Out In The Wind

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CHAPTER 33

The morning sun peering through the curtains wakes me for my slumber which I immediately regret. When you don’t get to sleep in a proper bed very often, or at all, all you want to do is sleep more and more, almost hoping that you can sleep your life away, but somehow you wake up. You realize you still have responsibilities, problems, and shit to deal with even though the bed underneath you beckons you to stay forever in its warm embrace.

“Patrick?” I say as I turn around to find the bed empty… Yet again.

I’ve found it empty just after I woke up from my nap after Patrick lulled me to sleep after our sexual encounter. I didn’t want him to return the favor. I just wanted him to hold me while I fell asleep. He got up before I even woke up from my nap for dinner so that he could check in on Andy and make sure he is okay. I woke up again around 3am in the morning because of Patrick’s absence in the bed just as he came into the room. Maybe it was him opening the bedroom door that woke me up. I don’t know, but he reported on Andy which made me smile about how helpful he has been before I fell asleep again.

I reach for my shirt, still abandoned next to the bed where I dropped it last night and pull it over my head just as the door opens and Patrick backs into the room, turning around after kicking the door closed and revealing a tray in his hands.

“Breakfast in bed?” I ask. “If this is the life I can look forward to, we might just as well take a plane to Vegas and get married today.”

“Are you asking me to marry you?” Patrick asks with a serious face looking down at me which makes me immediately regret my words.

“Gosh, no. I mean… I wouldn’t mind… But we’re still in school…”

This is the point where I want to give my face a high five. A really hard high five that will hopefully, but unlikely make me get some sense and think before I just spew things out.

“It’s okay,” Patrick laughs as he puts the tray down on my lap. “I’m just kidding with you. Marriage is like the furthest thing from my mind at the moment.”

“Thew,” I mutter and act like I am wiping away sweat from my forehead which just makes Patrick laugh some more.

“Now eat,” he orders as he starts pulling off his pajamas he put on right before we went to bed, and right after I declined to borrow some of his pajamas, preferring to sleep in my jeans that might be more difficult to get out off in something sexual were to happen again. I’m still not sure if I am completely ready to go all the way. There are so many things to think about. For instance… I don’t even know if I am definitely a bottom. What if I am actually a top? I really liked taking control yesterday.

I look down at the pancakes in the plate and I can’t help memories streaming back to me. The last time I had pancakes was when my dad was still alive. He always experimented with pancakes. One morning he actually baked some thinly sliced jalapenos into the pancakes which tasted terrible with syrup. Then again, it was better than his attempt to mix both fig and grape jams into the batter, which just tasted super weird. I liked his normal blueberry pancakes. Those where my favorites, but I appreciated his weird ones since he always made them when he was in a really good mood, laughing and telling me stories about his youth and the world in books he used to escape into.

“My dad always made me pancakes,” I mutter as I pour the syrup over the pancakes. I have no idea why I am sharing this bit of information with Patrick. I always thought it was something too personal to share, but then again, after last night I’m not sure there is that much that’s still private between us.

“My dad as well. It was the only thing he actually learned how to make well when my mom was away decorating some new house when I was a kid,” Patrick laughs as he starts pulling on a jean over his underwear.

I thought that it would be weird seeing him undress and get dressed in front of me, but strangely it seems as normal as can be. Almost like we have done this a hundred times before.

“I remember when I was really small he used to sometimes take me along onto the movie sets where he worked and he would very early in the morning drive around searching for a dinner that would serve us some pancakes. It used to be like a hobby. Trying to find the perfect pancake house wherever we went,” Patrick says with a smile as he pulls a shirt over his unkempt hair.

I can’t help but thinking that I like his hair this way. Unkempt. Like he just woke up. No brushing it at all. It’s always kinda unkempt thanks to all his curls, but there is something special about the frizz his hair makes before he has had a chance to style it.

“My dad used to make weird pancakes. Sometimes he threw chocolate pieces and fresh mint leaves into the batter which tasted pretty good. Other times it was a total disaster like the time he tried to make tuna pancakes which not even the dog wanted to eat,” I say as I take my first bite, savoring the taste of the maple syrup clinging to the roof of my mouth.

