Spin For You [Peterick]

-45-

[A/N: Sorry for lateness, and sorry for the fact that holy mother of crap this thing is long.]

Dear Patrick,

It was nearly dark when I arrived at your house.

I'd been about fifteen minutes from the airport when I practically yelled at the driver to turn round and go back.

He was kinda shocked, but he did it anyway, swinging the car around and back along the sunset-streaked coast. I didn't know how to answer when he asked me why, so I just took the opportunity to pretend I was in an action movie and said there's something I gotta do.

I think that was when I started to freak out a little bit. I mean, you'd literally told me to fuck off, out of your house and your life. What the hell was I doing going back? You might not even let me in.

Also, why did I even want to subject myself to your company? Neither of the last times we'd met had been pleasant at all; the first time, you'd been an asshole, and the second time, you'd been an asshole with an explanation.

But that explanation made me care. Seeing things from your point of view, that was kinda rough, if I'm honest. You might be a dick, but at least now I know why. And, if I didn't try to help, I just know I'd have felt bad about it later on. If I can help a person I can't stand, then I can help anyone.

I don't really know what I'd planned to do; I guess the goal was to turn up and try to stop you drinking, if only for one night. Give you some advice, maybe, give you some numbers of some rehab centres, or convince you to tell someone else and take the weight off of me. There was also this one part of me that was worried you might have drunk yourself into oblivion after you spilled everything to me.

That's probably the best way of putting it. I was worried about you. If you ended up in hospital or homeless or dead because of drink, and I was the only other person who knew, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself for not at least trying to help.

But it didn't really seem like I'd thought it through when I realised I had nowhere to stay the night if you didn't let me in, and if you did, I'd probably miss my flight the next day. I had no idea how long this was gonna take because I had no idea how I was even gonna help you, seeing as you didn't seem to want my help earlier.

So as I dragged my bags out of the cab and walked down your driveway for the second time that day, I very nearly just turned around and ran off.

I didn't, though. I marched up to the front door and knocked as confidently as I could.

After a couple minutes waiting, with no answer, I knocked again.

Suddenly, there was a loud thumping sound, and then something that sounded like a groan. Footsteps sounded, heavy and erratic.

I grimaced, because I know what those kind of footsteps mean.

The door made little metallic sounds as someone fumbled with the lock, until finally, it opened.

My heart sank when I laid eyes on you. You looked just like I'd dreaded.

You leant heavily against the door, as if your legs wouldn't hold your body up by themselves, and your eyes were glazed and unfocussed. One of your hands clutched at the door, the other held a bottle of vodka.

Vodka. Again. That can't be good.

It took you a minute to process who I was, by the confused look on your face.

"Pete?" you asked, frowning at me.

I gulped and nodded. "Hey, Patrick," I said, internally bracing myself for more shouting.