My Dear Stranger (15 page)

 
So my parents came the morning I was to be released and then they left knowing, or rather stating, that I was in good hands with Patrick.  They were acting the same, so I figured I had to act the same too.
  I'm not sure if I ever really was the same though.
  As usual with me there was always drama and upset.  There was always depression and suffocating despair.  There was always this need to escape from myself.  There was a desire to be anyone but myself... and this didn't change.  It just became more pronounced.
  I left the hospital with Patrick who brought me clothes and shoes and thought of everything I may need. 
  When I was wheeled to the doors, he pushed me.  When I was slow to stand from my exhaustion, he aided me.  When I sat in his car gingerly, he drove slowly the 4 blocks back to our apartment.
  Patrick was amazing that day and I felt such affection for him, I sat in his car and cried.  For maybe 20 minutes I sat in his car out front our cool walk up apartment and cried, and he said nothing.  He held my hand and shushed me a few times when I cried too hard and nearly threw up, but otherwise he did nothing but sit beside me while I cried.
  After I returned home, I continued the next 7 1/2 months of my life waiting.  I attended school infrequently, and I lived in my silence alone, except for the random calls from my parents and the frequent drop-ins by Patrick, and maybe a boyfriend of his.
  But otherwise, I was completely alone, waiting.
 

CHAPTER 14

 
So I continued. 

 
I went to college, then University.  I was very smart and maintained very good grades even though I almost never attended school.  I sat in my apartment all day and I waited every night for my stranger to show up.  I waited every single night, just like I had spent my years waiting.
 

 
I did have a slight friendship with a woman named Silvana who I had met in school, and she tried to form an actual friendship with me over the course of a semester.   Often we drank together in my apartment while she tried to be my friend.  She really tried to engage me in my 'story', but I had nothing to tell.  I would never tell anyone anything about myself.  I'm not even sure I knew what to tell about my life, so I told her nothing.
  Once a week, my female friend Silvana came to my place for dinner, we ended up drunk every time, and I even had a little fun with her.  I kind of lived around her once a week visits, but that was all she was to me- a once a week visitor, which was much more than even my parents at the time, but that was just their way. 
   Throughout the semester I enjoyed Silvana’s pseudo-friendship until I went out with her socially once.  After incessant begging to go out, one night I felt drunk and secure enough to actually do it.  So we went out.  We went to a dance club and I was ridiculously quiet and drunk, until I wasn't so quiet anymore.
  And I looked like a fool, I know I did.  At the club, I danced my ass off and I had fun until a man wrapped his arm around my waist and started dancing against my back.  And that was all it took to turn me into a psycho.  Admittedly, I can’t even deny it; I behaved like a total psycho.
  After screaming, turning around, slapping his face, throwing my drink at him, I kicked him, and before he even had a chance to defend himself against some tiny little 20 something, I had grabbed and twisted his penis in my hand.
  And I was repulsed.  I know I looked like a complete psychopath, but I was more repulsed by the feeling of him in my hand than by any embarrassment I should have felt at my behavior.
  And my new friend Silvana was mortified, I could tell.  Originally, she jumped into the fray thinking he had caused some offensive injury to me, but when he pushed me off him and she screamed 'what happened?’ I replied the truth.  I said such simple words but I spoke them like I had been repeatedly stabbed.
  “He touched my waist and danced behind me,” which he had.  And then through the thump of bass beats, and the thrill of the music inside my stomach, I saw her look at me like I really was insane.
  And the man stood there with 2 of his large male friends in front of me.  He looked at me like I was crazy.  He looked at me like he wanted to hit me.  He looked at me... And then his face changed to some weird expression I had never seen before and he leaned in closer to me and quietly asked, “Are you okay?”
  But I wasn't.  Obviously.  I was not okay, and really I didn't know if I had ever been okay.  I actually don't remember a time when I was truly okay.  I know I spent years depressed, and I know I had lived with undiagnosed depression for years.  I know I hurt myself with razors, and knives and really anything I could find to help me release the pressure inside me.  And I know I hid everything from everyone because I was never okay.
  Looking at the club guy for mere seconds in silence, I remember I had no words.  I couldn't answer his simple question.  Like a deer in headlights I stood still staring at him as I tried to find my words.  The music continued and the mood was wild all around us, but we 5 stood completely still among the chaos of the night club as I stared at him speechless.
  So slowly shaking my head no, I finally exhaled.  Strangely, I almost wanted to kiss him which was insane to me.  I never wanted to be touched by anyone ever, but here I was looking at this stranger in a dance club and all I wanted to do was kiss him in that moment.  But I did nothing.   

  
When he slowly reached out his hand I actually found myself leaning into his palm as he took my face in his hand, and it truly was one of those surreal, out of body, bizarre moments when everything just stops all around you.  The sounds faded, and the atmosphere vanished.  I rested my cheek in his hand and I closed my eyes.  And I felt something, until I woke up. 
  When reality surfaced seconds later I pulled away just as quickly as the moment had occurred.  Turning abruptly, I left Silvana and the 3 guys as I stormed through the throngs of people pushing and shoving until I made my way to the long corridor where people made-out against the dark walls before hitting the exit doors.
  Leaving the club, I ran from the doors, hailed a taxi, and was home within 10 minutes.  Locking my door quickly, and rearming my apartment, I quickly stripped myself of my velvet little purple dress in my front hallway and stared at the wall as I stopped everything and sat on the floor.
 

 
And then I cried.  Like a big, ugly, awful cry; I bawled my eyes out and wished for all the pain in my chest to stop.  I just wanted to be normal and not sad all the time.  I wanted to be normal so badly I didn't know how to make the craving for normalcy stop.  I didn't know how to be normal, and I didn't know how to stop wishing I was normal.   

