Patrick woke up when a beam of sunlight hit her face in a manner most warm and striking.
"Ouch," she said, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. Apparently she had forgotten to close her blinds last night. Right now she could see the man in the apartment across the street. He was eating chocolate cake in a most unseemly manner using his hands and a spork. It puzzled Patrick muchly.
She slid out of bed and padded into the washroom. Because she had skipped washing up yesterday, she would have to make up for all of that this morning. She undressed quickly and stepped into the shower.
The water felt warm, familiar, and friendly. It also felt wet, but that wasn't really a positive trait about it that Patrick wanted to think about. What Patrick liked best about showering was how alive the water was on her skin, like a bear hug from a bear, but not as suffocating or furry.
Fully awake, Patrick began to think about Kane. She began to wonder what his hands felt like on her skin. She wondered if his hands felt warm and alive or if they were cold like the corpse of her great-great-great-great-great-grandmother. She hoped that they were warm.
And then she wondered if maybe, just maybe, Kane wondered the same about her. Hopefully he hoped that her hands were warm too.
Patrick felt something on her shoulder then.
"Eek!" she screamed, trying to run away, but forgetting that she had closed the (glass) shower door. It cracked as Patrick slammed into it. "Oh paintbrushes!" she yelled in aggravation.
Patrick clutched her forehead and winced as her fingers pressed against a newly-formed bump. Opening the shower door, Patrick stepped onto her pink, plush bathmat and looked at herself in the mirror. Brushing her wet, black bangs aside, Patrick gasped.
"Now Kane's gonna wanna break up with me!" she wailed. A bump as large as a golf ball sat in the middle of her forehead. It was dark purple -- a shade somewhere between eggplant skin and black.
Suddenly, Patrick felt that something, which had been on her shoulder, on her nose. And since she could see her face in the mirror...
"Jeremiah! How many times have I told you not to land on me? Bad boy!" Patrick put her hands on her hips. "You know what, Jeremiah? I'm sick of your silly games! We're through, buddy!" With Jeremiah still sitting on her nose, Patrick stalked out of the washroom. "Oh, wait." She ran back to get a towel to wrap around herself, like a snake wrapped around the neck of a suffocating human.
Jeremiah buzzed unhappily and guiltily. Patrick hesitated. "No, I have to do this, Jeremiah. You're... you're no good for me." And she opened her bedroom window.
The breeze which entered the room made her shiver and Jeremiah took off. Patrick began to cry. Through her tears she watched the house fly shoot out the window and fly out towards the street.
Patrick wondered about Jeremiah's future. Would he be able to fend for himself? Would his next owner take care of him the way she had?
Turning away from the window, Patrick walked slowly to the doorway. She looked back and noticed something happening across the street.
The man who had been eating chocolate cake was still there, but he had opened his window now. Patrick's eyes widened and then she squinted because it was impolite to stare, even at great distances. The man's chocolate-covered fingers were pointing skyward and he was giggling. Patrick wasn't sure how she knew he was giggling, but she could just tell by the way his mouth was opened like a giant cavern of darkness.
But this strange sight didn't disturb Patrick as much as it should have. Jeremiah, that toad of a pet fly, was nibbling on the man's chocolate-y fingers.
"How dare you cheat on me!" Patrick shouted, shaking her fist. So that's where he had been when she'd been left alone those few nights. "I thought we were made for each other!"
At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Patrick threw herself at a pile of clothes where she last saw her alarm clock. After a few seconds of digging, she read the time. It was 11:00am. Oh no! It was Kane!
Not bothering to dry her hair, Patrick pulled on some clothes. Running to the front door, she grabbed an old sombrero (from a previous job) from her coat rack. Cramming it onto her head, Patrick opened the door.
Patrick pulled the brim of her sombrero down to cover her lumpy forehead. It was Kane. And he was carrying flowers.
"Oh, thanks," she took them and tossed them randomly on the floor. "Let's go out now for the picnic."
The drive to Stanley Park was rather silent. Neither of them spoke, but Patrick sniffled occasionally so that it wasn't exactly total silence.
When they arrived, the sun had come out from behind the clouds and Patrick felt slightly better about this date because even the sun had come out to cheer her on in her quest to reach first base. Because really, that's all she felt like doing since she'd found out about her fly's infidelity.
Patrick skipped ahead to find a suitable picnicking spot while Kane lagged behind, carrying his picnic basket. After about five minutes of wandering aimlessly, Patrick stopped at a crowd of picnic tables.
"So, Kane, how are you today?" Patrick began timidly, sitting down at an empty table.
"That's great. What did you bring for us to eat today?"
"Chinese takeout, if that's, um, okay with you."
"Yeah, that's great actually." Patrick leaned in closer to Kane as he removed the food from the basket. "Oh, and it's still warm!"
He nodded silently, cracking out a pair of wooden chopsticks from his pocket.
"So, Kane," Patrick looked deep into his brown eyes until she could see her own brown eyes reflected in them, "do you have any plans after our little picnic?" She fluttered her eyelashes.
"No, not really, but I'm, um, okay with anything you want to do." He picked up a white carton of food and began to shovel the contents into his mouth.
"Oh, well, actually, I was thinking of heading back to your place, if your parents won't mind."
"It's, um, okay with them."
"If you say so." Patrick took a pair of chopsticks out of the picnic basket and grabbed her own carton. She opened the lid and her mouth watered with anticipation. She picked up the first piece of chicken with her chopsticks and raised it to her mouth.
But then she saw something. People. There were people at Stanley Park. And they were watching her eat. She didn't even have to see their diverted eyes to know that they were watching her. They didn't even have to look at her and they were watching her, she just knew it.
"Are you, um, okay, Patrick?" Kane looked concerned.
"I... how about you gobble up your food and we can go straight to your place?"
"Um, okay," he merely shrugged and continued wolfing down his food.
Patrick put her carton of takeout down and suddenly she knew that no one was watching her eat. It gave her a huge sense of relief and just enough courage to pick up the carton and try again.
But as soon as she had raised that first bite of chicken to her lips, she could feel all eyes on her once more.
"You know what, Kane? I think we should just leave now."
He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. "Um, okay."
Patrick nodded absently as she tossed their cartons into a nearby garbage can. Maybe once they were at Kane's house, things would start looking up. Really, she could practically taste first base, it was so close.
"I hope it's, um, okay to ask, but what kind of things are we gonna do at my place?" Kane scratched his head.
"Oh, I don't know, we'll see," Patrick giggled as her sombrero flapped in the wind.