(Patrick's POV)
Knock knock. "Patrick."
I groaned.
Knock knock. "Patrick!"
"What?" I slowly opened my eyes, only to be blinded by the light that was shining brightly through the window. I hissed in pain and turned my head away, just as my door swung open to reveal my mother standing in the doorway sideways. My eyebrows furrowed together in confusion before I realized I was who was sideways, lying on the floor.
I sat up with much pain and scratched my head, just as my mom gasped, "Oh my god, Patrick, what happened last night!?!" My mother walked into the room and helped me to my feet. "And what are all these bottles doing on the floor?" She continued to interrogate, "And are those my pills!?!"
I remained silent, barely being able to keep my balance.
"Patrick," My mom gripped my chin tightly and tilted my head up so I was looking directly at her, "What happened last night?"
I looked her right in the eyes and laughed, "Why do you care?"
"Because I'm your mother and you're my son," She answered firmly, "Now tell me what happened, this instant!"
"I got stressed out!" I shouted at her, ripping myself out of her hold.
"Getting stressed out doesn't give you the right to raid my medicine cabinet or the fridge!"
"I don't give a shit, mom!" I screamed, anger boiling up inside of me even though she did nothing but ask a few questions, "I don't give a shit about anything anymore!"
"Not even that band of yours?"
"No! They all hate me! Because I've changed supposedly!"
She stared at me for a little longer before shaking her head and saying, "I agree with one thing."
"What? That my friends hate me?"
"No. They're your best friends, they can't hate you. What I agree with is that you've changed."
I scoffed. Great, my mom hates me too.
"I want my old son back, Patrick. The one who...who wasn't like this," She motioned to me before turning around and walking out of my room. But before she did, she said, "And if they hated you, they wouldn't be here asking for you."
"Wait, what?" I retorted, perplexed by this news.
"Joseph and Andrew are downstairs waiting for you," She elucidated, stepping out into the hallway and leaving.
I heaved a sigh and looked at the mess around me, scenes from last night flashing before me in a matter of seconds.
I ran my fingers through my hair and walked out of my room. I didn't even care to clean myself up before descending down the staircase and finding the drummer and the guitarist standing in the foyer of my house. They both looked over at me at the same time and by the looks on their faces, I probably looked like shit.
"Hi guys," I managed to greet, slipping my hands in my pockets and asking, "What are you doing here?"
"We just wanted to hang out," Andy replied.
"Yeah, you know, to talk," Joe added.
I glanced over my shoulder and saw my mother in the kitchen, washing the dishes. I returned my attention to my friends and retorted, "Okay. How about we go out and talk about it over some breakfast? I'm starving."
"Breakfast?" Andy repeated, as if I was speaking another language.
"Yeah."
"But it's noon," My other friend told me. I looked into the living room and on the little television receiver box, in green numbers, was the time 12:51.
"Oh, then let's talk about it over lunch," I offered.
"Okay, but only after you get cleaned up!" My mother called from the kitchen. I rolled my eyes. "No son of mine is going out reeking of alcohol and looking like they just got out of bed!"
"But I did," I argued. She shot a glare back at me and I put my hands up in surrender, retreating back upstairs.
*****
The guys and I were sitting at the rectangular table in the restaurant, me in a booth all by myself and Andy and Joe sitting in the booth across from me. We had ordered our drinks and were looking over the menus, waiting for the waitress to come back to take our order.
"So, where's Pete?" I dared to ask.
"He said he wasn't feeling well," Andy replied, glancing up briefly from his menu before returning his attention to the tri-fold laminated paper.
"I thought he said that he didn't want to see-" Joe began to say when Andy elbowed him in the arm, "Ouch! What was that for?"
Andy leaned in and whispered into Joe's ear, but loud enough for me to hear, "Look, Patrick probably already feels bad enough. He doesn't need to know Pete's thinking about quitting because of him."
"Wait, what?" I croaked. Andy and Joe both looked over at me, shocked expressions on their faces. "Pete's thinking about quitting?"
"No!" Andy immediately retorted.
"Pete's...not feeling well," Joe repeated what Andy had said earlier, "That's all. He's saying things he doesn't mean."
"So he is thinking about quitting," I crossed my arms over my chest.
"No, he's not," Andy reassured me firmly. "He's just...kind of really upset with you right now. We all are."
Wow, that just makes everything better.
"I can't believe he's thinking about quitting..." I murmured, sitting back into the booth and running my finger along the rim of the red plastic cup filled with Coca Cola.
"He's not quitting," Andy said, annoyed I wasn't listening to him.
Quitting or not, I knew what I needed to do. And I needed to make things right between Pete and me.
*****
I stood in front of the familiar apartment door, staring at the black, medium-sized stickers that were slowly peeling away from the door but still read B3. I was trying to gain the courage to raise my hand and knock on the door, but I just couldn't.
