Imagine: being a part of the Bowers' Gang but constantly getting into brawls with Patrick.
(A/N: DISCLAIMER, course language, graphic violence and moderate sexual themes.)
Every time you saw his stupid, ugly horse face you wanted to fucking punch it. His annoying, nasally voice made you want to rip his voice box out. His weird, lanky limbs made you want to trip him. Basically, Patrick couldn't do a single thing without it getting under your skin.
And he knew it.
You leaned against a wall by the back of the school with Henry, sharing a fag together. You chatted softly, looking around the corner for teachers or students every so often, it was going pretty well - a good smoke break.
Then Patrick had to show up and ruin it with his uninvited entrance. You could fucking sense him from a mile away and for whatever reason, he was always no longer than that. Patrick Hockstetter was the bane of your god damn existence.
He smirked his stupid crooked smirk the moment he rounded the corner and caught the two of you sharing a cigarette. "Hey, Hockstetter. Skippin' class?" Henry inquired, not bothering to look at his friend. He was busy watching cars pass in the streets.
"Chem is for faggots." Patrick shrugged and snagged the fag from Henry's parted lips. The two shared some macho moment before Henry decided to let it slip, his tense shoulders slacking.
"I gotta get back," Bowers side-eyed you, gauging your reaction. Everyone knew never to leave Patrick and Y/N alone together, that'd be asking for a fucking storm. You contemplated joining him but looked to Patrick again, or more so at your cigarette in his mouth. You'd barely had any time to actually smoke.
"I'll just chill here 'til next period." You decided, making an internal decision to ignore Patrick the moment Henry left, but why mention that? Henry nodded slowly, brows low on his face. "Meet you guys at Vic's locker after class."
You and Patrick watched Henry turn the corner and disappear with a scrappy text book in his hand and immediately began regretting your decision the moment Patrick's eyes turned back to you.
"So," he began, "you and Bowers, huh?" Oh my god, shut the fuck up. "Fuckin' what?" You snapped, that 'internal decision' gone in a flash.
Patrick stepped closer, leaning his elbow against the brick wall, placing your cigarette to his slimy lips again. You reached forward and slapped it clean from his face and stepped on it aggressively. "I don't remember saying you could smoke my darts."
Patrick's face dropped and his hand instantly shot up to wrap around your throat, then your world started to spin. You were on the ground in a second with a cigarette butt to your face, Patrick crushing your body with his.
The creep didn't even say anything, just inched it closer and closer until he heard a whimper.
"You're all talk." He took a handful of your hair and rubbed your face into the concrete. "You're a fuckin' pussy."
You felt glass shards against your face and let out a horrible shriek, "Get offa me, you rodent!"
Patrick made the mistake of pulling your head from the ground to take a look at his handiwork and that was all you needed. You pushed yourself up off the ground - with Patrick still on your back.
He was tall, but he was fuckin' skinny and you were counting on that. Once standing upright, you felt the doubled weight pulling you backward and you just went with the flow, slamming Patrick into the wall behind you both.
