. She grabbed her bag of clothes and went into the bathroom.
As she went, she tried to talk herself into feeling as guilty as Patrick seemed to. Fair is fair. Every step tonight had been at her initiative. Well, no, not really. But he was a man. It was different for men, as far as she knew. Marianne had chosen to go to third base. But Patrick... what was a man supposed to do with an intensely willing girlfriend in his bed? If she’d known how bad he would feel she’d have protected him better.
No, she wouldn’t have.
She wouldn’t have done anything differently, and she knew that she’d do it again. If self-control were left up to her, she’d be pregnant by March. What a crappy realization. Marianne hadn’t known that she was that girl. She felt gross. Not in the dirty, slutty sense, but still gross. She felt forward, attention-seeking, like she’d used Patrick just so she could feel pretty. And now they were both paying for it. Patrick bore the remorse, and Marianne had to watch. Just watch. Him and his wretched lack of emotion. He’d hardly spoken five words to her in the last twenty minutes. It was like he’d shut a giant door in her face.
She stared at the tile floor, laughing at how effective her self-shame talk had been. The whole room around her now looked sour. That wasn’t exactly possible since her eyes couldn’t taste anything. But still... sour walls. Sour cabinets. Marianne changed into her jeans and sweater and put on her shoes. She walked back to Patrick’s room and dropped the bag just inside the door. “I’m gonna go for a walk.” Unless he asked her to stay.
“What?” He glanced at her, but he didn’t look like he was paying attention.
“I’m going for a walk,” she repeated. “I won’t be gone long.”
He stood up off the bed and pulled his shirt on. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.” Marianne pulled her sleeves down and gripped them in her palms. “You just seemed like you wanted to be alone.” Say it’s not true.
Patrick nodded at the floor. “Yeah.” He picked up his jacket and shoes. “I’ll go,” he said and walked past her out of the room. He didn’t just want to be alone. He wanted to be away from her.
She stepped back against the door in shock. He couldn’t just walk out on her like that. How dare he confirm her feelings so blatantly? “Where the hell are you going?” she shouted down the dim hallway.
He stopped and looked back. “I don’t know.” Of course he didn’t. Anywhere was fine, so long as he wasn’t with the temptress any longer.
“Well, have fun,” she said. She stepped into the bedroom and shut the door. She stood in the middle of the room, not moving, to see what he’d do. Would he really leave her right now? Which door would he choose? A minute went by, and she heard Patrick choose the front door. He’d left.
She picked up one of Danielle’s heels off the floor and chucked it at the wall as hard as she could. It hit on the soft side, though, and hardly made any noise. That pissed her off so badly that she picked it up and threw it again. She snatched up her bag and put it on the bed. She was outta here. It was one thing to hate your own skin, but this? Grrr.
She scoured the room for any of her stray belongings, put the borrowed stuff from Danielle back where it belonged, and made Patrick’s bed. Then she spent ten minutes spiffing up the house in the places where she’d made a mess. The dishes would have taken too long to wash, so she left them. She zipped up her jacket, grabbed her bag, and opened the front door. The screen was propped open with a rock, and Patrick sat hunched over on the step facing the street.
Frick. Marianne just closed her eyes. He hadn’t gone anywhere at all, and here she was ditching him. When would she learn that he never did anything hurtful? If there was something bothering her, it was her own fault. Always.
Patrick stared at the pavement. “Are you going home?”
Ugh, he didn’t even sound surprised. He’d expected her to pack her bags and leave. She knew that Patrick wouldn’t actually test her on purpose, but she’d failed, anyway. He never should’ve had that expectation in his head. He should have had a girl who would come out to find him. A girl who would come outsid
e to make up with him. Why wasn’t she that girl?
Marianne set her bag down soundlessly on the floor beside her, wishing that she’d never opened the door. Wishing that her veins were filled with warm, human blood instead of cat vomit, as they obviously were. Who had done the rejecting tonight? It was nauseating. She sank down to her knees but didn’t speak. Neither did Patrick. She wrapped her arms tightly around herself, poking her fingers into her ribs and digging in. “I’m sorry,” she said.
When Patrick turned around, the look on his face freaked her out. He looked... he looked like that kid she’d seen at Starbucks last week who’d just found out that the new Knight Rider TV show had been canceled. Sad, unbelieving, incapable of speech.
She’d put that look on his face. She really was a leech and a vampire.
Patrick turned away again, and Marianne saw that he was drinking a beer. Number two, out of a six-pack. There was an empty one lying by his foot like he’d been playing a solo game of spin the bottle. She’d never seen him drink before. Patrick tilted his head up to look at the moon. “It’s okay. I won’t be hurt if you want to leave.”
Yes, he would. He was already hurt. “If that’s what you want,” she said.
“Of course not.”
“Then...” Marianne swallowed. “Then what are you doing out here?”
“Thinking. Freezing to death.” He sighed and showed her the beer bottle more clearly. “Doing a horrible job of getting drunk. And hurting your feelings in the process.”
Marianne smiled. Geez, he was sweet. Even in a totally crappy mood, he was honest and thoughtful. If only she could do that. She tilted her head to the side. “Do you want to knock it off now?”
Marianne Page 24
