All i need you to be, p.3
All I Need You to Be, page 3
"It's going to be all right, Anna," he said as if he were reading my thoughts.
"I know," I replied while clenching my fists in my lap. I knew he wasn't talking about my wounds. Again, my cheeks turned red as I remembered the situation I had been in and everything he had heard.
A sigh came from his mouth, and then he turned to me.
"Anna, you have nothing to be ashamed of. Joe was a complete asshole for breaking up with you the way he did." One of his hands covered mine that was still clenched to death, ignoring the pain of my scrapes.
I looked up to meet his eyes, and I didn't notice a hint of mockery in them.
He was right. Everything was going to be okay.
George and my mother always said I had a gift for drama. I think everyone thought I would study performing arts, which was a no thanks for me considering my issue with crowds. Instead, I ended up at KSU, majoring in architecture.
But on second thought, George and Mom were right. I was too dramatic.
Yes, Joe had indeed broken up with me in a rather cruel way, and of course, it hurt. I had spent five years of my life with him; I had even turned down Northwestern University to come to KSU with him. And although this felt like the end of the world, this whole situation would be over, even Joe's friends would forget about it. Eventually, this would just end up being a bad breakup.
I would pick up the pieces of my broken heart and move on. It wasn't as bad as it seemed.
I smiled back at Patrick and finally realized where we were. He had parked in front of a brick building that seemed to have no more than four floors.
The entrance had wide stairs and a large tinted glass door. It looked pretty new, but it also had a rustic touch that made it look a bit vintage.
"Is this your place? I thought you still lived in the frat house," I asked, pointing out the building through the window.
Patrick took his hand out of my lap and looked at the building I was pointing at. He smiled back at me before answering.
"Yes and no. Actually, this is my brother's place, but he travels a lot for his work and always asks me to keep an eye on it from time to time. I've stayed here more than at the fraternity this semester. Well, we should go inside so you can get cleaned up."
That said, he got out of the SUV and helped me out by putting one of his arms around my waist. We slowly walked up the stairs as he checked his back pocket for the key.
We entered the building, and fortunately, it had a working elevator, even though it was relatively small. I wasn't complaining, though; my leg injuries didn't hurt enough to stop me from walking, but the events of the day were beginning to take their toll on me, and it felt like all my bones weighed a ton.
We went up to the top floor and got into the apartment. Patrick turned on the lights and helped me sit on a black leather couch in the living room.
The whole apartment was lovely. The living room and the kitchen were in the same room, but the walls and decoration were so white and clean that they looked like something out of an interior decorating magazine.
One of the walls displayed the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life.
It was a large black and white photo that took up almost half the wall. It was a close-up of a child with Asian features and ragged clothing playing with a paper plane and other children following him with paper planes too. The photo captured the joy so well that you could not avoid smiling when you saw it.
Next to the photo, there were small scenes of landscapes, sunrises, and sunsets of warm colors. There were also pictures of what I recognized as a younger Patrick with a soccer ball laughing on the floor next to two young boys about the same age.
The whole wall created a warm atmosphere that I loved from the very first moment. It was just beautiful.
"They were taken by my brother," said Patrick.
He came back with a first aid kit, and the leather jacket he was wearing was gone.
"You mean the pictures? Did he take them? They're wonderful," I said while still looking at the pictures.
"Yes, he's a photographer for the National Geographic magazine, he does very well and travels a lot. He's an excellent photographer." I couldn't avoid noticing all the love and pride in his voice.
Besides Jack, I had an older brother and sister, and I certainly loved them unconditionally, so I knew how he felt.
"He is really a good photographer," I said, smiling at him.
"Here's a sweatshirt for you to stay tonight. I thought you might need it now that you forgot your stuff at the frat house." The sweatshirt was green and had the green lantern symbol on it.
His remark about my stuff made me remember that because of the rush, I had left all my stuff in the rack by the fraternity door, my helmet, my backpack, and my K-state sweatshirt, not to mention two or three T-shirts that were probably in Joe's room.
A sigh came out of me as I closed my eyes, thinking that I had to go and face Joe and his friends again if I wanted to get my stuff back.
I opened my eyes and saw the sweatshirt Rick was still handing me. I grabbed it as I looked in his direction gratefully.
I owe Patrick one for helping me out tonight. Sir Cole had polished his armor and was playing a great role as a knight.
"Thank you," I whispered. "May I take a bath?" Now that I was finally calm, I felt the day's sweat clinging to my skin, not to mention the pavement's dirt from my fall.
I stank. Literally.
"Sure! The bathroom is at the first door on the right," he said, pointing to the hallway next to the wall full of pictures.
"I think you'll find everything you need there. I'll wait until you're done so I can clean those wounds." His eyes were fixed on mine for a few seconds, but he looked away first to take control of the TV that was in front of the sofa.
I decided it was time to leave the room.
In contrast to the living room, the hall had red walls, which added a vibe of mystery to its white doors.
I went into the room Patrick said was the bathroom.
