Contemplating Existence (JokerMorrison/Glimmitch)
Nov 10, 2012 7:30:15 GMT -5
Post by JokerMorrison on Nov 10, 2012 7:30:15 GMT -5
What's that smell? Patrick thought, as he struggled to sit up and rub the last remnants of sleep away from his icy blue eyes. Running his hands through his hair, he surveyed his surroundings, and as his eyes desperately attempted to adjust to the vile morning lightness, all he could see was the colour purple. Well that was fortunate, he thought, realising that he must be in the safety of his room and nothing too bad could have happened to him, right? His memory was still hazy, all he could remember was glimpses of raven hair, splaying majestically against a soft cotton dress, the intoxicating smirk of his angel's full red lips along her smooth porcelain skin and of course, the blunt crunch of his fist colliding with his father's jaw. He just had to remember that, didn't he? His eyes now adjusted to the raging brightness of the dawn, and he looked down at himself and across his room to see nothing out of order; he was wearing his red silk pyjamas and resting comfortably, nestled between his thick purple sheets, all of his models and collectibles were still in place, his tv was on but there didn't seem to be anything surprising about him on the news and, thank god, there was a site so beautiful on his bedside cabinet that he could simply weep with ultimate joy, his alarm clock coffee maker had brewed a fresh cup of District 1's finest blend for him! He eagerly grabbed the cup and gulped the hot black liquid within, and instantly he felt better, more sure of himself, more alive. No longer did cotton wool clog up his mind, he remembered everything clearly, and was eternally grateful for it, it was easily the most profound and incredible night of his life, a night where he had discovered astonishing things about himself, where he had evolved into someone seemingly capable of amazing things, and had found that most rare of life's gifts, love. Words could never describe just how perfect she was, not only in a physical way, but she was so considerate too, always looking out for his best interests, not to mention being so intelligent and respectable, unlike all of the other filthy bimbos he had previously wasted his time on, like the infamous man-eater Pam. Patrick smirked widely, wondering what had happened to her after they had vanquished her to the icy depths of his family's pool; he laughed, realising that she had probably threatened legal action, only to have the harsh realisation that an angry Remington, nursing his throbbing cheek, was actually close friends with every prominent legal figure in the District. Draining even more of the delicious dark liquid from its beautiful crystal container, he realised just how fortunate it was for him that Serena had dragged him away from the pool area, saving him from receiving his father's wrath; from there their night together had only improved, she had went to his room (he wondered to himself what she had thought of it), they had held one another and talked for hours, then after some time she had left him for the night, promising that they would see each other again soon, and then she had sneaked out of his window into the night, much to his amusement. It certainly was an interesting night to say the least, he had laid awake for hours just thinking of her, and then when he had finally fallen asleep, it was a peaceful, deep, rejuvenating slumber, one unlike any he had ever known, hence the haziness when he had first awoken.
Finally walking downstairs, Patrick hesitated slightly before opening the door to his family kitchen, his hand briefly hovering over the door knob before he ultimately found the strength to grasp the cold metal handle and open the door, accepting his inevitable fate. As he reluctantly entered the room, his toes splaying against the freezing cold tiles, Patrick couldn't help but realise just how overwhelmingly cold it was, and wished he'd had the foresight to put on his luxury velour monogrammed dressing gown, or his plush woolen slippers. The only thing more icy than the kitchen's cold floor was the reception he received from his father, the staunch figure sat at the table at the far side of the room, quietly eating his expensive breakfast (a mountainous meal of eggs and bacon, made from premium cuts of meat straight from the district's most prestigious food manufacturer, Schuman Farms); his father's face remained cold and emotionless as he took a large sip of his tea, and brushed off crumbs from his pin striped shirt. Patrick looked at his father's shirt, buttoned all the way to the top, and his meticulously gelled hair, combed all to one side, and considered just how much of a figure of emotional restraint Remington was, and how his daily attire reflected that; it was as if he wanted to communicate that he was a figure of stoic strength, one who longed to remain in complete isolation, and that his soul was just as impenetrable as his attire. Patrick could relate, in many ways he felt exactly the same as his father, to remain emotionally withdrawn with those around you aside from those you care about, poignantly he realised just how withdrawn Remington acted around him and wondered how he should interpret that. The idea that they were somehow comparable, outside of financial and familial realms, greatly sickened Patrick, he hated Remington and wanted nothing to do with him, and though it was minimally comforting to him to think that his father was at least in some ways human, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Patrick preferred to think of himself as being on the next level to Remington, as being an example of evolution, and this was no different as, while being emotionally remote, Patrick was able to move on from it and find love within his angel Serena, something his father could never do, apparently not even with his mother. Even though he knew that retreating into this arrogant delusion was foolish of him, considering what he assumed was to come, it reassured him greatly and it seemed only natural for him to hold onto something, anything, which would bring him hope in the face of despair. What would his father do to him? Would he unleash hell on him, or simply ignore it and chalk it up to drugs or feminine influence? As he walked closer to Remington, he momentarily hoped that his father