How to Not Fall For Patrick Stump For Dummies #Wattys2015

Chapter 5

As the days went by and I was able to walk alone on crutches, the nurses began to grow itchy to get me out. I had no plans to go back home to my nagging parents or live in my car.

There was no one to turn to, and that's the saddest part of my life right now. Of course, that's besides the fact that I'm crippled.
Thanks Patrick.

Speaking of Patrick, his little slip-up on TV has become a meme on the Internet. People are all over him on Twitter, Instagram, and Facebook making fun of him and what he said about me.

Some reporters even tried to get a hold of me, but I wouldn't talk. There's nothing I want to say about Patrick. I don't wish the best or the worst for that man. As long as he's out of my life, I'm happy.

I walked out into the elevator to get to the first floor. It was getting muggy in my room, so I planned on going to get fresh air. The doors closed shut and I felt a little claustrophobic in the box. It creaked under my weight and jumped before stopping at a floor.

The doors opened up on the 3rd floor, where someone had obviously ding-dong ditched the elevator. I held it open for a while, poking my head out to check once more.

There was a short man running from window to window, looking for someone. He was frantically asking around with someone's name and failing miserably every time.

But, I know who he's looking for.
He's looking for me.
Patrick Stump is back for a second round in ruining my life.

Patrick caught eye contact with me and locked on. I muttered a curse under my breath and went straight for the button that closed the door. He made a run for it, sprinting down the long hallway, sliding his new, thin body in just before the doors closed.

"Emerald!" he wheezed and held up a finger, panting. Then, he straightened up and opened his arms. I took a step back, nearly causing him to trip over his feet. "Emerald?" he asked again, "What's wrong?"

I rolled my eyes and turned them away from him, "Don't call me that. I don't even know you."

He looked hurt. I almost felt bad.

"Em-I-I didn't-" he stuttered.

"I...know...what you meant," I said and turned to face the doors. They were almost ready to open.

"Look, I'm really sorry. I'm an idiot, an asshole, a...whatever you want to call me. I just want to make it up to you somehow," he pleaded, continuing to stare into my eyes.

I eyed him in my peripheral vision and snickered, "That's going to be a bit difficult."

"Why?" he asked, starting to sound more upset.

The doors slowly opened in the lobby. I allowed myself to face him and held up a crutch, bringing it down on his foot. It wasn't hard enough to hurt him, but I had to refrain. He held back a wince and left me just enough space to leave.

Sadly, he followed me out the exit. The faster I went, the harder I heard him breathe. I had had enough of it at one point and threw my crutches down on the ground, sitting on a bench. He bent his back, wheezing again. It must be his asthma.

"You may be hurt, but you're still fast," he wiped a bead of sweat off of his forehead and glanced at me.

I sighed. I might as well let him say what he wants so he will leave me alone.

"I screwed up Em..." he hesitated and then continued when I didn't scold him, "Elisa broke the engagement, Pete and I have lost touch, and I can already tell I'm losing you just as quick."

Is this what Patrick always did? Was he guilt tripping us the whole time or was it just because it was in front of me?

"Yeah," I say when there's nothing else.

"I didn't want to bring any attention to you, so I lied about not knowing who you were. I figured you were still here and I didn't want you to have the media stuck to you hip while you're trying to recover," Patrick explained.

It made me feel a little better, knowing the truth - that is if it was the truth. He's been known for randomly spitting something stupid out when he's hiding something or he can't find anything witty or sarcastic. I guess I believe it.

I still can't manage to say anything. My mind reminds me that I still hate him while my heart beats at a mile a minute.

"I...thought you were on tour," I finally said because the awkward silence was deafening.

"I'm just doing a few shows, nothing big," he answered, "It's enough to keep me busy. Why, have you missed me?"

I scoffed, "No."

He giggled and put his arm around the bench, close to me.

I blushed, "I mean, you weren't around, so I assumed you'd-"

"Left you? Oh Emerald, the whole 'one night stand' thing is Pete's thing," he said and tilted his head at me.

I caught myself smiling and wiped it off. He could tell what I was doing. Half of my body yelled out reminders for me to hate him, but the other half can't resist his smile.

"Trust me, I'd much rather be here than out there with those fangirls," he said and studied my eyes for as long as I'd allowed him. Patrick's free hand moved down next to mine and he looked away, drumming a beat that I wasn't familiar with.

I was very aware of that hand and it's gradual movement towards mine. As soon as his skin touched mine, I stood up - a little too quickly. I tripped over a crutch and he caught me. My skin tingled where his fingers grasped me.

He blushed madly, pulling me back upright and brushing off his shirt, "Sorry..."

I gulped nervously, still standing and saying nothing.

"I should..." he looked over his shoulder and pointed behind him, "be going soon. I don't want to keep you for too long. I just came to check in and...and ask you something but it's stupid." His hand came around the back of his neck and his ears turned red to match his cheeks.

I looked to the ground under me. With a quick glance up at him, I chuckled, "No, go on. I'm sure it's not that stupid."

He smiled and once again put me under his trance, "I was just going to ask if you could come to my show? The one tomorrow is about a half hour's drive from here."

"I don't know if I'm allowed to drive yet, though," I pressed my lips together tightly.

"Oh I can drive you before it would start, that is if you're up for it," he offered.

I nodded, "Okay."

"Great," he released his nervous tension and backed up, "I'll see you tomorrow at 6."

I waved as he began to leave, "Tomorrow at 6!"

It's a lot easier to hate someone when you're not with them.