The tiles were completely black, and the main feature was the white curtains separating the shower bath from the toilet. All this minimalist concept was beautiful.
I took off my uniform and adjusted the shower temperature. I didn't know if Patrick had a hairdryer in the apartment. I didn't think so, but I still got under the shower and let the water fall from my head to my feet, hoping that the water would wash away the heaviness from my shoulders and the tension from my body. Sleeping with wet hair wouldn't be the worst part of my day, after all.
When I felt my body relax a bit in the warm water, my eyes filled with tears again.
I couldn't help it. I didn't want to cry. I wanted to be strong. How could I cry for someone who treated me the way Joe did? I felt it was unfair, but I also was disappointed. Joe was my first love. My first kiss. My first everything. We had made plans for a lifetime.
I was disappointed and embarrassed.
My body sobbed as the water washed away my tears. Finally, when I calmed down, I washed my body, taking special care of my wounds. The small scratches on my hands stung when they touched the soap. I appreciated that, as it helped me forget a little about the reason for my tears.
When I got out of the shower, I dried off and put on the Green Lantern sweatshirt Patrick had offered me. It was big, as expected. It totally covered my knees and maybe two inches more.
Patrick was taller than my 5′3″ by maybe 10 or 12 inches.
I looked at my reflection in the mirror while trying to comb my messy hair with my fingers.
I had never seen myself like this. The sadness was reflected in my eyes, as well as the tiredness. My nose and my cheeks were red.
So this is what Patrick saw. No wonder he felt sorry for me.
I felt the lump in my throat again, but I refused to give in to it. I took a few deep breaths of air before going out into the room.
Patrick was watching a show about serial killers on Discovery Investigation. He looked pretty relaxed, lying on the couch with one of his arms behind his head.
I cleared my throat to get his attention. I didn't know what to say.
When he noticed my presence, he sat up straight and moved aside while pointing out for me to sit next to him. As soon as I sat down, he took my hands carefully and started applying some alcohol with a cotton ball.
I wanted to say something, but I wasn't very good at talking to people. When I didn't know someone, I never found something appropriate to say, and talking about the weather was such an obvious act of desperation that I preferred not to even try it.
Silence fell upon us as he healed my wounds. Thank God it was he who broke it.
"I hope you found everything you needed," he said as he applied some ointment to my palms.
"Yes, it was nice to take a shower, thank you. You're very good at this," I said, pointing to my injuries.
His smile was not long in coming.
"When you have two older brothers, wounds are commonplace."
"Your brothers… are they the ones in the picture?" I asked, looking at the picture of the three kids laughing.
"Yes," he answered, with a smile still on his face.
He knelt down in front of me to meet my knees. Having him there wearing his sweatshirt felt very intimate. But there was no discomfort, nor did I feel invaded. It just felt... good.
He put some alcohol in my wounds. My skin was damaged, and it definitely stung, but it wasn't bad enough to need stitches.
When a hiss came out of my mouth because of the stinging, he moved his lips close to my knees and blew.
At that moment, I was overwhelmed by a feeling I had never felt before. A shiver ran through my body and down my back. He must have felt it because he looked up at me intensely.
My breathing accelerated under his scrutiny.
What's going on with me?
This time it was me who looked away first. Having this kind of intimacy with Patrick didn't feel bad at all, but I needed to get my thoughts away from where they were going.
"Tell me about them," I said, trying to revive the conversation.
When Patrick finished applying ointment to my knees, he sat down next to me, turning a bit to face me.
"What do you want to know? If you are interested in his drug record, I am sorry to inform you that I have no lurid material. Though I'm sure James smokes pot from time to time." His comment had a hint of a joke that made me feel even more ashamed of my impudence for asking him about that in the car.
My cheeks got hot, but I decided to let the shame go. I laughed at the whole situation and looked at him gracefully.
"So, James, is that the photographer?" I asked.
"No, actually, that's Marcus. James is an adventurer; he gives windsurfing lessons in California. He moved to California with the idea of becoming an actor. Mom almost had a heart attack when he turned down a scholarship to Harvard. He's a little crazy, but he's fucking smart." His eyes expressed love and fun; it was a wonderful thing to see.
"So, you're the youngest? You said it before," I pointed out.
I wanted him to keep talking. The way he expressed himself about his family was simply adorable and made me forget my shitty day.
"Yes, Marcus is three years older than me, and James is only two. I am the baby of the family."
"They both seem like people worth knowing."
"What about you, Anna, any siblings?" he asked as he leaned back and put one of his arms behind his head again.
"I have two older siblings, Amy is 27, she is a journalist. Dean is 25, he's an accountant. Not as impressive as yours, but I love them immensely, even though they're a pain in the ass sometimes," I said, laughing about the latter.
He joined me with a laugh.
"And you're telling me?" he said as he pointed to himself. "Those two beasts I call brothers are the most annoying beings I have ever met."
"Hah! I don't think so." I could definitely win this battle. "When I was eight, my brother told me that babies were incubated in a lab and that Mom was a little disappointed in her order when I arrived. I cried all week before I went to sleep until my mother found out and I had to tell her. She grounded Dean for three weeks, and I learned where kids actually come from," I narrated.
