Pete P.O.V.
I forced my tired eyes open and sat up slowly.
For a moment I forgot about everything happening with Patrick. Patrick was okay, he could use his hand.
Then it came back to me. Our bus caught fire and Patrick could never use his hand again.
Well, not entirely. For the next couple weeks, Patrick had to go to a physical therapist. They say, with the right treatment, he could be able to use his hand again.
I quietly swung my legs over the side of the bed, careful not to wake up Meagan who was asleep next to me.
I walked out of the room and went to check on Patrick. I cracked open his door and peeked inside. I didn't see him on the bed. What I saw was a bunch of tangled up blankets and a giant sweat stain in the middle of the bed.
Where did he go? Oh god, did he go drinking again?
Okay, Pete, calm down. Look around the rest of the house before you assume the worst.
I checked all the bathrooms and bedrooms. I looked in the living room and kitchen and didn't find him.
I walked down the hallway, about to wake up Meagan and go check bars, when I saw the door to our basement open.
Of course.
There's a music room in the basement.
I walked down the basement steps and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding. Patrick was slumped on the floor in the middle of the room, asleep. An acoustic guitar was lying next to him and I saw his notebook next to him, messy scrawls all over the paper.
I chuckled nervously. I walked up to Patrick and squatted down on the floor next to him. I shook his shoulder lightly and said ,"Hey, 'Tricky. Wake up."
He muttered something and didn't move. I shook his shoulder again and he shot up and opened his eyes, shouting ,"Pete!"
He looked around frantically and when his eyes landed on me, breathed a sigh of relief. I put my arm around him and asked ,"Why aren't you in the bedroom?"
He looked at me and sighed. "I had an idea for a song and wanted to test it out. I grabbed the guitar before I remembered..."
Before he remembered he can't play guitar.
I grabbed the guitar and said ,"What's the chord progression? Let's see how this sounds."
He grinned and pushed his notebook towards me. I played the chord's he had written down and he frowned a bit.
He took his notebook back and erased some notes. Sticking his tongue out, he hummed a tune, familiar to the one I just played. He wrote down something else and shoved the notebook back in my direction.
I played the progression again, slightly different. It sounded great! I looked at Patrick and he was smiling. "O-okay. Can you play that while I sing these lyrics?" he asked nervously.
"'Course, man. You want to count off?" I said.
He nodded. "1...2...3..." he whispered.
I played the notes while he sang:
"I got those jet pack blues
Just like Judy
The kind that makes June feel like September.
I'm the last one that you'll ever remember."
He looked down. "What do you think? Should we scrap this?"
I shook my head. "Fuck no. Man, that's amazing! And you're voice is still great, by the way."
He look up and blushed. "Thanks, Pete."
"Okay, little man. How long have you been down here? I saw your bed. Nightmare again?"
He shyly nodded. "Yeah. It took me a while to fall asleep and when I did, I woke up an hour later from a nightmare. Couldn't fall back asleep so I came down here. Ever since Elisa said it, I've had an idea for this song."
He pushed the notebook towards me. I read the lyrics, and was blown away.
"Shit, Patrick. These are fucking awesome! Have you written music for the rest of the song?"
He shrugged. "Yeah, but I haven't tried it out yet. Can't play," he said, frowning.
I stood up. "Let's finish this later. We need breakfast and then you, sir, have a physical therapy appointment. Come on," I said, reaching my hand down to help him."
He sighed and grabbed my hand. I pulled him up, a bit too easily. He was really light.
He'll get better soon. I know he will.
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a/n
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/emily/
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