My Calamity

Another week flew by with Patrick, and when I said flew, I meant flew. It was as though one day I was staring at the calendar on Monday, and the next day I had skipped over the whole week and was in the next. The school year was looming over me like a black cloud. I couldn't imagine going to school everyday as a senior, I really couldn't, it seemed unfathomable.

My art classes were over, my summer work was finished, and my mom was already talking about going shopping for school clothes. While I wanted to stay stationary it appeared everything was kicking into full-blast. And I meant everything. Including Patrick and I.

While it was difficult to explain (difficult to comprehend as well) I think my mother's words about sex were engraved in the back of my head or the front, or maybe even all around my head because whenever I was with Patrick it was the one thought that was always on my mind, and I wasn't thinking about actually having sex with Patrick, I was thinking 'oh god, is this make out going to lead to something else?'

And I know at one point I had wanted passion and fire with Patrick, but now I was so nervous passion and fire freaked me out more than the L-word and the L-word freaked me out quite a bit. And I guess you could say that this fear was getting kind of obvious, or maybe Patrick was getting more perceptive.

Either way, it led up to Patrick's and my first fight. I can't remember all the exact words that were spoken. But I do recall Patrick saying I never talked to him about how I felt, and that he felt like I was keeping secrets from him. We'd been at my house at the time, and he stormed out, and left afterwards. I remember saying some rather uncalled for things as well, and I think it was just the heat of the moment, or maybe pms, or both. I don't really know to be honest.

I felt really stupid about the fight afterwards but I had too much pride to be the first one to budge on this even though I did know I was wrong, and that I did withhold a lot of information. I didn't have friends though, I could honestly say my best friends were my sisters and even they only knew what I felt comfortable enough letting them know.

It was easier for me to have my problems and deal with them myself. The idea of sharing things like why my father left and how it makes me feel felt too much like being in therapy, and I hated pity. I did want to be the pity party. And I get that when you're in a relationship you give part of yourself to that person, and they give you part of them as well and you're supposed to share things, they're supposed to know things about you but well, it's not something I can just do.

And the idea of bringing up something that has to do with sex to Patrick was one of the most embarrassing tings ever. I don't even think it had to do with sex at all, but more towards the fact I could definitely be jumping to the conclusion anything we were doing was going to lead to sex.

See there were so many complications here that I couldn't possibly go and tell him what was actually on my mind, what was actually preventing me from being myself around him.

"Patrick left?" my mom asked when she walked into the sitting room a bottle of Perrier in her hand. I looked up from the television that was incidentally turned off to where she stood.

"Yeah," I answered turning my head to look back at the television. While the hostility between my mother and I had disseminated like a petals on a rose after a strong wind I wasn't about to tell her my problems.

"Did you two have a fight?" Even though I was positive she hadn't heard us because we hadn't been that loud I guess it was a mother's instinct or something.

"Yeah, kind of."

She sat down beside me, the cushions on the couch shifting under her. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, no," I responded uneasily feeling the weight of the argument on my shoulders as though it were something tangible. "Can we just watch a movie? Like we used to?"

My mom smiled beside me, and hopped up moving to where all the DVDs were kept. "Of course P, of course we can." I waited for her to pick something out, and put it in the television before returning to the couch. She chose Because I Said So and we sat in content silence watching it.

It ended around nine-thirty, and my mom called it a night after that, giving me a kiss on the head before going to her room. I stayed on the couch for a little while longer, and then went up to my room where I tried to get some emotional painting out but that was to no prevail and I ended up pacing my room till it was a little after ten. I compulsively check my blackberry as I did this, and I realized that I was definitely going to have to go and talk to Patrick, that it was very important that I went and told him exactly what I was thinking. I think that was the only solution.

I wasn't thinking rationally anymore because I walked right out the house not letting my mom know where I was going, and walked to Patrick's house in the paint-splattered clothes I'd put on before I'd started painting.

When I got to his house I spent a good portion of it just sitting on the stoop. I think the majority of his house was asleep, possibly even Patrick himself. I really hadn't thought this through at all, and now I was going to have walk back home in the dark and pray I was lucky enough to get back safely.

I decided I had to speak to Patrick though, or at least attempt to. If he didn't pick up his phone then it was fate intercepting. With shaking fingers I flipped through my contacts down to P and then hit send on Patrick's name. It rang once and then Patrick picked up and I didn't wait for him to say anything. "Come outside," I said before hanging up.

I waited for him patiently wondering why it was taking so long but deciding he was probably putting on some clothes or something and then I heard the front door open and I got up off the steps and turned around to look at him. "What are you doing here?" Patrick asked his hair mussed and his skin kind of blotchy like he'd been sleeping on it.

