"Would you kindly fuck off?" There were so many things she couldn't say, but that sentence was perfectly fine. "I said fuck off."
"Hey, don't be mad at me. I'm trying to help." Pete sighed, staring across the counter. "Patrick's a drunk. You don't need to be around that. You've had enough shit done to you."
"I can... myself, care." She shook her head and frowned. Why did the brain damage have to effect her speech? Of all things, she couldn't talk. "Take care of myself."
"I'm not saying you can't. I'm saying that you deserve something better to come home to than an alcoholic." Pete sipped his coffee. "And frankly, you're the only thing I have to hold against him. He'l get cleaned up fast if he thinks I'm serious about turning him in."
"Does matter alcoholic?" Ellie groaned in frustration. For once her schizophrenia was under control, but it was a trade off. Her speech wasn't under such control. "Does it matter if he's an alcoholic?" She had to take it slow to get the words to actually come out.
"Let's be honest here. He's the lead singer of my band and my best friend. Neither of those things can hold up too long if he's a constantly drunk prick." Pete shrugged. "And he isn't exactly the perfect boyfriend you expect right now. He's an asshole, and he's not going to take care of you, or get his job one, or act civil with anyone. So yeah, it does matter."
"You act like I need him." Ellie rolled her eyes and stood up. "I don't."
"You do." Pete's voice was stern and solid, like he knew what was right, and everything else was wrong. "You need him. And he needs you. That's what happens when you find the person you're supposed to be with."
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I have writer's block. So you get this little piece of something that's about 300 words. Have fun with it, causeI'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to write this.