Troubled Thoughts

seven

Patrick

When Patrick woke up he knew something was wrong. He didn't know exactly what it was. He just knew that there was something...

There was a thought forming in the back of his head. A foreboding. What if something happened? Something bad? To Pete?

Patrick jumped out of bed immediately.

He had goose bumps all over his body and the thought grew to an alarm. A siren that was going off in his head. A voice screaming at him that something was wrong. That he had to check on Pete.

The doctor hurried trough the hallway, into the other room and what he saw was... well... something he maybe even expected.

He saw nothing. Or better, he saw no Pete. There was nobody in the room. No dark-haired man, lying on the sofa. Nobody.

Just Patrick who stood in his boxers and a white t-shirt in the door and looked at the scene.

The blanket still lay on the sofa, where Pete was supposed to be cuddled up, sleeping. The mold Pete's head left on the pillow was still visible. He couldn't be gone for long. He even left the clothes he was wearing. The ones he borrowed from Patrick.

Without wasting another second Patrick suddenly started running. Out of the room, out of the appartement, through the hallway, down the stairs, out on the streets. He didn't know why. Maybe he hoped to find Pete somewhere on the street. Patrick looked around. The street was almost empty. A few cars were passing by, an old lady slowly walked down the sidewalk and gave Patrick a curious and judging look.

Patrick ignored her and run his hand through his already messy bed hair. He wasn't completely surprised that Pete was gone. Not really. But still he was disappointed. He never really expected Pete to stay. Why should he?

Patrick was used to not being loved back. He was literally born in the friend zone, that's why he made sure he'd never get too close to anybody he had a crush on, so he won't get hurt too much. But that didn't quite work in Pete's case. It was impossible to stay away from that man. Maybe that's why right now it hurt Patrick more than ever to be left alone. Either that or that Pete just left. Without a warning. Without a goodbye.

And there he was, in the middle of the street. In his boxers. Alone. Thinking about Pete. He felt numb. He felt empty.

He stood there for a while and eventually the cold air cleaned his head and he went back upstairs.

Patrick left the door to his appartement open, which was good because that way he was only heartbroken and not heartbroken and locked out.

He was already half through the door when he heard a voice.

"Hey, you alright?"

Patrick turned around, half-heartedly hoping to find Pete standing there.

It wasn't Pete.

It was Joe, who just left his flat, with his jacket over his arm and his keys still in his hands.

Patrick didn't answer.

"Hey man, you alright?" Joe asked again and moved a little closer to Patrick, to get a better look at him.

Patrick still didn't spoke. He felt miserable. He just wanted to be alone right now. He wanted to cry. And he feared to crack up as soon as he opened his mouth. So he just carefully shook his head.

He cracked up anyway. So why bother?

"No... no I don't think so." He finally choked out as the tears started to stream down his face.