A Passionate Man

Name: Patrick. Age: Thirty-Four. Job: Chef, Bayside Grill

[hirxeth]

“Tell me how I should be. Just tell me. I’ll do it.”

Blue valentine (2010) dir. Derek Cianfrance

[iris-bergin-deactivated20160125]

Watered Down {Open}

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

iris-bergin:

“Oh yes,” she couldn’t help but drawl, those words hard as she shook her head, “I forgot your given name was silence now haven’t I or was it excuse? I can’t seem to keep track anymore.” That had always been their pit fall, their way of doing things for he pulled out the anger which bubbled dormant within the woman’s chest—he had always managed to bring out her harder edge, to force her to defend and fight, while she—well she wasn’t sure what she did for the sullen man. At least not any more, for there had been a time where she thought she kept him speaking—that she propelled his tongue to speak with words which perhaps held less turbulence. Words which could be soft when directed at her and yet there they stood his anger present—and yet she had received that letter with all those terrible things. Perhaps she had been wrong she found herself thinking, perhaps she did nothing for the man beneath the Chef’s hat.

Perhaps she had merely imagined it within her walls of solitude—he had left them alone…he had…she had…

“For the same reason you do everything Patrick,” she said stuttering slightly over his name for the anger would collide with a sense of sadness for that had been the first time she had used his name when addressing someone who would know him—someone who would care as much as she had—did—had? Shaking her head her gaze refused to shift from his eyes. Iris refused to back down, “You work, eat, sleep, love—all for yourself. Always have.” Her grip upon her torso tightened as she felt smaller and smaller, this conversation bringing out all those feelings she had drowned in within those final days. All those feelings she had held in the beginning—before she broke him open, before he had given her the side of him that no one else had received or so she had thought. But she had been naive hadn’t she? Foolish?

Her eyes darted away for the briefest of moments as he spoke of Abigail, of them talking, while a part of her rolled and burst. That part dying slightly for that had been all she wanted—all she had needed to see in order to stay—a little pride for the daughter they had made together—a little want to speak with her. To try. “How long are you planning on staying?” she asked him, his comments glazed over but not ignored for the look within her eye was evidence of that. There was a sense of worry to her gaze, a worry which had been buried just beneath her sight since she had received his letter. A worry which stood coupled with a sense of anger and sadness. A fear and other convoluted emotions she couldn’t quite grip hard enough too to see.

Patrick set his jaw and nodded, looking out at the waves. “Yeah, I’m the one in the wrong. Right, that’s fair, Iris.” He spat, shaking his head. “I’m an asshole, for caring about my job.” He added, looking back at her. “Is that what you wanted to hear? That I’m a piece of shit, huh?” He asked, his anger winning out. There were only two people in the world, who’s opinion mattered to him. His brother and Iris. So, it pained him to hear she thought of him like this. But, he understood her anger, her harsh words, even if he wasn’t ready to admit he was the one in the wrong. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, he knew he should’ve just walked away, when he saw it was her. He wanted to say he was sorry, that he was wrong, but it scared him. He eyed her for a few moments, before looking back at the waves. He didn’t know how they had come to this, Iris had been his world for so long. His whole life Patrick had been so careful about allowing people to get close to him, keeping people at arm’s length was where he liked them. But Iris had broken down so many of his walls, allowed him to drop his guard and show the side only his brother had ever gotten to see. The loving and caring man Patrick could be. He knew he had taken his eye off the ball and allowed this wall to come between them, a wall he built himself. He just didn’t want to believe he had allowed things to get this bad, surely he hadn’t been that blind to things. A bitter laugh left his lips at her words. “Yup, everything I’ve ever done has been for me. I’m just a self-centered asshole, right? I sold the restaurant for me, I moved to this fuckin’ backwater town for me. God Iris, you must be a fuckin’ saint to have put up with me for so long. I don’t know how you did it, I really don’t.”

