A/N: Disclaimer: I know absolutely nothing! I am ignorant! Listen to the ravings of a madwoman! Maaaad!
Chapter 91: Patty X—It isn’t the right time
Montreal—1986
It would be so easy right now, just to run a finger into his eye, blind him, end his career. It would be so easy right now, just to grab something heavy and smash it into his brain. Perhaps he even had the time to smother him with a pillow or stab him with a shard of broken beer bottle. Patrick knew he certainly had a moral right to do it, maybe even a moral obligation. How would the world be better with him living?
Mario groaned quietly, still sleeping, still snoring. The very sound of it turned Patrick’s innards around. How badly he wanted to smash his face in, shatter his chin. Truthfully, Patrick wanted to do the same to himself. He wanted to punish himself for letting it go on this far, for sometimes, even finding a spark of enjoyment in it.
The night had been long, and Patrick had closed his eyes, moving robotically, doing everything to insure that Mario finished quickly and perhaps left him alone sooner. And then, completely against his will, against his grain, he had begun to feel some heat in his own body. It was stimulation and as much as his mind repulsed at it, his body had begun to rebel against him, accepting what he hated.
In a panic, Patrick had begged Michele to visit him on his roadtrips, he needed her more and more. He needed her soft eyes, and skin and body. He needed to remind himself of what he truly desired. Still, it wasn’t enough. Mario knew of her presence and he hated her, seethed about her. He wanted him to forget her.
"What do you need her for?" he would ask him over and over. "She’s a useless slut, you don’t need a groupie following you!"
As much as he saw Michele, Mario took him even more. He was intensifying his presence on him, trying to erase the image of her slim, pale body from his mind.
Michele had been simple about it; "Break his heart!"
"Do you think I’m a fag?" he asked her one day as she sat on his lap, resting her cheek against his bare chest. Her skin was damp and smooth, pressing against his.
"No," Michele had said simply. "What an absurd question after what we’ve just done."
Patrick closed his eyes, smelling the sharp scent of her perfume, and a little dizzy, he blurted. "Sometimes, I think I’m beginning to enjoy when he touches me."
He felt her breath stop for just a moment, and he bit his lip. How could he have said that to her? "I’m sorry," he whispered.
"No," she said quietly. "It is natural in a way."
"Natural?" Patrick had exclaimed. "How?"
"If you were to force chocolate into my mouth," she murmured in a sleepy voice. "My tongue would still tell me it is sweet, even though I am angry that you forced it in. See?"
That made sense, in an obscene way it made sense.
"Your body can only take so much, can it not?" Michele continued. "Before it begins to accept what your mind will not."
Patrick sighed, and he ran his hand along the smooth skin of her lower back. This was what he wanted forever. He wanted her touching him. It sometimes scared him, the thought of her one day walking out the door, and leaving him alone, with that beast.
"Oh!" Michele gasped. "Patrick you’re holding me too tightly."
Patrick loosened his grip on her and covered his face with his hands. Michele pulled away from him, rolling off his lap and laying down next to him. He could feel the bed comforter move as she slid it over herself. He would have to be reporting back to his hotel room soon, to that nightmare.
"I received a visit from a friend of yours this afternoon," Michele yawned.
Patrick frowned and looked down at her. "What?" he asked.
"That Greek," she said, pointing a pale gaze at him.
"Chelios?" Patrick asked. "What did he want?"
"He wanted me to leave," Michele said. "Apparently I am disrupting the security of your teammates with my presence. If I know what is best and if you want what is best, he informed me that I should learn to leave you alone."
Prickles of cold shock quickly blossomed into waves of anger in his blood. The one thing he had to hold onto off the ice, the one thing that was making him happy, and now the entire team wanted him to throw it away? No, it wasn’t the entire team, it couldn’t be. He knew who it was, Tremblay of course. Mario was no doubt grumbling about the status of rookies to Gainey, or Robinson, and they were sending Chelios on a warning errand to Michele.
"It was a bit frightening," Michele said. "How seriously should I take it?"
"Did he hurt you?" Patrick asked.
"No," Michele replied. "But I slapped him."
