death's seen a double bed » joetrick

[6] A Throw of the Invisible Punch

[April 2002]

Blood was dripping on the carpet from my clenched fists as I staring at the pale body standing in the middle of the room. A tear streamed down my face and I hastly swiped it away. I never cried in front of him. I wasn't going to do it now; whether he was real or just a twisted figment my mind decided to create in one of my worst moments.

"Go away until I smash this guitar on your head."

"Don't destroy it on me. A Strat like that doesn't deserve such a cruel fate," he responded with the most Patrick voice ever.

Aside from the paler, faded skin and the loss of details below his face, he pretty much looked the same.

"It's happening to me now, right?"

"You know Andy never left."

"I promised myself I would never end up like you. And here I am!"

"Since when was that a bad thing?"

"A bad thing? So seeing your fucking ghost is something good? Because I don't feel very good!"

"Joseph," Patrick said with a softer voice, leaning over to touch my shoulder. His hand fell right through it.

"D-Don't call me that! Please, Patrick. I beg you. Just leave."

"It's not my choice, Joe. Your mind is the one that called me. I had to come."

I sighed and covered my face. "So you're not real."

"Not if you don't believe it."

Patrick sat next to me on the bed and looked at my hands. "Aren't you going to put something on that?"

"What's the point? I'm already turning into a nutjob."

"You're not; I was. Don't let grief consume you. Come on, I'm getting the bandages."

He left the room and went to the bathroom. But the door was closed, he couldn't enter. "Mind if you open it?" He went in and lifted the first aid kit from the corner of the room. Whoever would've entered the bathroom now would've seen just a big red box floating. And an idiot speaking to it.

Marvellous.

"Guess you kinda believe in me," he said with a smirk. Patrick took the bandages and the alcohol in his hands, pouring a little on my fingers and unfolded the roll. "If you believe a little more, we could take back the time we lost."

"You don't have a wang."

"Not that, dumbass. Believe me, Andy wasn't good at it."

"Please don't tell me you tried to fuck a ghost."

Patrick didn't respond this time; he was too 'focused' on taking care of my hands, but I was sure that he did try. Oh, God, I really don't want to imagine all the things that went through his head when he was still alive. But I was also sure that it was just my mind trying to take my thought from the fact that I was seeing a ghost.

It was late and I was tired. I tried to convince myself that he wasn't real; but when he climbed into my bed and laid next to me, it was like I could feel him. Not physically, just... his soul.