Patrick shrugged, knowing what he wanted to say, but being too scared to. He pulled the half-smoke cigarette from his ear, grabbing a lighter from his jacket. “I don’t know...” He said, before putting the cigarette between his lips. He tried lighting it, but his lighter was dead. He muttered a few curses under his breath, still trying the lighter. He gave up after a few moments, his eyes going to the waves. “I just wanna be in her life.” He said, not looking at Iris, the fear in his chest not letting him. He looked at his feet, tucking the cigarette behind his ear again. “You don’t want anything to do with me, fine, but...” He trailed off, shaking his head. “If she’s here, I’m here. That’s how long I plan on staying, okay?”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

silasblackwood:

“That’s a bit extreme, don’t you think? Couldn’t you worry ‘bout both and get yourself a nobel peace prize while you’re at it? Think about it. Stopping instagram photobombers and feed children with the food that they snap.”

“Not really,” Patrick said, with an easy shrug. “I don’t have the money or the means to stop world hunger, so I’m not going to worry about it. If you do, do something and get yourself that Nobel Peace Prize. Me, I’m just gonna deck the next idiot who takes a picture of their food in front of me.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

magnus-nolan:

“I tip decently.”

“Well, the wait staff’s going to love you then.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

adelaide-jensen:

“I do, the flavors are really amazing as well!” she complimented, a grin spreading across her face, “I LOVE Lunch Box! One of my favorites, hands down.” she nodded enthusiastically. “I do, I like cooking things myself more than ordering in, I mean every now and then I’ll do take out but I like cooking myself and knowing what’s going into the meals I have.”

“Well, thank you. A lot of blood and sweat went into that place, so it’s nice to know someone cared besides me.” Patrick said, giving her a small smile. “That’s great, cooking for yourself is important. Knowing what actually goes into what you’re eating is key to living a healthy life, a lot of stupid people don’t get that.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

forbeccaorforworse:

“But what if these pictures get a lot of views and more people want to eat here because of them?”

“I’m not sure if I want people who decide where they’re going to eat by Instagram, eating in my restaurant. If they’re hungry, the dumpster’s out back.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

professordouglas:

“You kind of sound like an angst filled high school student. There’s always been plenty of moronic people in the world. The advancing technology has simply made it more apparent.”

“Thank you, I’m trying to fit in with the cool kids at school.” Patrick said dryly, giving her a humorless smile. “I never said stupid people were a new thing, I’m just sick of watching idiots drop their phones on my food.”

[iris-bergin-deactivated20160125]

Watered Down {Open}

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

iris-bergin:

“You left far earlier than I did,” she shot back stubbornly her gaze finding his as her jaw seemed to set, her features remained calm despite the turning of her stomach, despite the feeling that she needed to defend simply more than her actions for there was a shard of sunshine trapped between them. A little girl who had reached out time and time again for a father to love her and yet was met with a man who had been too busy—one who was absent even when present within the room. Iris had seen the way he had retreated, fallen further into his guilt and anger, and her own fear and pain—her own worry for him, her heart, was outweighed by the anger and need to protect that little girl. Iris couldn’t allow Abigail to feel such scorn as she felt within that would be home. She wouldn’t allow Patrick to leave them both.

To Iris Patrick had left them the day Abigail had been born for even when present, his dark cloud looming over the rooms they choose to be in, his anger keeping him from them in a way which chipped away at the woman he had married. Slowly, ever so slowly, Iris had began to disappear within that home—fearful of his anger yet unwilling to bend to she did not know how to process the silence. She did not know how to be alone within a crowd. This is where my family is…those words struck a chord as her gaze moved from the cigarette once more to his face, eyes searching those features, “Truthfully?” she asked although in a great many ways she hadn’t expected or wanted an answer from him, “I wouldn’t know, it’s hard to tell how far that pit of yours goes. Or I suppose I could have said the kitchen, you did like to escape there…” those words were said with little bite, they held simply truth as a worry seemed to take hold of her features.

She worried for him, despite it all, “She loves it. Her grandpa and cousins, the doctors—she started seeing a speech pathologist about a month ago, she’s finding it hard but I swear she lip reads far better than she lets on,” a slanted grin captured her near stoic look the thought of Abigail and her progress beating a sense of heat into her face. A sense of pride to her voice, “She’s learning to speak.”

