It had been a week since Patrick and I decided to take a break. Correction, a week since Patrick decided I was "stressing" him out during finals and couldn't "handle" me.
"When was the last time you two talked?" Henry asks, shoving a kid out of my way.
"I don't recall- and what did I say about pushing kids around?" I scold, lightly bumping him with my hip.
"Sorry, I forgot". Henry turns me around to face him. "He's miserable, Y/N. He's still a douche, but he's miserable".
"You know what, Henry? He's really not my problem anymore". I can tell my words hurt Henry, and he leaned in close to my ear, an upset look on his face.
"People aren't 'problems', Y/N. Now, I'd say the same thing to Patrick, but you're being a real bitch right now," he seethes.
"Fuck you, Henry," I say, trying not to cry. When I try to move past him, he grabs my wrist.
"I'm sorry, but you know I'm right. We're not in elementary school anymore. You both need to grow up and realize that he's what's best for you, and you for him".
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Henry had been one of my closest friends since I started dating Patrick. I knew he was right, but that didn't mean it hurt any less.
"Look, here he comes. Please just try to talk to him. He's almost as stubborn as you are". I nod my head in response and Henry puts a hand on my arm comfortingly and leaves.
"And Henry? I'm sorry for saying that before. I know people aren't problems".
Henry smiles and laughs as he leaves, calling out to me as he goes: "but we can be problematic!"
"You trying to fuck Henry now?" Patrick says, coming up to me with a hurt expression on his face.
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"Lovely to see you too. And no, I'm not".
"That's not what that little exchange looked like," he continues. "You know he has a fetish for knives. He cuts up all his little bitches".
"First of all, it's called knife play and he doesn't 'cut women up'".
Patrick smirks, leaning against a locker, "God, you really don't know anything about us".
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"You're right. You ended things with me because you don't care about me. Finals, Patrick, really?! You hardly even care about grades!" I shove his chest and he slams back against the locker.
"Are you kidding me?! I don't care about you?! That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard anyone say!"
"Oh sure it is!" People started to stare at us at this point, making Patrick uncomfortable.
"What are you losers looking at?!" he screams, and even the teachers go back to their rooms. "I didn't end things because I don't care, babygirl," my heart flutters at the pet name and I try to walk away from him, "hey, I'm talking!" he pulls my back by the waist. "I ended things because I'm dark inside. I didn't want you to get too close" (A/N: do you get the reference?). His hands travel up from my waist to my face, his slender fingers running over my neck.
"I miss you," I cry out, placing my hands on his wrists.
"I miss you," he whispers back. The emotion was so evident on his face as he nodded his head and held eye contact.
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