 
I realized that was my one and only night out with my one and only female friend in years, and I ruined it because I was NOT normal once again.

 
But Patrick found me shortly after that. 
 

 
Apparently, he and his boyfriend heard my sobbing in the hallway, which I still find hard to believe, but that's what I was told.  Days later Patrick told me they heard a loud, keening-like cry coming from my apartment and he almost threw up from the intense instant upset he felt when he realized it was me making the awful sound.
  So Patrick and his boyfriend used his key, opened my door, and quickly shut off the alarm.  And as I looked up at him, his knees gave out and he fell into me as he grabbed for me.
  And that I remember clearly.  A very beautiful, highly dramatic reaction from my very beautiful, highly dramatic Patrick as he collapsed around my body and took me into his arms.
  Crying still, I let Patrick hold me forever.  I didn't even care that his boyfriend was watching us silently, and I didn't care that I looked like an ass.  I didn't care that I was 23 years old and a complete mess, and I didn't care that Patrick knew what a mess I really was, until suddenly I turned my face and kissed him. 
  I don't know how I did it, but I know why.  I needed a connection that was safe.  I needed to not be lonely.  And I needed to just feel something with someone.  And thankfully, Patrick kissed me back. 

 
When I remember it now it’s funny because Patrick was gay, and not just a little gay, but totally and completely gay.  He wasn't bi, and he had never, ever been with a woman because he always knew he was gay, but there he was kissing me passionately because I needed it so badly.
  So we kissed.  We kissed nice and softly, until it became heavily.  We kissed and eventually I felt him touch me a little.  Slowly, he took my breasts in his hands, and he played with my nipples.  He explored my breasts and my neck and my face as he kissed me.  And it was good.  I felt good and safe in his hands.
  When I slowly became aware of my surroundings I was amazed to understand Patrick and I were being watched by his boyfriend Stephen.  Patrick; all post club sexy, and there I was in my bra and underwear only, because I had stripped my dress off before my crying jag in my hallway.
  I was having a nervous breakdown and Patrick was here with me throughout it.  And so we kissed, and explored, and slowly I found myself touching him back.  Amazingly, I even justified in my head that I wasn't cheating on my stranger because Patrick was gay, so it's like it didn't count or something. 
  I don't know.  But I do know I felt an attachment to Patrick without any fear, and that's what I needed then and there.  I needed to feel.  And I needed it safely.  And he was good to me.
  I remember vaguely thinking at the time, not only are all the good ones gay, but man, they know how to kiss, too.  I was distracted and I didn't care about anything, and he was so good, I was lifted, and I was walked into my bedroom.  I was kissed against a wall, and I was held tightly by him as he wove us through my apartment to my bed.
  And I still didn't care.  I kissed him like my life depended on it, which quite honestly it might have that night.  I'm not sure, but with the way I was feeling had I not been distracted, to this day I feel like I may have done something very bad to myself, and finally succeeded.
  But Patrick saved me that night.  He kissed me back when he knew I needed to be kissed back before I did something very bad.  He kissed me, and soon he touched me too.
  Amazingly, I had a brief moment of clarity, and in my brief moment of coherency, I saw Stephen lying on his side beside us watching as Patrick and I made out. And no one spoke or acknowledged the unthinkable between us.  I'm sure I knew what was happening but I chose to ignore it so that I wouldn't stop it because I didn't want to stop it.  I desperately needed a connection with someone.  And I needed it with Patrick because he was safe.
  But for one brief moment I did panic though and everything stopped.  I was suddenly aware that Patrick was pushing my panties down my hips, and I felt Stephen's hand on my other hip trying to help.  I felt it and panicked, and everything stopped as Patrick looked at me. 

 
Begging for something I'm sure, he smiled at me and kissed the tip of my nose, like he always did and I relaxed instantly, and that was all it took. 

 
Really, I should have felt like a whore, but at that age, Patrick was the first man I wanted to sleep with who wasn't my stranger.  He was the only man I could allow to touch me without fear.  He was gay, therefore safe, and I knew he truly was my friend.  So gay or not, I really did trust him with my body.
  Succumbing to our situation, Patrick entered me with his fingers as I watched his face study me.  He looked at my naked body and didn't seem disgusted which I'm sure would have killed me in that intense moment.  He looked at me like he loved me- not like a man in love, or even like a man in lust, but just like a man who loved me and was willing to perform an act to help heal me.  Remembering his look of love, it was really very touching.
  And so we did. 

 
For one awkward moment, I saw Stephen reach over and give Patrick a condom, as they smiled at each other.  For one second I almost came to my deluded senses, jumped up and ran from the room, but just as quickly Patrick, and presumably Stephen, sensed my panic and he shushed me gently while he applied the condom, as Stephen leaned over me and gently kissed my lips.   

 
Shocked, my lips barely moved, but he wasn't kissing me aggressively or even sexually.  He was soothing and comforting me, and then Stephen whispered against my lips, 'It’s okay, Sadie.  Patrick loves you and you're safe.'
 

 
So naturally, or maybe unnaturally, I burst into tears again as Stephen kissed me for real- like a grab his hair and hold him in place against my lips kiss, even as I felt Patrick slowly make his way inside me. 

 
Kissing Stephen, I didn't care about Patrick entering my body.  I didn't care that I was actually having sex with someone who wasn't my stranger.  And I didn't care that it would probably become a huge mistake in the morning when I coherently realized I had had sex with my GAY friend and neighbor while heavily kissing his boyfriend on the lips throughout.
  But time continued, and though it was nice, there were no fireworks or even an 'oh my god' moment, but I don't think there needed to be.  I wasn't looking to have raise the roof sex, and I wasn't looking for orgasmic bliss to whisk me away.  I wanted a connection to someone, and that was all.  I wanted to feel something other than nothing.  And I did.