Patrick P.O.V.
My son was gone. My wife was gone.
I knew what I was doing was a mistake, but I had to do it.
I pulled the various needles out of me with a grimace. I felt pain hit me and almost collapsed right there.
Luckily, Elisa had brought some of my clothes when she came here. I changed into black skinny jeans and a blue button up shirt, topping it off with a hoodie. I slid into my boots and peeked out of the room.
I didn't see anybody, so I stepped out. I sneaked past Pete and everybody to the elevators. I finally stepped out of the hospital for the first time in a month.
Fresh air hit my face and I went to the parking lot. I hailed a taxi and said ,"Take me to a bar. One far away from here. I need to forget."
******
Joe P.O.V.
Pete was freaking out.
We asked the receptionist if she had seen Patrick leave, but she said she only saw someone in a hoodie leave.
Wait a second.
I ran back to Patrick's room and looked in his bag Elisa had brought near the corner. Inside was the pajama pants and t shirt Patrick had been wearing. And the clothes she brought were gone.
Patrick left.
I told the others this and they agreed to split up and look for him in this city. Marie would come with me and the others would go with their partners. Andy would stay at the hospital in case he came back (but I doubt he would, I sure wouldn't).
Marie and I were checking resturants. We had been to every place that sold food in this city. I was beginning to lose hope.
But then we came upon a very small bar, a long way from the hospital.
My god, why didn't we think to check bars?
Of course he would go to a bar.
I quickly dragged Marie into the bar and looked around. Then I saw him.
"Marie, call the others," I said.
Patrick was slumped in a booth in the far corner. I made my way to him and tapped his shoulder.
His head turned toward mine sluggishly. "Joooeeeyyy!" he slurred.
I sighed. "Patrick, we gotta get you back to the hospital," I said.
"No, I don't wanna go back," he pouted. "I wanna stay here, but the bartender won't give me anymore. He's being mean."
"Tricky, you need the medicine. And god knows what you did to your body by drinking all that alcohol. How much did you have, anyway?" I questioned, a little scared of the answer.
He counted on his fingers. "Uhh, a lot," he giggled. "I had a looot of shots and whiskey. It makes the bad thoughts go away."
Then he started bawling. "Joe," he sobbed. "Am I completely worthless?"
I grabbed his hands. "No, of course not, Trick-"
"My wife left me! Obviously there's something wrong with me. Other wise, the love of my life wouldn't have left me!" He hit the table and broke down sobbing.
I moved to sit next to him and put my arm around his shoulders. "Patrick, there's nothing wrong with you. You are the most perfect human being on this fucking planet. There's something wrong with Elisa, not you."
He just stared straight ahead. "I probably won't see my son again. He's the one I care about most in the world. And I can't see him."
I sighed. As much as I needed to talk some sense into him, he needed to get back to the hospital. His skin was really pale and he was breaking into a sweat. And his arm must hurt like hell.
"Patrick, can I take you back to the hospital? Don't you want to live?" I questioned.
He looked me in the eyes. "Not really."
I was taken aback. I knew he was heartbroken, but now he's sounding just... broken.
"That's the alcohol talking, Trick. Come on, let's go back," I said, trying to convince him.
He shook his head. "No, Joe, please don't make me go back. I'm sick and fucking tired of being hooked to machines and having my meals pumped into me. This is the first time I've seen sunlight in a month. I feel like I'm trapped. I'm stuck in that hospital, and now, even though I'm out, I'm still trapped in my mind. I'm stuck in a never ending spiral of thoughts telling me to off it because I'm worthless and the only person that ever loved me left!" he shouted.
I quickly put my arms around him. He sobbed into my shoulder and I let a few tears fall as well. How could Patrick think this?
The bawling slowly subsided. I looked down and saw he had passed out. I turned around and saw Pete and the others running in. He ran to the booth we were in and stopped when he saw Patrick's unconscious, tear stained face.
We carried Patrick to a taxi. The ride back to the hospital was silent and you could cut the tension with a knife. The air was heavy with anxiety.
We got Patrick back to the hospital and the nurses helped him back to his bed.
No one talked. There were so many different emotions swirling through the room. Fear, worry, a little bit of anger.
Yeah, we were angry at Patrick. He could have talked to us. He didn't have go lose himself in whiskey.