Patrick had to smile beside himself. Chris had come to the ice that day with a large reddening patch on his face that he had waved off as a high sticking incident that was just now showing through. "I see," Patrick said with a slight chuckle and he leaned over to kiss her bare shoulder. "No, don’t mind them at all. Nothing will come of it."
After he had whispered his farewells to her as she lay sleeping, Patrick had slunk back into his room, trying to be as quiet as he could. As he slipped under the sheets he heard Mario’s voice, close to his ear, breathing beer fumes. "You smell like a dirty whore!" he hissed. "You smell like that groupie."
Patrick shut his eyes tightly as the man’s hand went under the sheets, trailing along his waist. "What does it matter to you?" Patrick whispered. "How important is she?"
"Because," Mario whispered back, his mouth touching his cheek, "You know how I feel about you, you know how much we mean to each other."
Mario’s hand trailed down his thigh, fumbling...
I can’t break The Code...
Then break his heart...
"Without you, there would be no meaning for me," Mario said, feeling that private spot, "And you know how lost you would be without me to guide you, my love. We’re meant to be, why would you allow some clumsy, smelly woman to disrupt that?"
BREAK IT!
Suddenly the sound Michele made when she moaned in pleasure, the feel of her thighs sliding against his waist, all the sensations bombarded Patrick and he forgot Mario’s presence, groaning in his own pleasure. It was a sharp quickening in his body and he trembled against the sheets.
"Good! Good!" Mario moaned into Patrick’s ear. "You like it! See I knew you would, I knew you would see the truth! Admit how much you need me!"
"I need..." Patrick said sliding his arm around Mario’s neck.
"Tell me how much you enjoy me!"
"Oh.." Patrick gasped. I am going to kill you! He thought.
"Tell me you love me!" Mario whispered, crawling on top of Patrick’s body, heavy and gasping.
"It isn’t the right time.." Patrick whispered back and he closed his eyes, allowing his body to move apart from his mind.
When Mario had finally finished he almost wept, cuddling next to Patrick, and he murmured. "It is easy, you see? How I can belong to you?"
A vital piece of information, is it not? Patrick had thought.
And Mario was still there the next morning, lying in the bed next to him. This was where Patrick had considered actually killing the man. This was where he could see him physically vulnerable. It would be simple here. But he knew it wasn’t the right time.
Swallowing his pride, his stomach, everything that made up his fiber, Patrick spent the rest of the road trip pleasing Mario. Every fantasy, whim, desire Mario had Patrick closed his eyes and made it happen. All he omitted was telling Tremblay that he loved him. "It isn’t the right time," was his only answer to it. As physically satisfied as Mario was, it sufficed as an answer, the anticipation of hearing the phrase was still tangible for him. Mario was smiles and softness, flirtatious, and happy. It was embarrassing to Patrick, to see how fast the man became a tender lover just because he was receiving the physical affections he had been craving from him.
"I love you!" Mario whispered into Patrick’s ear as they were getting off the plane at the airport, home at last.
Amazing! How easily one of their teammates could have overheard that phrase, Mario was becoming a bit reckless. "It isn’t the right time," Patrick whispered.
"When?" Mario whispered back, gripping his hand. "When? I’m dying!"
Patrick felt no more anger so much as he felt horrified pity. This wasn’t a beast, or a monster, or something to be feared at all! This wasn’t even a man! This was a simpering puppy, a lovesick woman! Michele had been right, he was a heart, and nothing else. All hearts could be damaged.
"What would you do for me?" Patrick asked.
"Anything!" Mario said a bit louder.
Patrick smiled and squeezed his hand back. "It isn’t the right time," he said.
As soon as he saw Michele waiting with the other wives and girlfriends he felt a wave of emotion almost overwhelming. He grabbed her in his arms and kissed her as hard as he could, feeling her tight leg wrap around him. "I love you!" he told her as loudly as he could. "I love you!"
He heard a pained embarrassingly loud whine from Mario and Patrick didn’t even bother to glance at him although he saw the smug look on Michele’s face as she looked at him. There was no way Mario could miss those eyes of hers. That’s when he saw Larry Robinson’s eyes, they were quiet and inquisitive. "What do you want Big Bird?" Patrick asked, almost sarcastically using Robinson’s nickname.
