Spin For You [Peterick]

-44-

To Patrick.

Uh...okay.

I don't really know what to write to be honest. Hell, I don't even know what to fucking feel.

This wasn't how things were supposed to go. I didn't mean for things to happen like this, this shouldn't be how it ends. 

Oh god, Patrick.

-

Right, okay, so when I left off, I'd decided to give those tickets back to you. I sure as hell wasn't gonna go to your show, I didn't wanna really see you ever again. It wasn't that I hated you or anything, it wasn't as strong as that, it was more just indifference. You'd turned into such a dick that I really didn't care about you, and I felt kinda good about that, I guess. I feel like when you can genuinely say that you're indifferent to someone you used to love, you know you're actually completely over them.

I was so ready to just fly off back to Chicago and forget about you.

And that's where I was headed, the airport, with bags packed and passport safe and sound, nestled in the back of a cab. But I'd asked the driver if we could make a stop along the way.

Joe'd given me your new address, and it was actually quite a big detour to make, so the driver was a bit pissed. I don't know why, it meant he made more money off me.

Anyway, I knew we were nearly there 'cause we were off the main road and twisting through the suburbs.

My god, the houses were amazing. Like, they all had probably three or four stories, and more expensive-looking cars outside than anyone could need. I couldn't help but be a bit disgusted at the materialism of it all, and I felt that little shot of dislike that I'd experienced during that stupid coffee-shop meeting. Ugh. Of course perfect Patrick lives in a perfect house.

We kept driving, though, through the streets of huge houses, until the car stopped at the entrance of a long driveway. This was it, this was your place.

I pulled the tickets out of my bag and scrambled out the car.

"Thanks. I'll be back in, like, two seconds," I said to the driver, who nodded and sat back in his seat.

Seeing as he seemed not to like me anyway, I decided to be as quick as I could. I hurried down your drive, and round the sharp corner it turned, and saw your house.

It was just like all the others. Big floor to ceiling windows made it gleam in the sunlight, balconies running round the outside of it like bracelets. A shining black Mercedes sat smugly in the drive, as if to say look how much money I have, and I felt myself getting even more irritated. Perfectly laid paving slabs led up to your front door.

The thought of ripping up the tickets did cross my mind again, but I couldn't let you get to me. This was the last time I'd get anywhere near you, I had to be civil.

I decided to just dump them and run. The cab driver was probably annoyed at me already. I got to your door and stooped down to shove the tickets through your letter box.

But your door was open.

When I leant on it, it swung inwards, causing me to stumble forwards and yelp in surprise. What the fuck?

The tickets never made it through the letter box and stayed clenched in my hand as I stood on the threshold of your house. Why is your door open? What the hell do I do?

My first thought was to just drop the tickets and leave. But then, I felt worry shoot through me as I wondered whether maybe someone had broken in. A house like this, there's gotta be lots to steal. And I guess I was also a tiny bit curious as to what your place was like on the inside.