I'm the Secret You'll Swear to Keep

/One/

His hand slams over his alarm, ceasing the shrill noise playing on loop. No, it's not eight in the morning, it's actually noon. Patrick sleeps in as much as possible, especially since he tends to work one until close. It's not even a crazy cool job, he works at a dinky little store outside of town.

It's not even a chain. Just a mom and pop store that was the only place that gave a lonely nineteen year old a job. Lucas and Miranda Rawling even gave Patrick a place to stay until he got back on his feet.

It's been a little more than a year, and now Patrick can afford rent in a small apartment.

It wasn't always this hard.

When his mother was alive, they lived well. Sure, they moved around far more than was normal, but Patrick still led a happy childhood. From a young age, he knew the tragic death of his father. A drunk driver killed him on the freeway a month before his birth. That always explains why Patrick's mother hated when he drove and was out of her sight.

Even after graduation, his mother refused to let him live alone or go to college. Jobless, Patrick spent most of his times singing.

But this story doesn't have a happy ending.

One night, his mother went to go pick up burgers for dinner. So, Patrick danced and sang in the livingroom of their house.

After one hour, he stopped.

After two hours, he waited.

After three hours, he worried.

After four hours, he panicked.

After five hours, he cried.

After six hours, he'd fallen asleep sobbing.

After twenty-four hours, the missing persons report was filed.

Her body was never found, and Patrick lived in the house for as long as he could. The landlord took it back, and Patrick had to pack nineteen years of memories into two duffle bags and his old backpack.

He crashed at his friends houses, and finally landed a job. Upon finding about his situation, he spent six months with his bosses. Now, at nearly twenty-one, he lives in a small apartment close to his job. He doesn't have a car, he can't afford one, so he walks to and from his work.

Dangerous? Sure. But it's what he needs to do to live. And it's saved him enough money to get luxury items like a cell phone and WiFi.

Patrick stands tiredly from his bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. He stays in his boxers as he stumbles toward the kitchen. There's no separating walls, only different flooring to signify rooms.

Tile, kitchen.

Carpet, bedroom.

Wood, livingroom.

Behind a white door is the small bathroom. The house is bare-bones. No decor at all. Not that he can afford it. He saves money in a small jar, enough to hopefully buy a car with. He walks past it with a smile, before his feet touch the cold tile. Patrick grabs a sugary cereal to pour into a paper bowl. With a plastic spoon, he digs in. From his bed, he turns on a YouTube video, listening to it so he's not as lonely when he eats.

He tosses his garbage away, brushes his teeth, changes his clothes, and fixes his strawberry blonde tangles. Finally, he makes his way out the door and heads down the quiet sidewalk.

There's a older women at the corner, the cigarette in her mouth stained with her red lipstick. Her stomach juts out, and Patrick's pinning that on a beer gut. She smiles at the cars that pass by, hoping one will stop.