Larry smiled and shook his head. "Nothing Casseau," he said. "Nothing a’tall."
Patrick made a point of the next couple of days, to avoid any close contact with Tremblay, instead he enjoyed seeing his glistening, weepy eyes from across the practice ice, the locker room and anywhere else. Teammates were beginning to notice Mario’s depressed and desperate body language but he wouldn’t tell them why he was in the state he was.
The calls were coming too. Lucien DuBlois looked at Patrick with a confused expression whenever he came to tell Patrick that Mario was calling again and again. Each time, Patrick told Lucien that he didn’t want to speak to him. Finally, DuBlois had to sigh and tell Mario in an irritated voice to stop calling to his house and waking up his children.
On the next roadtrip, Patrick repeated the entire cycle. He became Mario’s wildest dream and as soon as they returned home, he began the silent treatment. It didn’t take long for the desired results.
"When will you tell me you love me!" Mario whined into Patrick’s ear as stood outside of the locker room.
"It isn’t the right time," Patrick whispered and strutted into the locker room where most of the team had already assembled.
"GODDAMMIT I LOVE YOU! YOU STUPID SLUT!"
The locker room went completely silent and Patrick’s skin prickled as he turned around to look at Mario as he scuttled into the room.
"Excuse me?" Patrick exclaimed, looking as surprised as he could.
"I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!" Mario howled, tears in his eyes and completely unhinged, oblivious to his teammates.
Patrick shook his head. "I don’t understand!" he said sounding confused and helpless.
"I need you," Mario sobbed. "I need you so badly, why don’t you feel it too? I would do anything for you to love me!" He then fell to his knees, reaching for Patrick who backed away looking as horrified as he could. "Please! Love me!"
"I’m not a fag," Patrick said simply. "And how you got that impression is beyond me."
There was a short dead silence, and Patrick could tell that no one was even daring to move. This was utter shock... wasn’t it? How lovely!
Mario was breathing heavily, the expression of his eyes more lucid and he began to look around the locker room, at the faces of his teammates. Slowly, the cold shock of what he had just done, how he had just undressed himself in front of them became clear to him. Patrick could see the nauseated realization in his face. There would never be a recovery from this shame in this locker room or any other. Never.
"Mario," Bob Gainey finally said, breaking the silence and taking initiative as captain. "I think it would be best, if you... went home and got some rest. I’ll explain everything."
Mario turned a brilliant shade of red and slowly he sputtered helplessly some unintelligible words before he looked at Patrick. "YOU SHIT!" he yelled. "YOU WORTHLESS SHIT! THIS WAS YOUR PLAN WASN’T IT? OR THAT STINKING SLUT’S!"
Patrick held up his hands. "You haven’t been feeling well have you?" he said.
"Noooooooo!" Mario howled as Gainey went to him, helping him stand and taking him out of the locker room. "YOU’LL FUCKING PAY FOR THIS! BOTH OF YOU!"
As soon as the howls died away, fading, Patrick sighed and sat down on the bench, glancing quickly at the millions of painted eyes of the old Forum greats fringing the ceiling. The rest of the men sighed as well.
"Jesus Christ!" Lucien DuBlois said. "Goose has he always been like this? He’s a fag?"
Patrick shrugged. "I always suspected something, my friend, I hoped that it wasn’t true. Do you think we could just forget that this happened? For his sake of course."
"Shit no!" Another teammate said. "No way we can look at him again. Shit! We’ve been taking showers with him and everything!"
There were murmurs of agreement from around the room. Patrick resisted the urge to smile; he wanted to kiss Michele forever for such a brilliant idea. What had it costed him to just pretend a little bit, to get this result? To oust a locker room veteran like this? Wonderful!
"You shouldn’t have done that," Larry Robinson’s voice cut into Patrick’s brain later that day.
"Done what?" Patrick exclaimed.
"All of us know that somehow you coaxed Mario into that display," Robinson replied.
"Well, it’s done," Patrick replied.
"He’s a veteran," Robinson said. "There are rules, there’s The Code. They won’t forget your lack of respect."
"I wish I could say I care," Patrick replied. "He can’t touch us now."
Robinson sighed and patted Patrick’s arm. "Take care," he whispered.
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