His words hit them. As if in those few words, it explained just how important they were to each other. Even if on the outside, it didnât look too feasible. With all the imposters floating in their head causing them to commit emotional sin, this was one of those moments ( though never verbally shared ) that made Ale be able to get stronger. Those awkward, musters of courage, exposing oneself to another. Their arms loosened from their fold, eyes looking from his and glancing down at the snow their foot aimlessly manipulated. â Shit. Donât go getting all limp-dicked on me now.â And even though they voiced such words, it was evident by the softer demeanor that it meant more than they could explain. Ale sighed, the kind of sigh you make when feeling some sort of ease. âAisle seat?â Ale questioned, shooting a look back at them. â Fair with me, as long I get the one on the other side. If I donât, just keep your beautiful dick tamed because weâll be sharing the same seat.â
Months of overwhelming preparation and overall loss of sanity finally led to the moment of that great and dreadful day. It had been exactly 30 minutes since they arrived in Portland and another 10 minutes since they drove deep into satans suburbs. Memories racing through their head as familiar street signs only intensified the anxious beating of their heart. And when things could get much worse â the house. Flashbacks flooded their mind, the arguments, pain, and ultimately running away enveloping Ale like they were losing air to breathe.Â
Maggie could sense, between the hotness squished in the back seat, and the fact the cab guy was weird about people sitting up front, that something was wrong with Ale. She pulled back strands of their hair and whispered to them. Not long after, Maggie rolled the window down and repetitively told Ale to breathe. She was aware of the stories Ale shared with them about their parents, but it was something to actually see it unfold, to see how much it affected them. Maggie was very protective of Ale and the fact that the people who should be just as protective over their daughter made her feel like wanting to give them a piece of her mind. But this wasnât her battle, and as much as she would gladly fight this for them, she could only support.
The driver pulled up on the curb as cars filled up the driveway of their house. He glanced into the rearview, â $63.78âł, he said. Ale sat in silence, mouth-watering with saliva as they held their stomach, â Fuck! Get out!â They yelled, pushing Maggie as they quickly staggered out the door. The sounds of vomiting could be heard on the side of the car from Ale while Maggie held their hair. The driver narrowing his eyes to Patrick now, â63.78âł.
â For fuckâs sake, Maggie, get the hell away from me!â Ale swatted her away and wiped any residue from their mouth, âIâm fine.â They sighed heavily and rolled their shoulders, walking over to the trunk and banging it to get the men to unlock the hood. Maggie watched them, letting them lash out on them because she knew Ale had a lot more shit to deal with within a matter of minutes. She looked at them and soon went to help pull out their luggage. Ale was asked to stay the first night with their parents for funeral purposes so, Maggie and Patrick had to head back to the hotel to set up everything.
Once she helped them, she walked over to Patrick and leaned down at the door. â I know the plane ride here wasnât enjoyableâespecially since you know the real reason weâre here is for the funeral. Iâm just asking that you keep that here for you stuff you said back at New York in the back of your mindâŠif not, I can pay for your plane ticket back home.â
Patrick was uncomfortable. Heâd been dreading the cross-country flight as soon as it was proposed, but apparently three grown adults being stuffed into the backseat of a taxi cab was even worse. His window was cracked, head tilted up and resting against the glass in an attempt to suck in fresh air and drown out the stench of cheap cologne (seriously, did the driver clean his seats with Aqua Velva?) while combating the stale, hot air that was being endlessly cycled through the cranked heater. It wasnât doing much to help, though, because Patrickâs stomach still rolled with each unexpected bump and lurching turn. Every now and then, when Maggie murmured a quiet word to Ale between them, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing his thoughts onto the ache that had settled low in his back. If he focused on that, then he didnât have to think about the funeral. About the fact that Alezandraâs righteously awful family were waiting in the wings for them. About how he hadnât packed any clothes that seemed appropriate for mourning. Instead, he could worry over his sore muscles and pinch at the inside of his wrist as a private reminder to find ibuprofen as soon as they checked-in at the hotel.
Too bad their first stop was the Bates household.
And no sooner than the cabbie had pulled up to the curb, Ale was up and out, spilling their guts all over the pavement. Patrick was pretty sure that there was some sort of poetic irony there -- the horrors of adulthood expressed through involuntary puking outside of your childhood home --, but he was too tired to think about it. He watched as Aleâs shoulders shook with another heave and released a sigh of his own. âYeah, yeah,â he answered the driver without so much as a glance forward, twisting around and jamming his knees against the front passenger seat while he wrangled his wallet from his back pocket. Patrick paid with an added tip, hoping that no pukey splash-back had splattered on the taxi.
The exchange between Ale and Maggie was short and clipped, keeping Patrickâs shoulders tight with the knowing thought that heâd wind up snapping right back at Ale if -- and when -- he became the same target for their misplaced aggression. Thankfully, there was no obligation of years of friendship that was holding him to a standard of kindness when dealing with Maggie. âMove,â he grunted in reply, nodding out the window while already popping open the door. They still had the trek to the hotel to make, but Patrick wasnât going to survive another car trip if he didnât stretch his legs while he had the chance.
He did his best not to stare, giving the house a cursory glance and a frown to the driveway packed with cars. A gut feeling was telling him that he needed to say something to Alezandra. Maybe it was just the flood of Maggieâs voice scolding him, but something had to be said, didnât it? A word of support? Or perhaps understanding sorrow? -- Fuck if he knew. Patrick was standing in unknown territory on unsteady legs as he snuck a peek at Ale who was fighting with their luggage. His frown deepened when his gaze swung back to Maggie.
âThat was a private conversation,â he finally retorted. âAnd Iâm fucking staying, so just fuck off.â Patrick resisted the urge to wag a finger in her face. His shoulders were hunched, looking a little bit like he was caving in on himself, as Patrick often seemed to do in situations that made him feel obtrusive -- made it feel like he was simultaneously too small for his own body, but managing to take up far too much space. âThis would be a whole helluva lot easier if you could just trust me,â he huffed, attempting to keep his voice low and the conversation private. He shook out his left leg like an old dog. âIâm not a -- a fuckinâ funeral crasher, okay? Iâm here and this is happening and I hate it, but Iâm still here.â