hadn't noticed him, or that the punch was so jarring that he had given his father a case of temporary amnesia, but it was ludicrous and he would simply have to accept his fate. He opened his mouth to speak, but his father cut him off, placing a hand in the air to silence him. Remington turned his head away from Patrick, attempting to hide the obvious make-up covering the large bruise on his cheek. "No, not a word Patrick, I don't want to hear a single sound from between those lips of yours!" He fixed his intense gaze firmly in Patrick's eyes, Remington's eyes were now two blackened coals scorching Patrick's soul. "You've been a very naughty boy haven't you Patrick? Your mother and I are shocked, and for a while there, we honestly didn't know what to do with you, and we wondered what we did wrong! But I told her, I said, 'Martha, you can't beat yourself up over this, you can't, some things just aren't our fault', and for a long time she cried, she blamed herself, but you know what we did Patty?" Patrick looked down, his father's act here horrified him, it was just so superficial and so cocky; it suggested something incredibly terrifying to Patrick, something which nauseated him, it suggested that his father had won. "Well, do you?" Patrick quietly responded "No..." "No, what?" "No sir" "Well, listen up, sonny boy, you might learn a thing or two, because we realised something; with this act of violence, you were obviously doing something really quite innocent, something we could quite easily forgive you for, you were only trying to assert your independence. And we realised something Patty, we would be wrong to deny you that. So today, we give you what you really want, a chance to stand on your own two feet". With those cold, terrifying words Remington wiped his mouth, and walked off, slapping Patrick's shoulder in the process, leaving Patrick to stare into middle distance and realise quite what he meant... It meant that he was cut off, it meant that he was on his own.
Despair, only despair. It felt as if he was falling, having been pushed from his ornate pedestal by a particularly cruel hand, to everyone's amusement but his own. What was he to do? How would he live? They had to be joking with him, it was a test to see how he would react and if he would be willing to, on bended knee, beg their forgiveness, acknowledge their power and accept whatever premise they put forth for "his own good" so that he could stop them from cutting him off. It felt as if he was standing on the precipice of oblivion, and as he gazed into the abyss and saw it gazing back, he had two options; he could admit defeat and implore Remington and Martha to forgive him, and then hopefully continue living in the lifestyle to which he was accustomed, which ostensibly seemed worth the hour or so of agony he would have to endure swallowing his pride while begging them, but would sadly result in them forcing him to leave his feisty young maiden Serena as a condition of him continuing to receive their generosity, they were that predictable. On the other hand he could remain rebellious, ignore whatever threats they presented him with, and just take things day by day as he figured out what he could do with the rest of his life, it would be difficult, but there was a silver lining, he would be able to keep her. Perhaps there was a way around this, perhaps he could manipulate them, give them an incredibly false apology and continue seeing Serena in secret, that could be fun; he could spend his time coming up with fun ways to deceive his parents, different lies to explain his whereabouts to them, such as having Serena showing up as the "new maid" (now that presented some particularly interesting mental images which he filed away for further use). But what if he wanted something more? What if he and Serena wanted to get married? He opined that he could just stand up to them and be an adult, and that at that point in his life he could have a better source of income than them, but still, it would be nice to have their support, they were still his parents, even if they didn't all hated each other, plus what if something happened sooner? What if he got her pregnant? All of these rhetoricals were simply nauseating, and only served to depress Patrick further, and though he needed to find a solution to his problems, he had to do something to take his mind off of everything, otherwise who knew what he would do out of pure blind spontaneity. Doing the only thing he could, Patrick quickly ran back to his room and pulled on a long-sleeved black shirt, fashionably stonewashed navy jeans, and his usual long stone-gray woolen trench-coat and decided to brave the elements by going venturing forth to his favourite coffee shop to waste money which it seemed he would need to save, reasoning that finding happiness was far more important than allowing himself to be miserable. It was only a short walk, but felt far longer, with every step he thought of more awful scenarios, the true gravity of the situation finally getting to him; the only thing that brought him any solace was the knowledge that, in a few short minutes, he would soon be sipping on his shop's famous "District 7 blend", he needed the extra strength to clear his head and help him cope with everything life had presented him with today. He supposed the "District 7 blend" wasn't really from District 7, and that it was just a clever marketing ploy, but he certainly enjoyed the legend surrounding the coffee that the store offered, being that a victor supposedly tasted the magnificent brew while on their tour and went to amazing lengths to painstakingly recreate the heady hazelnut taste, so that the fine citizens of District 1 could experience the tastes of life in the poorer districts. As he walked in, enjoying the chime as he opened the door to signal a new customer, he was met with a sight that took him by such surprise that it cleared his head more than any coffee ever could.
"Serena!? Well my, my, isn't this a piece of serendipity, meeting you here and all, considering how you told me that you hated coffee yesterday."
After a brief moment of teasing her, he smiled warmly, completely ecstatic to be able to spend time with her, and signifying that she was ultimately off the hook. Sitting down at her table, he silently hoped that she was happy to see him too as he awaited his love's response.