“I was working, Iris.” Patrick said, anger in his voice. “Working for you, for Abby. You know  how many hours go into running a restaurant. I wasn’t choosing not to be there, Iris.” It was an excuse and he knew she knew it, but he wasn’t ready to admit it. Working in a kitchen and running a restaurant, Patrick knew how to do and was great at. His daughter on the other hand was a situation, he didn’t know how to handle. His whole life every situation, every problem that arose, he could fix, he could handle. But there was nothing he could do for his daughter, which only left him frustrated and angry, since he felt at fault for his daughter's problems. It was the first time in Patrick’s life he felt helpless, the first time Patrick was completely at a loss for what to do. All these feelings, led to Patrick pulling away, throwing himself into the restaurant. Part of him wanted to admit this to Iris, but he couldn’t, pride and fear wouldn’t let him. Years under his father’s roof, taught him weakness wasn’t something you show. It only left you open for an attack, be it emotional or physical. He knew he didn’t have to worry about that with Iris, but there wasn’t a switch to just turn that mindset off.

It wasn’t often Patrick didn’t know what to say or didn’t have some smart remark. This wasn’t a great trait to have growing up in the home he did, it more often than not led to a black-eye or a fat-lip from his father. His father’s abuses never shut him up or stopped him from speaking his mind, but Iris’ words gave him pause.  He had a response in the barrel within moments of the words leaving her mouth, but he didn’t pull the trigger. He wanted to make more excuses, tell her it was his job, that he had wanted to be home. He didn’t meet her eye, suddenly wishing he hadn’t put his cigarette out. He wanted to tell her she was wrong and being unfair, but she was right and he knew it. Saying sorry came to his mind again, but his pride stood it’s ground. He put his hands up, as if asking what did she want from him. “Why else would I be here?” He asked, looking back at her, more anger to his voice than he meant. 

“The beautiful sights?” He asked, waving a hand to the crashing waves and gray sky. Listening to Iris speak of their daughter, Patrick smiled slightly, pride welling up in him for his little girl. “That’s great... Iris.” He said, nodding, again not meeting her eye. Honestly, he was hurt that they were able to move on without him, seemingly, so easily. But part of him didn’t care, as long as they were happy. “Maybe, I’ll be able to finally hold a conversation with her, without your help.” He joked weakly, giving her a smile.

[magnus-nolan-blog]

“I’m not an instagram user, I’m just a guy who wants to chow.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

“If you tip well, you might be the perfect customer.”

[adelaide-jensen]

“Sometimes people make a living taking photos of food, though I personally love how your dishes are plated and use them as inspiration for my own.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

“You like my plating, huh? You must’ve been to the Lunch Box, back in New York than?” Patrick asked, referring to his restaurant. “Inspiration for your own? So, you cook?”

[myeuphcria]

“Maybe you could appreciate the fact that people enjoy your food so much to the extent that they want to show it off.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

“I could do that, you’re right.” Patrick said, with a nod. “But, I’m not gonna.  I’ll probably just keep thinking of ways to make sure they never want to come back.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

officer-easton:

“What’s Instagram?”

“It’s a site for idiots who like pictures of cats and food.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

silasblackwood:

“I didn’t realize that was such a problem here in Bayside. Or such a big deal.”

“Well, it is and it needs to stop. I’m more worried about the idiots in my restaurant taking pictures of their food, then the starving kids in Africa.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

aubreymorriss:

“Nothing worse than people who Instagram every little thing they eat. What even is the point in it?”

“Thank you. No one cares how good your steak looks, just eat your fuckin’ food.”

[forbeccaorforworse-blog]

“Well you clearly do know why you hate it. You think it’s pointless and you want people to tuck in rather than mess around capturing images.”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

“You’re right, that’s it. It’s just so fuckin’ stupid, you make a reservation two weeks in advance, you bitch and moan about the wait. But when you get your food, you take a fuckin’ picture?”

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

professordouglas:

“Welcome to the 21st century.”

“Well, it fuckin’ sucks here. We were supposed to have flying cars, not idiots with cameras on sticks, so they could take better pictures of themselves.”

