I Dont Do Too Well On My Own

The Twenty-Nineth Chapter

Later, its Patricks go to drop in for a chat.

You see, I dont know how long I can last looking at the desolate hospital halls. Thank God Patrick came to cure boredom.

"Pete said you wrote lyrics together." Patrick notes after a while.

"Well, I threw metaphors at him and he ordered them into a shape." I reply.

"Yeah, thats song writing. I had a look and they were pretty good. Lots of potential."

"Look at me, dont I just scream potential?"

I laugh at the joke but Im not sure Patrick has the same opinions as I do about that.

"I mean, how close to rock bottom can I get? Im scraping the floor!"

He chuckles and shakes his head. "Personally," He says. "I see buckets of potential."

"Well lets hope they dont rot away then."

I feel over where the needle is in my skin. The small lump makes me queazy.

"When do you think I can be free again?" I ask.

"By tomorrow if your scar is better."

I lift the covers and peek at where my vest top slides to show my stomach. The line is scarring.

"Dont you think that scars are like battle wounds?" I say.

"Not always." Patrick says. "I think that scars show that you lived dangerously and did things out of your comfort zone. They kind of show that you lived, rather than sat in the shadows. When you grow old you can look at it and say to yourself 'I lived. I wore out this body'."

I think about that concept. Thats a positive way to think of it.

"I guess so." I say. "Ill have lots to look back on."

"You spend too long looking back anyway." He laughs.

"Its bad living in the past rather than the future."

"Talking of the future is even more toxic than talking about the past."

I look up at the drip. Im am drugged up to the max. Im probably 25 percent drugs 75 percent morals. That sucks.

"Im so drugged up right now." I smile at him. "Its great."

He smiles and shakes his head. "Dont get any ideas."

"Patrick?" Im so out of my own head right now. "Im sorry but I might fall asleep."

"Thats fine, sleep and then we can continue when you wake."

I flick the switch on my heartbeat machine and close my eyes and sink into the pillow. I wait for sleep to cradle me once more.

"Where is your boy tonight, I hope he is a gentleman..." Patrick sings quietly to himself and a blush slips on my face.

When Patrick sings, its a thing to behold. His voice is smooth and creamy, like expensive ice cream. The quiet passion in his voice slowly bubbles. You can hear him squeeze out every last note with strength and care.

"You were the last good thing about this part of  town."

I let a smile touch my lips. Thank God for Patrick stump.