My smug look said it all. He could never beat that.
"That's a bit cruel," he admitted. "But how about this? When I was thirteen, we moved to Kansas, and James told everyone at school that they called me Rick because my real name was Ricardo, and also told them that I had been adopted in a South American country and that I still didn't speak English well. For two weeks, people talked to me in a stupid voice."
I couldn't help but laugh at his story, but I wasn't going to let him win.
"Well, Ricarrrdo," I said, emphasizing the letter r. "When I was thirteen, my older sister cried in the middle of a mall when I told her I had my first period that morning, and when people came to ask, she didn't even pretend, she told on me there in front of everyone."
This time it was he who laughed first, throwing his head back and exposing his Adam's apple.
"Touché. I think that must have been pretty embarrassing," he said, as he turned back to where I was and moved closer to my side of the couch.
"Yes," I exhaled. "Amy can make my life miserable from time to time. Even so, I wouldn't change her for anything in the world."
"I know that feeling. Would you like some coffee?" he offered as he got off the couch and headed to the kitchen.
The atmosphere felt so relaxed and pleasant. I had been stressed out about my situation with Joe for months. Eve was fun, but she lacked this feeling of familiarity. Even though I didn't know Patrick well enough, it felt like we had been friends for years instead of... how long? Two hours?
"I would love to drink a cup," my voice came out as a whisper.
I moved around the room, snooping around in a bookshelf next to a floor lamp. Although I really couldn't take my eyes off Patrick's movements. This whole concept of open plan had its charm.
Finally, I gave in to the temptation and went to the marble countertop that separated the living room from the kitchen.
I sat down on one of those stools that looked like something out of a cafeteria from the 1960s and tried to revive the conversation. I had forgotten how tired I was. I had forgotten about my day. I was fascinated by the person Patrick Cole had turned out to be.
"So, everyone calls you Rick?" I asked.
"Yes. Everyone except my mom and you. You're the only one who calls me Patrick besides her," he replied as he placed a cup of coffee in front of me and leaned across the counter, holding his own cup.
"Oh..." I didn't know what to say to that. Did he like me calling him like his mother did, or were we close enough for me to call him Rick?
Considering these recent events, I would say we were.
"Anna, call me Rick. I can't and don't want to think of you as my mother," he said as if guessing my thoughts and gave me a piercing look that tickled my back again.
I took my coffee cup and brought it to my lips. What did he mean by that? Part of me had a feeling about it, and the other part of me decided to ignore it. I had had enough madness for just one day.
The taste of coffee woke me up, taking with it the few traces of exhaustion that still invaded my body.
We took a few sips of coffee, sharing this new intimacy that had developed between us.
"Anna comes from... Anastasia?" he asked, leaning towards me over the countertop.
I chuckled. Since the 50 Shades of Grey boom, that was the first name people thought of when they heard my name.
"Not so fast, Christian Grey, or the next thing you'll say is that my name comes from anal," I joked.
We both laughed at my comment, and a spark lit up in his eyes. I only made that kind of comment when I was with Eve or Jack, but with Patrick, I mean, Rick, I felt comfortable too.
"Anna, don't mess with me. You know very well that I might take you to my Red Room of Pain," his voice intensified and came out deep regardless of the joke. His imitation was almost perfect.
I chuckled nervously before replying.
"Actually... I'm Annabelle."
He left his cup on the counter before reducing the distance between us and took a lock of my tangled hair while I looked at him.
"That makes more sense," he whispered.
"Wh-why do you say that?" I exhaled.
"Parce que je pensé que tu es vraiment belle," he answered as he put my hair behind my ear, and his index finger went down my cheekbone.
I didn't get a single word he said. It sounded like French. I wished I had taken French in high school instead of Spanish.
This time I felt a tingle all over my body, and that feeling scared me. This had been a very intense day, and I didn't think I was ready for more.
I hesitated for a second to ask him what he meant by his words. In the end, I didn't dare.
I moved away from his touch and stood up nervously from the stool. He looked away from me and focused on his empty coffee cup.
I felt a strange tension between us, but I was afraid to cut it off. I had had enough for today.
"I think... I think it would be better if we slept." Okay, no, Anna, that sounded weird. "I mean not together, separately, in different places," I added quickly.
Oh, my God, this is a disaster.
"You can take the room, I'll sleep on the couch," he said without looking away from his coffee cup and pulling me out of the hole of discomfort he had thrown us into. "The room is in front of the bathroom, call me if you need... something."
"All right... thank you," I replied as I slowly made my way to the room.
When I closed the door behind me, I exhaled, leaning against it. May the devil take me if I have to go through that again. That tingle still invaded my body.
The room was spacious and had the same minimalist style as the rest of the place. There were only the essentials: a closet, a desk with a laptop, a flat-screen TV, and a giant bed. A curtain covered an entire wall that turned out to be French windows. Behind them, you could see the city and the moon shining brightly in the sky.
