Hold tight, the future's bright
Pens in your hand, so don't stop writing now
Writing now.
You are in the middle of writing your first novel, when your favorite song comes up. It is City Lights by Emblem3 and it was the song that was playing on the radio when Patrick and you kissed for the first time. Beside that, it also reminds you of the last phone conversation you and Patrick had about a week ago. You told him you really wish to have your book published and would like to work on it, so you might not be able to spend as much time with him as you used to. To cut things short, he didn't accept the news well. He told you he is not happy with your decision loud and clear, but to sum it up, was "Don't call me until you figure out what your priorities are."
But somehow, despite the heart break, your character was turning out to be strong, independent woman, who didn't need anyone to tell her what to do. Or to take care of her. You are starting to get a feeling this book could be at least a summer hit of not anything else. Maybe the motivation is a little, yet sweet card, which came to you just a few days ago. And it's includes the first three lines of your and Pat's song. With a loud sigh, you get up and make yourself a warm mug of green tea with just a spoonful of honey and stare through the window, pressing the mug close to your chest. The night sky is lit with stars and you can see twinkling city lights in the distance. But you feel calm. The sight of what you see through your window makes you feel free. Your moment is interrupted when your phone rings. At first, you want to ignore it. After all, if it's really important, the caller can text you. But something makes you change your mind.
"Y/N speaking."
"Y/N/N, is that really you?" you hear the drunk version of your boyfriend's voice. You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose.
"Yes, it's me. What do you want?"
He giggles and you know for sure he is too drunk to be described: "What are you doing?"
"Writing novel. Gazing through the window."
"Can you see my apartment?"
His apartment. His words open the wounds you thought have been healed. Before taking a break in your relationship, you had been living in an apartment in downtown Chicago. Close to all the bars and restaurants, to all of the hot spots of Chicago city nightlife.
"I don't know, Patrick. Did you call me to ask if I see your apartment?"
"I want you to come home," he sounds sober. And defeated.
"I am home."
"I want you to come home to me."
Look at the sky
(When you are alone)
Every night
(I'll leave my light on)
So you can see your way home
"Good night, Pat. Sober up, you probably have practice tomorrow morning," you whisper, fighting back tears and trying to swallow the growing lump in your throat. Before he can answer, you cancel the call and turn off your phone.
~PATRICK'S POV~
Caught up in those pretty city lights
After she cancels the call, the image of her face pops in my mind. How beam of lights danced on her face when we were driving past the clubs and busy restaurants in a taxi on our way to different dates. I know right now she doesn't want to see me, but I can't stay in here. I might be too drunk to think straight, but I can see one thing clearly – I can't stay here tonight.
I sit in the first taxi that stops and when the driver asks me for my destination, I absent-mindedly mumble: "Sunset Ridge Woods." As we drive past the familiar places and scenes of the city, I think of the last time Y/N and I drove along those familiar streets. How many times I promised her I would support her no matter what, that I will support her dreams and will never hurt her. That I will spend more time with her. Will give her everything she would want. And most importantly, that I will not be a stereotypical hockey player, surrounded with girls and drinks after the games.
You keep hearing promises
That don't play out
I am sorry if it let you down,
I let you down.
I know one thing I should tell her, but now I ruined my chances with drunk blabbering. She has never been the kind of girl who would listen to someone's bullshit. Even though she is a strong, independent woman, she deserves to be treated better. I only wish I knew that sooner. Not now, when she doesn't want to have anything with me. Not anymore.
I know what the heart can take
All I ask you don't throw us away,
Throw us away.
I don't know for how long we have been driving, but soon we leave the madhouse of the city behind us. Only then I realize how far we are from everything – from the empty apartment, from the arena...from her. I know she kept her small condo, but she has never taken me there. Guess it really is her hiding spot.
"Stop the car," I hear my voice and see driver's eyes meet mine in rearview mirror.
"But, sir, you said..."
"Stop the car. Please."
"55 dollars 75 cents, please."
I throw sixty dollars on a front seat and he returns me 4 dollars 20 cents: "Sorry, kid, I don't have 5 cents..."
I look up at him and remember how upset she was when she hears the news about the assault.