Come on, Patrick, I told myself, He's your best friend. You've had fights before. Just resolve this one like any of the others.
But this one wasn't like any of the others, Another voice replied to my internal voice.
True, but...Pete and I are best friends. We can get through anything. Even this.
And with that, I brought my hand up and made contact with the door. Knock knock knock. I took a step back and slipped my hands into my pants' pockets, waiting for him to answer the door.
I waited nearly a minute with no sign of him coming to answer the door. And I knew he was home, his car was parked outside. I saw it when I was walking in.
I leaned forward and knocked once again, this time adding a weak, "Pete?" No response. I knocked for a third time, practically yelling, "Pete, come on, I know you're in there. We need to talk." Still no response. I snapped. "You know what? Fine. Be that fucking way, Pete."
I began to walk away when I remembered that Pete always kept a key on top of the door frame in case he forgot his real key (which happened quite frequently). I rushed back and grabbed the key, slipping it into the lock and turning the doorknob. "Pete!" I screamed, setting the key back in its place and walking into his apartment.
The TV was on with an episode of, if I was correct, Doctor Who. And on the couch was Hemingway, asleep, next to a bowl of popcorn. Normally I would've walked over to Hemingway and pat him on the head, but right now my main priority was making things right between Pete and me.
"Pete?" I called, starting to wander through his apartment.
Still no response. I entered the hallway where his bedroom, bathroom, and guest bedroom were, and grabbed the doorknob to his bedroom - it was the only door that was closed. I turned the knob and pushed it open. What I saw was horrifying. Well, what little I say, before I could really see anything, I slammed the door quickly shut and put my back against the door, holding my breath. I turned to leave the apartment when I heard the bedroom door swing open, followed by Pete asking, "What are you doing here, Patrick?"
"I wanted to talk. But I didn't know you were sleeping with someone!" I exclaimed, looking back at him. He was shirtless, kind of like he was that morning two years back when I blacked out. Except instead of pajama pants he was wearing jeans that he was zipping up.
"Well you should've knocked," He told me.
"I did! Multiple times!"
Just then, before the words he wanted to say could come out of his mouth, the door behind him opened, and from the shadows of his bedroom, emerged Catherine. Her hair was messed up and a blanket was wrapped around her (presumably bare) body. She leaned in to whisper something into Pete's ear when her gaze trailed over to me and her eyes widened. I mirrored her expression. Hurriedly, she disappeared back into the room and slammed the door behind Pete.
I slowly looked over at the bassist and shouted under my breath, "You're sleeping with Lexy's sister!?!"
"It's none of your business who I'm sleeping with, Patrick." He crossed his arms over his chest.
"How long has it been going on?"
"It's none of your-"
"Is that the reason why Jennifer broke up with you?"
"IT'S NONE OF YOUR GOD DAMN BUSINESS, PATRICK!" He snapped at me. I swallowed hard and stared at him blankly. He heaved a sigh and slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans, "You said you wanted to talk. What did you want to talk about?"
"I heard you were thinking about quitting the band," I mirrored his actions.
"Yeah? So what?"
"'So what?' What do you mean 'so what?'? You quitting the band is a huge deal, Pete!"
He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know. I just...don't feel like it's working out anymore."
"What do you mean 'it's not working out anymore'?" I took a step closer to him.
"You know what, Patrick? I don't want to talk to you right now! So leave!" He shot his hand in the my direction, indicating the door behind him, "Please!"
"No."
"No?" He repeated incredulously, taking a step closer to me.
"No. I'm not leaving."
"Patrick, I'm asking you to leave."
"No! I came here to make things right between us! And I'm not going to leave until that happens!" I shouted. I could feel my face turn red with anger and frustration.
"Well maybe things wouldn't be wrong between us if you didn't go and change overnight!" He yelled back, walking towards me. The two of us met in the center of the living room of his apartment.
"Maybe it's not me who's changed, but you!" I screamed right in his face, "You know, you're always saying how I changed. But maybe you've changed. Because I know something like that," I pointed behind him, to his closed bedroom door, "Would've never happened before!"
"HOW DO YOU KNOW? YOU DON'T KNOW M-"
I don't know what came over me, but the next I know, my hand is raised in the air and Pete was jerked to the side, his cheek cupped in his hands. He looked back at me, pure shock on his face. I lowered my hand and stammered, "I-I'm so sorry, Pete. I-I didn't mean to."
He chuckled a laugh of disbelief and said, "Wow. You fucking slapped me."
"I didn't mean to!" I cried, "I swear!"
"You fucking slapped me!" He pushed me and I stumbled backwards, "Get the fuck out of my apartment and never come back!" He demanded.
"But Pete!"
"GO!" He yelled.
I hung my head and trudged out of his apartment, giving one last glance at him before closing the door behind me and leaving.