I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Eighth Chapter

I curl up in the corner of the sofa and watch Pete and Patrick share facial expressions.

"So, lets get this... Straight." Patrick says. "You are the girl that ran away aged 18 from your parents house and came here... May I add without telling them. The police are still looking for you for big money."

Just hearing it spoken out makes it a thousand times worse. I almost cry just hearing it.

"Yes." I say. "Can we not talk about it?"

I look down at the creases in the sofa and how it causes shadows to fall in the crevices.

"Im not going back."

I think of my mums thin pink lips and tight bubblegum dresses. I think about my dads grey hair and tight suits and pushover attitude. I think of how tightly I would be squeezed if I ever see them again. I think of my mum tottering down the drive. I feel sick thinking about it.

"Im not going back." I repeat, looking back up.

"Are we harbouring a criminal?" One of them asks.

My eyes shoot up and flick between both of theirs.

"I havent committed a single crime. Im more saintly than you think!" My voice raises in offence.

Then I think about the drinking and the sex. I feel my plan cracking a bit.

"Dont you think you should put then at peace?" Patrick asks.

"No, not really. Theyd keep me. Can we not talk about this."

"Can we help you?"

Can they help me?

"Maybe just start with drinking and sex? I mean... Not having sex with y- not urm. Like helping you g- you- you get it."

I shrug. Does it matter? All this is temporary. Wait a day and the whole game is changed again. Wait a day and there are new rules.

"If you get better... If we help you... Will you think about sending a letter to your parents?"

I shrug. This is boring. Promises are only keeping us from embarrassing ourselves.

"You look like you need a hug."

I shrug again. Not really.

Patrick stands and advances towards me. I am forced to stand and he pulls me into a hug. I slot nicely into his arms. Im convenient. He squeezes me and I just stand there. He needs it more than I do.

"Okay, now lets do this." He says, stepping back with a smile. He grips onto my shoulders, mumbling a "we care".

Pete sends me a look I cant deceiver. I send one back that he would need a decoder to even start to fathom.

"How the hell are you going to do this?" I ask.

Patrick stops walking and runs his hand through his hair. He places his hand on his hip and turns to look at me.

"Not the slightest clue." He smiles.

Jump forward to where Joe has come back, even though he is talking to a 'criminal'. He sits down nervously and his hair falls into his face. Curls sit and frame his face and he blows a curl out of the way.

"Why do you drink?" He says, almost like he is being forced to do this.

"If you are going to hate this as much as I will then we may as well stop." I say. "Lets save some time."

I let a smile curl onto my lips, almost as if what I am saying is sly. I tilt my head and wait for him to say something.

"Exactly. Now... Whats the plan, smart ass?" I look up to look at anyone.

"Dont you want to get better?" Patrick says, sitting on the arm rest of Joes chair.

I shrug, "Doesnt hurt me either way."

But maybe it does. Who knows.

Patrick sucks on his lip and looks up to the heavens for help. A lock of hair falls to the side of his face and he shoves it back into place carefully. Pete opens the fridge.

"Im taking you to therapy." Patrick says decidedly.

Pete slams the fridge in the back, a shocked look on his face.

"Yeah right. How am I going to pay for that?" I laugh.

"Dont. Its on us. We earn too much. I can say that I dont know how to use it. Id like to help someone." Patrick shrugs.

I dont want to be a charity case. I hate this. Pete sits down on the sofa with a beer, somewhat entertained.

"Please, just trust me. We can go now? My friend is a therapist and is the best in town."

Well... I dont want to say it, but 15 minutes later I am walking down the road with Patrick Stump. We are walking towards therapy, and my prison.

"So, you think I can be saved?" I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

"Yeah, we can try." He chuckles.

"Will I be saved from the pits of hell?" I wave my fingers around.

"All in the hands of God!"

"Of course! Why did I ever ask you in the first place?" I spin around in the middle of the path.

"Yeah, youre spritely?"

"Its like your happiness rubs off on me..."

I skip ahead and turn around, walking backwards. His head is tilted slightly and he steps forward towards me.

"Its left here." He laughs, shaking his head.

I realise where Im going. "Oh." I say quietly, stopping.

"Come on, just try!" Patrick looks pleading.

We return back out an hour later. I dont know how to feel about it. Patrick sat with me the whole time to make sure I was okay. The therapist was nice but I dont feel any different.

"That was just talking about what we can do. You get to chose how its dealt with. What do you think?"

I think its a waste of money.

I look at him as we walk down the path, he looks keen and expectant.

"I mean... Go hard or go home right?" I say.

"You could say that." He nods.

"Then I want to go through shock aversion therapy."