Troubled Thoughts

three

Pete

The first thing Pete remembered after waking up was Patrick holding his hand. Everything around him moved so fast. Doctors did tests, to see if he was alright. Nurses helped the doctors. People talked and everything happened so fast. But Patrick's hand was there the whole time. Pete was thankful for that and he wanted to tell Patrick, once the room was quiet again. But he didn't know how. Patrick was still there. He was still holding his hand. Right now Pete didn't care that Patrick haven't been there the last few days, cause right now he was. And that was more important than anything else. He wanted to tell the man how glad he was that he was there. How good it felt to hold his hand. And to have his thoughts switched off again. Words were rushing through his head. Ideas. But none of it was perfect. None of it was fitting. None of it was good enough for Patrick.

After a while Patrick squeezed his hand a little, but still didn't let go. And Pete felt the doctor's head sinking on his arm and his breathing slowing down a little and Pete knew that the other man fell asleep and he knew that he didn't have to find something perfect to say. Because Patrick would understand him. No matter what he'd say or if he'd talk at all.

Patrick would spend every free minute in Pete's room after that... Patrick once asked him if he was mad at him for leaving him alone the first days. But the truth is Pete wasn't mad a Patrick. He wasn't the first one who abandoned him... but he was the first one who came back.

Every break he would sit next to Pete's bed and he would stay longer at the hospital and come earlier just to visit Pete. And when he had a day off he would come anyway. Pete liked those days the most. Because Patrick only came to see him and they would have more time together.

Today was one of those days and Patrick lied in the empty bed next to Pete's. He was looking up at the television screen, trying to understand the football game that was on.

"Why are you even watching this?" he asked after a while, not taking his eyes off of the screen "It's not that interesting. It's actually kinda boring. I don't understand why everybody's so obsessed with this game!"

Pete turned his head a little to look at Patrick. The doctor was wearing a simple greyish T-shirt and black jeans, instead of his white coat. His legs were crossed and he leaned against the white pillows, which caused his hat to sit slighty misplaced on his head.

"Well, I like it." Pete smiled "It's fun to watch when you know the rules."

"But I don't know them. And you don't have to explain them again."

"Wow! Where does that passionate hate come from?" Pete joked a little.

"I don't hate sports. I'm just not interested in it. I don't do sports." Patrick smiled and looked over at Pete, too.

"I actually used to play too. Not that," Pete nodded towards the TV "but soccer. I was actually quite good! Even got a scholarship!"

"Why did you stop?" Patrick asked. The game was already forgotten by now.

"I don't really know... I got into different stuff. Music for example. And things got... fucked up." Pete stopped there. He barely talked about his depression. He hated it. He felt weak when he talked about it. Maybe one day he'll tell Patrick about it. But not today. Or tomorrow. But maybe one day. Pete hoped that Patrick understood why he doesn't like talking about it. Why he shuts down every time they came close to that subject. At least Patrick doesn't ask about it. He's not drilling for answers. He accepts Pete's silence, but Pete could see the curiosity in his friend's eyes and every time he wished he could tell him. Explain what's going on. But he couldn't. Partly because he doesn't completely understands it himself.