The Music or the Misery (Book 2)

Take Our Tears And Put Them On Ice

For the next couple of days, I took care of Patrick as best as I could. I was happy that he ate a little bit more and on occasion he would speak to me, giving me a little bit of an insight into his feelings. It's good to hear him speak because I think that maybe it means I'm not doing a terrible job. I keep worrying that I might say the wrong thing but I know that if I talk to him, it will help.

Every tiny sign that he's listening, lifts a little bit of weight from my chest. Every time he breaks down, I hold him a little tighter. Seeing him cry never gets easier and the tiny voice in my head tells me it's because I'm hurting with him. Every glance that passes between us is filled with understanding and promise. Promise that I'll be there for him, no matter what. I don't feel any obligation to be here, I feel like I'm supposed to be, which is slightly terrifying for my fragile heart.

Pete has called multiple times, as well as Joe and Andy. I only know this because his phone sits on the coffee table with a different name popping up almost every hour. He never answers.

Well, that's until the weekend hits and I walk out of his bedroom to find him pacing, phone glued to his ear. I can tell straight away how much he struggles to hold a conversation with whoever is on the other end.

"I just don't think that I can deal with that yet...I don't want to even think about it" he says quickly, stopping in the middle of the room, his shoulders slumping.

"No, you don't need to do that. I'm fine, I'm dealing with it. Don't come over dad, I don't really want to see anyone" he continues, answering my question of who he's talking to. My heart breaks as he gets more frustrated, his fingers gripping his hair.

"Please can you just-" he says again but then he pulls his phone away from his ear and shakes his head. "Okay, fine!" he says, barely putting the phone back to his ear to speak.

"My Dad is coming over" he states, once he hangs up.

"You don't want to see him?" I ask softly.

"Not really, all he wants to do is talk about the funeral! She barely fucking dead!" he growls and I walk over to him grabbing his face and making him look at me. He tries not to make eye contact though.

"Hey! I know that it probably feels like the funeral is all he cares about but believe me, it's not. When we hurt, we do anything to distract ourselves. Like planning, for instance. He doesn't care any less than you do" I try to tell him, not wanting him to be mad at his dad. I don't want him to push everyone away, no matter how much he probably wants to.

He finally wrenches his gaze to mine, the anger turning to sadness.

"It's just, when the funeral is over, it'll be as if she never existed" he mumbles, his voice breaking as tears form.

"She'll never be gone Patrick, she'll always be with you" I say firmly and he nods repeatedly. My thumbs run over his cheeks, wiping away the tears and trying to bring his strength back. "You can do this!" I finish and he takes a steadying breath. I hug him tightly until his breathing evens out and he prepares to face his dad.

Soon enough there's a knock at the door and Patrick sighs in reaction. Before he stands to answer it, I grab his hand stopping him.

"Will I go somewhere else?" I ask quietly, in case he wants some privacy with his father. He kisses the back of my hand quickly before saying one word.

"Stay" he whispers and heads of to get the door. I stand there and watch as a white haired man enters and wraps his son in a tight hug. From a quick glance, I can see some of the features that Patrick got from his father, as they pull apart.