mind-friend · peterick

四

※ ４年 ※

Today is my 13th birthday. Nothing much happened, except, Patrick isn't here. I'm worried. He doesn't have a phone, so I can't call him, nor communicate to him when he gets home.

I wasn't as happy as my mum would expect me to be. Well, usually, I was, because Patrick was around. Now he isn't. I don't know how to rejoice birthdays anymore.

I looked at the cake, frowning. The only person who attended was my mum, no one else. Though, she gave her best, so I should thank her.

"Thanks.", I smiled faintly. She nodded, "Blow the candle!", and was eager to see me do so. I did, and she took a picture of it. My smile wasn't as bright like the other pictures she took of me during my birthday.

"You've lived for 13 years now, Pete!", she clapped her hands. I looked back at the candles that were unlit. "Yeah, I know.", I mumble, nodding. She smiled brightly, then handed me a wrapped box which I assume to be a gift. I don't want to open it, yet. I want to see Patrick.

"Here's a gift! Hopefully it makes you happy. I miss your bright smiles.", she grinned. I looked at her, a cracking smile on my face. "Mum, I want to see Patrick."

"What?"

"I want to see Patrick."

"Hasn't it been 4 years ever since I told you to get him out of your head? You haven't forgotten him?"

"Of course I won't. He didn't come this year. I just want to see him, and this'll be the best birthday I could have."

She pressed her temples, slowly shaking her head.

"Patrick isn't real, Pete. He's just a coping mechanism."

I got off my chair, not paying attention to anything she's said. I just wanted to see him, so I wore my coat and hurried to our usual spot.

- -

I couldn't find him. He's not here. He should be. This is where we usually meet.

I kicked on the pebbles, making my way to the bench.

He's not here, either.

God, I just want to scream his name from the top of my lungs, but I'm afraid that someone else might hear me.

I sat on the bench, thinking. Focusing. Concentrating. I don't know.

"Where are you?", I yelled at literally nothing but air, but he still wasn't there.

I give up.

I want to cry, but I can't. I should be strong. Not seeing Patrick for one day isn't that bad, right?

Hopefully it isn't.

"Pete.", I hear a voice from behind the bench, warm hands wrapping around me. I was startled, but I recognised the voice.

"Pat..rick?", I looked behind me, and was greeted by Patrick himself. "I'm sorry, I couldn't get to your birthday.", I smiled.

"It's okay, at least I could see your pretty face.", I chuckled, he giggled. We pressed our noses together, and didn't even noticed that we've already given each other chaste kisses.

I was astonished. Patrick pulled off from me, then covered his mouth.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be, I like your lips. They're soft."

"Thanks.", he smiled, then sat beside me. He laid his head on my shoulder as we look at the cork tree in front of us.

I kissed him softly on his temple, then he pushed his head to my neck. I could feel his soft breaths as he fell asleep.

He's adorable.

- -

"Ma, I love Patrick."

That was the first thing I've ever said once I arrived our house.

"I can't hear anything new, honey. Now, why don't you open your gift?", she laughed. I managed to smile a bit. She was sometimes understanding, but also disappointing.

"No, really, I love Patrick.", I chuckle, making my way to the couch and sitting beside her. She handed me the box again.

"Oh, really? That's so amazing, Pete.", she said sarcastically. I shook my head while little laughs escape my lips. I open the box, and saw a journal.

"Do you like it?"

"No.", I looked at her, smiling. "I love it. Thanks, mum.", she smiled back. "I'm glad you do. I know you love writing songs, and poems, that's why I bought you this."

"Also, I really do love Patrick."

"Mhm, I know.", she laughed.

"No, like, I want to marry him."

My mum looked liked she wanted to chop a bitch. I giggled. "But, honey, Patrick isn't rea-"

"Nope, I want to marry him. I love him, I want to marry him. He's perfect. I'm gay.", I held the journal, then looked at her as I laughed. She might not have liked what I said.

"Well, then.", she smiled, crossing her arms. "Hopefully you could. If he were real.", and scoffed. I glared at her, my smile completely gone. I ran up to my room and started writing.

Patrick has basically saved me. From suicide, from everything.

I want to write about him.