[iris-bergin-deactivated20160125]

Watered Down {Open}

[patrick-rp-bayside-blog]

iris-bergin:

Fear ebbed into sorrow, sorrow into pain and back again as her heels were lifted with yet another turn of the sea, her form like a rag doll bobbing within the wind and yet she had never felt more anchored to the earth. Had never felt so solidly amongst the floor as she did within that gaze, he simply stood there the glow of that cigarette—that horrid thing a thought whispered—no you should not have an opinion, you left and yet he should not have allowed them to leave—he should—

As yet another wave came and fell Iris was caught, trapped of they would not allow her to melt down into them—they would not, in their cool embrace hide her forever, and so she pulled her form from the surf. Long legs pulled hard as her clothes, that sweater and dress clung to her slight frame, she tried to stifle those infernal shivers—tried to appear stronger, more set and stable, while her heart merely hammered within her ears and her mined—that part that clung to him screamed out for him to hold her. Cried out for him to release his anger and to finally see, for it had been longer than a year that he had been blind to both her and their daughter. More than a year that he had touch, played, laughed…

It was those thoughts which cemented her resolve as toes crunched through the sand, those thoughts which reminded her why she had left him. Why she had taken Abigail. “A year and all we get is an angry letter,” she offered in return to his comment, voice far from harsh yet still holding the same truth his own words did for Iris felt as if she couldn’t be the only one to blame. He could have called—written—he could have come sooner. 

Arms crossed over her chest as she came to a stop before him, brown orbs— those warm and searching things, moving over his features— bouncing between his lips and his eyes. From that cigarette to the circles which hung beneath that stare. “So you’re here,” she finally said as the worry bloomed despite him, she worried for he didn’t look well— to her he looked tired, angry and out of sorts. She had done that she thought— she had done that too him.

Patrick’s eyes narrowed at her words, confused for a moment, but it slowly came back to him.  Patrick had believed, known, that Iris would come back. After all, how could she possibly be happy without him? But when Abigail’s birthday came and went, he realized she wasn’t coming back. The realization that Iris didn’t need him, as much as he needed her, crushed him. Patrick had never realized how much he needed the few people he held close, how he couldn’t function without them. That first year without them had been a drunken mess, with a few fights and nights spent in lockup mixed in. He needed his family, he knew that now, even if he wouldn’t admit it. With that knowledge came an anger, anger towards himself for driving them away, but directed at her. After all, she had left him, she had torn his family apart. He had been drunk and angry, alone in their apartment, his thoughts of his family. In his drunken state, he had allowed his anger to swallow him and that had led to the letter. He didn’t remember most of the contents of it, but he remembered that anger. He knew whatever the letter said, had been things he wouldn’t even have thought about saying if he had been sober. The first thing he thought to do was apologize for whatever the letter said, but his pride shot that idea down quickly. He didn’t even want to think about whatever poison had been written in that letter, he wanted to stay angry. He took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes not leaving hers.

The smoke exited his nose again. “You took my daughter and left, Iris. What did you expect? Flowers and a box of chocolates?” He asked, anger at the edges of his voice. There was this beauty to Iris, that couldn’t  be hidden. It didn’t matter if she was covered in flour, sweat, her hair tied up in a bun and wearing a uniform that only showed her forearms, you wouldn’t be able to take your eyes off her. Seeing her now, sweater and dress hugging her closely, only reminded him of that. He took another drag from his cigarette, his eyes going to the water, not being able to keep them on her any longer. As she got closer, he became more aware of the smoke around him. Deciding he was done smoking for now, he tapped the cigarette out on the bottom of his shoe and looked back at her as she spoke again. He didn’t say anything for a few moments, the sound of the waves crashing against the beach being the only sound. “Yeah, I’m here.” He said, tucking the half smoked cigarette behind an ear. “This is where my family is, where else would I be?” He asked, giving her a shrug, not meeting her eye. He looked back at the waves, than down at his hands, before back at her. “Um... how’s Abby? Is she liking it...” He trailed off, waving a hand around the beach, like it signified Bayside as a whole.