Bᵣₑₐₖ ᴘᴜʀᴇ

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1

Patrick's mother had helped him bandage up the cuts all over his arms; he didn't care that they were there, she saw them and helped her son out.

Patrick didn't know what to do. He didn't know if you wanted space or if you needed time. Patrick's mind raced with those thought for a couple of days, not knowing which of the thoughts to listen to.

Patrick got out of bed, the bed he sat in for the last two days. His head felt very dizzy, Patrick rubbed his temples. Looking around his room a photograph.

He found it in a wooden box. He felt the film of the Polaroid picture in his hands. As he examined your blushing face in the picture.

The way your grown out hair felt over your shoulders messily. Your eyes standing out with Henry's, both bright and big. You're meek smile, your red lips curled into a weak smile. You looked so adorable in the picture, you were picture perfect. Patrick knew that.

Patrick slapped the photo into his desk. Anger fulfilling him, how could he let you go so easily.

Patrick grabbed his wooden desk chair, he smashed it against the floor, screaming in anger. He kicked the pieces of the chair to the side. He walked out of his room.

His mother was in the kitchen making some soup. Patrick walked past her faint singing, she was most likely singing a song from Nirvana.

Patrick sighed as he stood in front of his house phone. Glancing at the phone as he contemplated calling you. He didn't know what he would even say, would he get angry or sad.

Patrick grabbed the phone harshly. His other hand pressing the buttons of the numbers that would ring your phone. Patrick waited patiently as the phone rung.

Patrick started chewing on his nails, a nasty habit he picked up over the past couple of days. Suddenly the phone stopped ringing "You have reached. Butch Bowers phone, i didn't call ya' back cause I didn't want to" Patrick heard the voice message Butch left.

Patrick threw the phone at the wall. Punching the wall in anger, the wooden wall now having a hole in.

Patrick stormed out of the hallway, grabbing his boots and sliding them on. Not caring to tie them up. He ran out of the house, he began to run to your house.

It was a long run. Patrick's shirtless body running in the middle of the roads at nine am didn't look so good. He felt the soft breeze against his body as he ran. His lung stung, the sharp breathing hurt.

After a long time of running Patrick was at the front of your driveway. He saw Henry screaming at you about something.

You didn't even look bothered by Henry until he pushed you to the ground and spit on your. Henry kept a foot on your ribcage to keep you in place.

"You act like I did something wrong (Y/n), I ain't gonna let you be a lazy ass bitch because Patrick ain't like you anymore" Henry shouted at you.

You stared at the ground. You ignored Henry, he wanted your attention but he wasn't going to get it.

Henry got off of you and stormed off. It looked like he was going to the barn, from Patrick point of view.

  ᵇʳᵉᵃᵏ   ➞  ᴘᴀᴛʀɪᴄᴋ ʜᴏᴄᴋꜱᴛᴇᴛᴛᴇʀWhere stories live. Discover now