The Lonely Hour

Chapter 8: A Story To Be Told

"Patrick? Patrick?" I call to him franticly. The beer bottle in his hand had dropped to the floor and shattered, sending the remaining beer everywhere.

Patrick eyes were closed and he had fallen over to the side of the bar. I didn't allow my nerves to get the best of me, right now I wanted to scream franticly and call for help but I couldn't draw that kind of attention to Patrick.

I lifted his one arm around me and wrapped my arm around his back.
"Ugh come on big boy" I mumble as I shift he weight onto me. Patrick was pure muscle, heavy lean muscle.

I carefully guide him out to his car were I hold him against the car and search his pocket for his keys. When I finally found them I unlocked his car and helped him into the passenger seat.

His eyes still shut, but he mumbled occasionally. I sat in the drivers side of his car shaking at the wheel as I turned on the ignition.

"Why, why me?" I mumble as I start his truck. I didn't know where Patrick lived and there wasn't anyone I could go to for help. My place was the only answer.

I parked his truck right in front of the building and hauled his body into my dorm were I rested him onto the couch.

Next to him I place a garbage pale. I unbuttoned his dress shirt and took it off him. His stomach was more than toned, and his arms were big to match. I couldn't let him sleep in such an uncomfortable shirt. I pulled a wool blanket from the top shelf of my closet and covered him.

I got myself ready for bed while Patrick was still passed out. When I was done I sat on my bunk bed looking down at Patrick. Blonde curls fell and framed his face, god he truly was beautiful. Innocence showed in his sleeping face, peaceful serene dreams blocking the horrors from the real world. All his muscles were relaxed as he breathed heavily in a rhythmic motion.

Patrick Kane, a beloved hockey player here in Chicago was passed out in my dorm room. I knew I wanted adventure here in chicago, but I never thought of it being this.

I turned off the light in my room and pulled my white comforter over me. My school week was a long, unforgiving one. Papers on papers, reaserch, citing, essays, homework.. the list seemed to never end. But it would end, after this year it would all be over. My time in Chicago would be over.

--
"Shit! Shit!" I could hear someone yelling, within seconds a distinct up chucking sound followed.

Patrick was up.

I lifted my head from my pillow to see Patrick emptying his stomach into my garbage pale.

"There's Advil next to you" I mumble to him. He sits there for a second, his forehead pressed in between his two hands.

"God" he mumbles. A vibrating noise comes from his suit pocket that I had taken off of him. His face still hovering over the garbage as he lets his hand search for his phone. Once he finds it he pulls it to his ear.

"Mm hello?" He groans

"No no don't- I'll be over- okay okay" He clicks the phone closed and drops it violently.

"You okay?" I question as I hop down from the bed. I notice the throw up stain on his shirt. As he hovers over the garbage pale I pull out one of my larger hockey shirts and throw it at him.

"I'm fine, fuck I shouldn't have drank" he mumbles "what's this for?" He questions as he squeezes the shirt in his hand.

"You got a little something" I try and hold in my laugh as I point to the stain. He gets up and glances at me.

"Don't look" he grumbles as he turns and unbuttons his shirt.

"Don't want to" I joke, but I do. I turn as I see him pulling the shirt over him. His back was perfectly toned with biceps to match.

"All clear?"

"Yea, I have to go- my keys?"

"Jacket pocket"

He collect all of his stuff, he looks disheveled as ever.

"Patrick thank you for last night" I blush

"Yea yea, your uh welcome" He mumbles. He seemed frantic, nervous almost. It was like he had done something wrong even though nothing had happened between us.