Reign of the Rejected Rosary (Ryden/Peterick)

Chapter Seventeen

Patrick and I took a road trip once to Chicago while Pete was away in New York. It took us seven hours to get there, but Patrick didn't mind driving the whole way. He was the one who wanted to go, anyway. I just didn't want to stay in his and Pete's apartment by myself.

Patrick's entire ploy for going was because he wanted to walk through an art museum. I told him that there were plenty in St. Paul or Minneapolis to go to, but he just glared and told me to: "pack a bag and get in the car, goddammit, we're wasting daylight."

Patrick had an unlimited supply of CDs in his car. He wasn't a bad singer, not at all. It was just seven hours of him knowing every word. But he was wonderful. He coaxed me into singing with him around hour three, but I wasn't nearly as loud as Patrick, who was belting the words like his life depended on them. But it was nice listening to him. I preferred it.

He drove the entire way, refusing to stop. "Priorities Brendon. We're making good time."

I thought he would be tired and his voice would be raw, but it was like the drive didn't phase him at all.

And when we got there he was as energetic as ever, pulling me through the museum by my wrist. He knew quite a lot about everything I asked him. He was enthusiastic about it, too. I never realized how intelligent he was, but there was a lot I didn't know about him.

"Patrick," I called out, "what about this one?"

He came over, and I pointed at the sculpture on a roped off podium in the middle of the vaulted room.

"It's an abstract," he replied, tipping his fedora back.

"Well what is it?"

"It isn't anything, really," he said with a shrug. "But it can be whatever you want it to be. Now come on. We only have one room left."

He took me by my wrist again and led me off. But I couldn't pay attention to the ceramics in the room. I was too hung up on nothing. I couldn't understand why you would go through all that time and work and money, for something without a purpose. Something that isn't meant to be anything. It didn't make any sense to me. And Patrick was far too intrigued by everything else to explain it. He was off staring at pottery in a corner, where he was talking to some girl, probably about the oh-so-wonderful painted clay. I didn't see the appeal, but I went over anyway, because it was for Patrick.

"Brendon, this is Carolina," Patrick said, beckoning towards the blonde girl beside him. "We went to high school together until I moved."

Patrick never told me he was from Chicago. Then again, there was a lot he never told me.

"Is he the fiancé?" Carolina asked, flashing me a smile.

I blushed, but Patrick just laughed.

"No, Brendon's just a friend. Do you remember Pete Wentz?"

"Oh God, Patrick, seriously? You're marrying Pete Wentz? I'm honestly surprised that you two are still together."

"It's been a long time," Patrick replied, seemingly annoyed.

"Well I'd better be going. It was nice to meet you Brendon. Call me, Trick."

"I will."

She winked at him, but Patrick took my wrist and dragged me away before anyone could say goodbye.

"I hate that girl," Patrick muttered. "She's was the bane of my existence. There's no way in hell that I'll ever call her."

"What happened?" I asked, staring at my darkening hand as Patrick's grip tightened.