Part 12: Letting People Down is My Thing

398 32 19
                                    

Patrick's POV:

I held the box against my chest as tightly as I could and took a deep breath. I didn't know why I was there or if I was still even invited, but it only felt right to show. The outside of her house was beautifully decorated with the most stunning lights and displays. I admired it from across the street, how much it stood out compared to the others. Maybe it only did to me after all. 

I only had to knock a couple of times for her to open up. She was sipping on some apple juice and wearing the most adorable Christmas sweater. Her curls were tied back in a ponytail with a red ribbon holding it all in place.

"Patrick, what are you doing here?"

She seemed dazed almost.

"You invited me, remember?"
"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd show. It's just all my parents' friends in here drinking wine and talking about the weather."
"Well, then allow me to save you from the suffering," I said.
Elisa reluctantly let me inside, and, just as she described, middle-aged guests were having chats by the fire. Some Christmas music was lightly playing in the background. 

It looked as though they had already eaten dinner because I could spy her parents in the kitchen washing the dishes. Luckily, I had decided to stop by a convenience store on the way over for a cold bean burrito that was now currently sitting in the pit of my stomach.
"That's some fabulous gift wrapping," she pointed to the box I was holding.
"Really? It was last minute."

I gave it to her, and she rattled it gently.
"Come on. I've got your present down in the basement."
I followed her while she carried the gift with us. We headed down the stairs to the place I remembered from so long ago. She told me to wait by the couch and went around the corner.

Her basement had been remodeled since last time, and it felt much brighter. Elisa returned holding a large square, and I immediately knew it was a vinyl disc.
"I didn't have time to wrap it, but it's one of your favorites if I remember," she said, handing it over.
David Bowie- Low

It was absolutely one of my favorites. I was devastated when I dropped my vinyls down the stairs as I was moving into my apartment a few months back, and that was the one that was damaged. I hadn't been able to get another copy recently, but Elisa knew exactly how to make everything better.
"Open your present," I urged.
She tore the paper and opened the box.

Inside was an orangey red lace dress with short sleeves. It was a dress Elisa had wanted since forever, but her parents refused to buy it for her because they didn't believe in indulging in such luxuries.
"You didn't!" she squealed.
She held the dress over her body and smoothed it over, twirling around so the ends danced behind her.
"I did. It cost me a pretty penny, but anything for you, El."

She paused, and her shoulders lowered. Her hands fell to her sides. The dress hung from the ends of her fingers.
"I'm sorry about trying to kiss you. I know that's not what you wanted. I feel stupid honestly," she apologized.
"It's fine. Really. You feel a certain way about me, and that's okay. I mean we're best friends, but I'll try this out."

She came towards me, dropping the dress on the couch, and put her hands on my shoulders.
"You sure?"
"I think so."
We kissed. It was short and brief. 

I wanted something to be there, something extraordinary, something I had missed when we kissed years ago, but it was like kissing yourself in the mirror. There was no spark, no fireworks. Maybe that was a myth. Maybe when you kiss someone you feel nothing, but I remembered what Pete said about Mikey and him, how wonderful it was when they did it. This wasn't right as much as I wanted it to be. 

I didn't have an attraction towards Elisa. If I did I would've always known. She waited patiently for me to say something to her, to tell her I wanted to be her boyfriend or that I was madly in love with her, but I couldn't break her heart like that. I couldn't lead her on.
"I don't think we should do this," I uttered.

Death Bite (Peterick)Où les histoires vivent. Découvrez maintenant