"Keep the change," I mumble and climb out of the car. A second passes before I am left alone in the dark in the middle of a dark forest. But somehow, I feel more relaxed now than I did before.
Aimlessly wandering through the abandoned park, I think of everything we have been through – every victory, every loss or tie. The last Stanley Cup celebration when we were not even official yet, but she got along with the team and I was proud of seeing her as confident as she was back then. Then it hits me. I know she doesn't want to see or hear me, but I have to talk to her. I have to win her back. Apologize for...not letting her work on her dreams. But I will have to work a bit harder to prove her I mean it.
Since there was no taxi or any other kind of transportation, I walk. And I don't remember when did I take a walk like that. Alone, with my own thoughts. How can I tell her how much she means to me? Bringing her flowers would be as cliché as it could have probably got and she isn't really into clichés. Expensive gifts don't faze her and she has told me money can't buy the things that mean everything to her. However, I figured she is very sentimental when it comes to specific songs. But which song could be good enough... I call the only number that could help me. Her sister. Despite our mutual adverseness towards each other and her always being on her sister's side, it's worth trying.
"What do you want?" she groans tiredly after third ring. I gulp slightly: "Hey, Y/S/N, Patrick here."
"I kinda figured that. What do you want?"
"Have you talked to Y-"
"Listen to me, you asshole. You better stay away from her..."
"Y/S/N, I know I messed up, but I am sorry."
"She has been dreaming of publishing a book since she was a kid and you throw her out of your shared apartment because of that."
"Please, I know you don't like me..."
"Lightly said. Good night, Patrick."
"Please, don't hang up. It's urgent."
I am surprised when I hear her sigh, which is telling me she is actually still listening to me.
"What?"
"I know it's early, but I have two questions."
"And I might not have the answers."
"It's not about we don't like each other. It's about your sister and I."
"Does that still exist?"
Please, don't say that, I can't afford to lose Y/N, I think, but mumble: "I hope it does."
"Fine, what are your questions?"
"Her favorite song and her address."
She laughs slightly, but her laughter is forced and cold: "But answer my questions first. Where are you and why do you need her address?"
"I am somewhere between Sunset Ridge Woods and downtown."
"What are you doing there?"
"I...I needed time to think. The apartment, what I said there, was suffocating me. I had to leave."
"You are serious about winning her back," her voice sounds a bit nicer. After a few more moments of silence, she speaks up, her voice quiet: "I never told you that, but her favorite song is the one you two first kissed to. And I will message you her address. But you hurt her one more time and you are a dead man."
"Thank you so much, Y/S/N, I owe you."
"Don't fuck it up."
The line goes dead, but at least I got a tip which is her favorite song. And when my phone beeps the next time, I get her address.
~YOU~
You are working on a new chapter, when you hear the first sounds of City Lights. Thinking it's a song on a radio, you don't pay much attention to it. Until the volume grows louder, even though you haven't touched the radio. And the song sounds like it's coming from your apartment...
When you approach your front door, you realize the song is coming from right in front of your door. Taking a small peek through a small round peep-hole, you see a familiar mop of blonde curls. You open the door and lean on the door frame: "How did you find me?"
"Does it matter?"
"I kinda don't want to know. What's wrong?"
He puts the song on a pause and speaks up: "I know I was an asshole and I shouldn't have said what I did. In this week I realized that's the longest time we have been apart because of the argument. And...I realized I need you. I heard people saw you in the clubs, talking to other guys and..."
"Were you stalking me?"
"No! I swear...it just...it made me realize I can't stand a thought of you being with anyone else. And I want you to come home..."
"Cheesy much?"
"Hey, your favorite song is the cheesiest thing I have ever heard."
"It is not!"
"It is."
I take a little step closer and carefully put hands on her shoulders. She looks at my hands and then up in my eyes, but doesn't step away. That encourages me to try to hug her. My hands move from her shoulders to around her waist. I feel her tense up, but doesn't move away. When she finally rests her head on my chest, I know it will be easier.
Sorry, babe, but I just can't share you
Want you so bad, babe, I need you
Screaming out please don't go, please don't go
Please come home, please come home.