"No let me talk," I told him and he did. He didn't say anything and I actually didn't know where to begin. "I know that I keep things from you, I do, and it's not something I can help. I don't mean to be so…reclusive I guess, I don't know. I'm not used to talking about…anything really." I paused to breathe and then continued, "Last week when we got home from the movies my mom accused me of having sex, or planning on sex, or getting close to having sex, whatever, and that's why we got in a fight. And now she's put it in my head that...that we might, we could possibly." I felt my cheeks flush. "The point is is that I'm not ready to have sex, I'm not saying never, I'm just saying…I'm not ready. I know some girls can…in like a week, sometimes less than that but I can't. Not yet."

I felt my cheeks hitting the peak of blushing probably as red as my hair and I averted my gaze from Patrick's thanking god it was the middle of the night so he could not see me completely. The silence grew and when he didn't say anything I felt the embarrassment more than I would have if it had said something, anything at all.

"Never mind," I said quickly, my palms growing slick with sweat. "Forget I said anything at all. It doesn't matter." I turned around, ready to head back the way I came and maybe skip over my house and keep going.

"I'm in love with you Penelope Reid." I don't know if my ears were playing tricks on me, or I'd fainted and fallen into coma, or the pits of hell had opened and condemned me to an eternal nightmare but I was positive what I'd just heard was what I'd just heard. I felt Patrick was closer then before I didn't dare look behind me.

"I'm not with you because of sex, I'm not with you because you're beautiful, I'm not with you because I just wanted to be. I'm with you because I love you, and I want to be with you every day, all day. Even if it's just sitting across from you while you read a book, or watching you paint. I love you."

"Stop saying that," I whispered feeling tears form in my eyes though I didn't know exactly why I wanted to cry.

"Penelope," he sighed.

I turned around when I was sure my tears had receded, and stared straight at Patrick. "You can't love me. You can not love me."

"Penelope."

"No, Patrick, no. Take it back. Take it back."

"Penelope."

"No," I snapped hitting his chest angrily. "No, Patrick. You can't, you can't. Why would you say that?" I beat his chest some more. It actually felt relieving, almost therapeutic. "Take it back, Patrick. Take it back!" He grabbed my wrists and held them tight to stop my hitting though I was sure it didn't hurt. I wasn't endowed with upper body strength, and my small hands didn't help.

"Let me go Patch." It was the first time I'd ever used his nickname and it felt weird on my tongue. "Let me go." I attempted to yank out of his grasp but it was to no prevail. I wasn't going anywhere unless he let me.

"Take the guest room," he said quietly, slowly. "You can leave in the morning." He didn't wait for my reply but instead turned around and walked inside barely waiting for me to follow. I was ready to run but one look in his direction told me he'd chase me in a minute, and I knew how running was involved in Lacrosse and Football and I wasn't about to attempt it.

The house was silent as I had first expected and the silence only added to the awkward atmosphere between us. The guest room was three doors down from Patrick's room and decorated in neutral colors and casual furniture. He didn't say anything when he left, but closed the door behind him, and then I really considered leaving.

I wanted to leave forever. This was too much for me. I never asked for this. I never asked for it. All I wanted was to graduate and move out, go to college in New York, or someplace like that, and never come back here. And now there was a boy who was in love with me, who loved me. It seemed impossible.

I felt dumb, and tired, and cranky, and sad, and I wanted to cry and scream and fall on the ground all at the same time. I was confused with all my feelings, and I thought sleep would help that but sleep proved impossible because three doors down there was a boy sleeping in his bed and he was in love with me, and I think I might've been in love with him too and that scared me. It scared me so much.

Decidedly, I slid out the bed and cracked open the door. I really hoped no one walked out and caught me because no doubt they'd be shocked to find me in their house. I slid across the floor towards Patrick's bedroom and gently cracked the door open. His room was dimly lit, and I could see his figure sitting on the side of his bed.

He looked over at me when I entered and then looked back at the wall. I slid across the floor to him making my movements slow to gain more time. "I can't accept this," I told him when I was directly in front of me. I felt the tears I'd managed to repress earlier flow down my cheeks but I made no efforts to stop them.

"How do you think I feel?"

"You shouldn't have fallen in love with me."

"It's not that simple. It is not that simple at all."

"Why did you tell me? Why did you have to tell me?"

"Because I wanted you to know."

I felt my jaw ache for reasons that were beyond me at this point. "This scares me."

"It scares me too."

I kissed him. I don't really know what possessed me to do it but somehow I knew it was the right thing to do. It was something in my brain that told me, like an instinct. And I felt it everywhere; I felt the kiss in my whole body. In my heart, in my mind, in my body, and in my soul. It quaked through me like a hurricane but destroyed nothing. I wanted to tell him I loved him too but I couldn't, not yet, not until I knew I could be the girl he wanted.