Sometime that night-
"Shut up I ain't no fucking queer," Henry said before taking another inhale on his half-smoked joint.
Patrick was in the center of the room, sloppily dancing and singing. The Lost Boys' CD was half over, but Patrick again was poking fun at it. That Henry actually bought the damn thing. "Can't fool me, Bowers," he spoke with a cheeky grin on his face, "You can say you like Metallica and Anthrax, or some other band all you want, but I know the truth," He walked towards Henry and plucked the joint from the other's hand.
"yeah, and what's that?" Henry grimaced as Patrick blew the smoke directly at him.
"That you listen to the music that queers and chicks love, the music that comes from shit movies," referring back to the CD playing, "Where most of the cast is teenage guys and also where some of them are wearing crop tops, fishnet tops or are just completely shirtless. It's not just the music, you loved the movie. So in some way, you gotta admit," He handed the joint back, but Henry just put it out seeing it was just filter burning now.
"Oh shut up, you sound like bitch talking about shit like that."
"fine." A moment passed, then suddenly Patrick fell onto the bed. Legs dangling off the edge, lying right next to where Henry was sitting.
It was quiet for a long while, just staying in each other's presence.
When the CD ended, Patrick got up and moved to change it. While at the desk, he reached again into the paper bag grabbing another joint. Before he lit it, he stared at Henry questioning if it was alright. A nod was given as an answer.
That was their last joint that night. Not long after it was finished, Patrick let out a large yawn.
"Wanna call it a night?" Half asleep, Henry asked.
"ye - yawn - ah"
----
The next morning, Henry woke and rolled over on his bed. He realized that Patrick wasn't there, so from where he was he glanced around his room, but still no Pat. He reached out to his nightstand grabbing the clock.
fuck, 12:42 pm. How the fuck did I sleep in this late, no wonder he left.
Finally getting out of bed, Henry stretched. But in the corner of his eye, he noticed a note on his desk.
Thanks for the weed, I'll supply it next time, fair? See you around Hen.
-Patrick
The handwriting was terrible, basically scribbled out. Specifically, the Patrick, looked like it was written by a toddler, not a 16-year-old.
Even though Patrick left, his dirty clothes were still left in a big pile on the floor. To be fair, no one would want to touch it, it looked like a swamp monster threw up on them- smelt like it too. Now that they were dry it seemed to only make them worse than before. It was like leaving a burrito in a hot car during the summer for like a week- that's what the clothes smelt like.
That was probably another reason Patrick didn't stick around this morning.
Henry grabbed the pile that was made up of both his and Patrick's clothes. Basically holding his breath as he took them to be washed.
After them going through multiple washes, the clothes looked and smelt normal again.
Around 5:00, Butch came back inside the house, dirty from doing farmwork work all day. He seemed frustrated and tired "Boy, bring me a damn beer," he stated from the living room. Henry walked toward the fridge and grabbed two instead of one. He placed one beer on the coffee table in front of the couch and handed the other to his father. As he was walking away, a voice stopped him. "Your a fuck up, you know that, a god damn disappointment." He opened his beer, took a swig, and placed it down. "You sneaking girls into my house now!"
"no" Henry whimpered out.
" 'no'... huh, For Christ's sake Henry I heard the two of you giggling and jumping around all fucking night." He was angry, "I don't mind all that much 'cause I was bought to start thinking you were one of those queers with how little women you got around these days." Butch stood up. "BUT, You Choose to do that SHIT the ONE night off I had this week!" After that, Henry was hit for the first time this week. "THE ONE FUCKING NIGHT!" Henry grasped at his stomach stumbling backward in pain. He heard the buckle of his father's belt. "you kids these days think you can do whatever you want!" hit "Walking all over your parents!" hit "making a fool of me" hit.
"it was just my friend, it was just Patrick. he stayed the night that's all." Henry Whimpered out through a broken voice that croaked of a boy holding back tears.
henry regretted speaking
"Patrick, PATRICK, That FAG!" the belt came down onto Henry's shuttering body twice as hard."YOU LET THAT FAIRY STAY THE NIGHT, He'll turn you like him, I AINT RAISING NO FAGGOT!!"
His father continued to shout slurs and beat the life from Henry. It didn't take long before his cut-up body went unconious from the pain shock. The leather was covered in red but still was pelted at the child.
Henry faded in and out. The words "don't be around that pansy no more or I'll kill the both of you myself," were heard through ringing ears. Butch spat on his son, then left back to the comfort of the couch; acting as if nothing had happened.
Henry didn't move from that spot on the floor for a good few hours. He almost could've been mistaken for a statue. But he was too worried for when he did move, his father would start back at it again. So he didn't until his father left for his night shift as a janitor.
In the most unimaginable amount of pain, Henry dragged himself to the washroom to clean himself up. But when he caught his reflection in the mirror above the sink, he saw exactly what his father called him- a fuck up, a disappointment, and what felt the worst, a disgusting faggot.
Henry grasped the sink so hard that his knuckles went white. Henry's head fell no longer able to look at himself, as two tears made their way down his bruised and bloodied cheeks.
YOU ARE READING
You are Real (Henpat/Henrick)
Fanfiction(Patrick Hockstetter x Henry Bowers) Henry knew one part of his past was haunting him, he wished that it was nothing more than a nightmare, but the memory held true and the person still cursed it. The memory felt like it was burning him; however, he...