“I would have given it a try,” Patrick says as he sits down on the bed beside me, making me almost uncomfortable as he watches me in silence take my next three bites of pancake.

“And I would have felt very sorry for you if you had to swallow those pancakes and had to act if you liked them. I was smart enough to not eat it purely because of how it smelled,” I laugh as I pick up the orange juice and drink some. “By the way… Have you ever wondered who decided that orange juice is the perfect type of juice for breakfast? Why not apple juice? Or grape juice?”

“If you’d like another type of juice I could go and get you some. I’m sure we have several different types if you dislike orange,” Patrick says, almost immediately wanting to get off the bed but I grab him by the arm and pull him back.

“I like orange juice. It was just something I have always wondered about,” I say with a smile as I take another sip.

“Well then I have no idea who decided on orange juice, but I have no objection to their taste,” Patrick says. “And while we are on the topic of decisions, Andy wants to talk to you. He made a decision. He wants to leave today.”

I put my glass down. I had been wondering about this. You hear so often about people going back to where they had been abused. Would he try to make it up with his father and just go back, risking the chance of getting a beating once more?

“And?” I ask when Patrick doesn’t speak any further. “Is he going back to his dads?”

“Nope. He actually phoned his grandmother this morning. She lives out in North Carolina, so she’s driving to come and get him. She already arranged with his dad as well. She’s just picking up Andy’s stuff at home and then she’s coming here to come and pick him up. He’s going to be living with her permanently by the sounds of it,” Patrick answers. “So everything worked out the way it’s supposed to. Andy seems really excited to be going to live with his grandparents.”

“I sometimes wish I still had grandparents,” I say, more as a thought than anything else. It feels like mine died before I truly got a chance to know them or even learn from wise old tales from their youth.

“They are all dead hey?” Patrick asks.

“Yeah. My gran died a few years ago. It was pretty sad, but I didn’t know her that well. We only saw her once a year at most, and I was still a bit young to really understand the idea of death. I remember that I kept on wondering when she would wake up and get out of the coffin at her wake. Luckily there wasn’t a burial. I think I would have lost it if they had put my sleeping grandmother under the ground. Essentially I think I just thought that I visited my grandmother while she was sleeping. I didn’t really cry at all,” I recall the wake. If only I had taken my father’s death that easily I think I would have felt better about everything. Everything seems so much more complicated when you are old enough to actually understand what is going on around you. When you’re small everything serious just feels like a pretending game.

“Yeah, I get that. I can see where you’re coming from in any case. I don’t know my mom’s parents at all. They are completely estranged. All I know about them is that they are snobs and live somewhere in Malibu and thinks that my mom married beneath her. To them it’s not about the money my dad actually makes. It’s all about status or some shit. They would have preferred my mom rather marrying into some family with old money. The fact that my dad directed some porn films right at the beginning of his career to pay for further studies didn’t exactly help their view of him either,” Patrick shares. It’s interesting to me to hear all of this. It makes me understand him better in a way.

“And your dad’s parents?” I ask.

“A little bit star struck. They come from the wrong side of the tracks if you know what I mean. My dad put them up in a very cool house and I was kinda fond of my grandfather before he died last year. He used to show me little home movies that my dad used to make as a kid. I’ve never really gotten along with my grandmother. She’s one of those who becomes more and more of a pretend snob the more famous my dad becomes. She’s constantly gossiping about the family and I’d rather stay out of that all together,” Patrick answers with a wry smile.

“Sounds a bit complicated to me,” I say, wondering what it would be like to have a gossip snob as a grandmother. I struggle with the idea. In my eyes all grandmothers should be knitting their grandchildren sweaters, spoiling them as much as they can, and baking cakes when they come and visit. That’s at least what my grandmother used to do.

“Well I better get dressed,” I say as I put the tray down at my feet, getting out of bed. “I’d like to say goodbye to Andy and there’s something I need to go and do. I’ll be back before dark if it’s okay with you.”

“Cory… If I have my way you’ll just stay here forever and never leave. So go do what you have to and rush that sexy ass back into my bed,” Patrick says with a smile that makes me blush as I run into the bathroom to brush my teeth before he can see my red cheeks.

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