A/N : Hey! So, this is the third book in my The Middle series, (clue is in the title, duh) so I think it kinda goes without saying that it would be dumb to read this if you haven't read the first two. I know, I know, you're probably reading this because you've already read the first two books (and I love you so fuckin much for that) but just incase you haven't, please don't read any further without reading Volume One and Volume Two. Seriously, there are beyond major spoilers right from the word go, and there are a fuck load of references to stuff from the first two volumes. So, for the final time, read V1 and V2 first please and thanks. Lysm!
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Jamie Hawkins
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Patrick Moore
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Noah Adams
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Jay Montgomery
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Erin Larson
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Joel Evans
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Sarah Robinson
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Amanda Murray
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And now that that shit's out of the way, I would love to know what you thought of the ending of Volume Two... And most importantly, team Noah? Or team Patrick?
<3
Enjoy! :)
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Jamie
"Patrick, all this time I thought you were just a heartless slut, when really - you don't date because you never met the right girl for you?" I was excited about this revelation, because it was something I had never considered before. Patrick likes sex, we all know this. So, he hooks up. No dating. I had always thought he was like that because he wasn't interested in relationships. I had no idea that it was just because he was...picky?
I was smiling at him, my eyes wide, eagerly awaiting his response to what I'd just said. This was gonna change everything. Maybe he'd even consider taking things further with the lilac haired girl he took to the Winter Fayre. I was practically giddy. So much so, that I didn't fully register the way his face hardened when I spoke. His smile faded, and he looked like he was struggling. With what, I wasn't sure. I was too fucking drunk and excited to even realise what was going on in that moment. And he was drunk too, which probably explains why he looked away from me, frowning all the while, before downing the remainder of his drink, slamming the glass down on to the bar, taking a deep breath, looking me dead in the eye, and saying:
"No. I don't date because I already met the right girl for me. Around six years ago."
***
"What? Who!?" I asked him excitedly. I was drunk, okay? And I'm a fool.
He opened his mouth to answer me, but the bar tender chose that exact moment to bring over two fresh Jack and Cokes. I continued eagerly staring at Patrick as he paid the bar tender and thanked him.
"Come on, tell me! This is so exciting!" I said, practically giddy. Such a fucking idiot.
"Are you serious?" He frowned at me in disbelief.
"I'm not a fucking mind reader, Patrick!" I said, getting impatient. Then, in my drunken state, a fresh wave of realisation hit me. "Hang on, almost six years ago? You would have been, what, fourteen years old?" I asked, genuinely trying to figure out where he had been hiding this girl.
He nodded his head slowly while sipping from his drink.
"We started the band over five and a half years ago now, I was thirteen when I met you and Joel..."
He nodded again, his eyes fixed to the floor.
"Oh my god!" I exclaimed.
"Jamie, I didn't wanna do this.." he started to say, at the same time I said, "It's Erin!"
"Wait, what?" He finally looked up at me, looking completely defeated.
I didn't say anything, because I already knew.
The moment his eyes met mine, I knew.
I don't know what I was thinking suggesting Erin anyway, we met her four years ago. Not almost six...
I was still standing in front of him by the bar, our faces were only inches apart. I felt my mouth open slightly, I was in a total state of shock. I stood there staring at him for what was probably the longest ten seconds of my life. The past six years of my life flashed in front of me in those ten seconds. From when I first met Patrick, a sad little thirteen year old girl who had just started to recover from the loss of her mom, to barely two hours ago, when I was kissing him before midnight with balloons and confetti falling around us. All this time? There's no way. He did not like me like that. Did he?
I remembered the first time I met him in my garage, when he told me he could play a little guitar even though he was a drummer, and Joel immediately informed me that Patrick actually couldn't play guitar at all. Had he been trying to impress me? I didn't think so at the time.
I remembered a few weeks later, after the guys had started coming over to my house every day after school and on the weekends, how Patrick showed up at my house before Joel and Jay one day. It was the first time we'd been alone together. I remembered thinking he was a bit awkward without the guys around, and I figured he was one of those boys that finds it difficult to be friends with girls. I remembered telling myself to put in an extra effort with him, because he'd been so sweet so far, asking about my mom and telling me about when his own dad had died.
I remembered Joel telling us he had lost his virginity a few months after that, and that's when I really knew the guys and I had truly become best friends. Joel told us all about it, and the three of us listened intently. We three thought we would be virgins forever because we weren't dating like Joel was, but soon after Jay found himself losing it to Connie Richards after a romantic walk along the beach, and I lost it to James Pritchard not long after my fourteenth birthday. Patrick was the oldest when he lost his, fifteen.
I remembered Patrick telling us she was no one special, and he just wanted to get his first time over and done with, but he liked it much more than he thought he would have. And the rest is history, he never looked back. I remembered questioning him about it, but he wouldn't give anything away. We made fun of him for weeks, because we had all been very open about our own first times. Patrick said it was none of our business, and reminded us that he hadn't asked to hear about any of our experiences, we had told our stories voluntarily.
I remembered telling the guys about all of my crushes, my dates, and my hookups in the years that followed. Jay told us all about his hookups too, and Joel talked to us about things between him and his girlfriend at the time, India. But Patrick barely ever told us about his hookups. He'd tell us if he slept with someone, sure, but that was it. There was never anything more, so he provided no further details. Over time, the guys and I learned to stop asking him about it, and we just started teasing him about being a man whore instead. He never seemed to mind.
I remembered how bored he acted when we started writing our own music. He had said he didn't need to play any part in lyrics or melody, he would listen to what we had and come up with the beat on his own. It worked for us, it still does, and I never thought anything of it. He's sat and listened to me singing about 'love' and 'heartbreak' and how I've felt about boys over the years. He's listened to me explain what I was feeling when I wrote something, and he's sat behind me on stage and listened to me sing that shit back to the crowds in the Grill. So many times.
I remembered all the times he listened to me complain about guys, and helped me write music about my apparent heartbreak, with no complaint. All the times he sat through Dirty Dancing and When Harry Met Sally eating ice cream with me, while Joel and Jay would moan about my chick flicks and eventually disappear down to my garage. Patrick always stayed. He was there through every stupid heartbreak I went through when I was younger, everything that happened with Will, and more recently all that stuff with Shaun. And now everything that's happened with Noah.
I remembered him taking me to get my tattoo not long before I turned eighteen. He had asked why I didn't want Jay to go with me, and I told him I liked his tattoos more than I liked Jay's, so of course I would prefer to have him there with me holding my hand while I got mine. He laughed it off and made a joke, like usual. But maybe it meant something to him, more than I thought it had. He told me he liked how the 'P' in my tattoo was separate, because it proved he was more special than Jay and Joel. I laughed it off, he was making one of his jokes, like usual.
But maybe he wasn't.
I reminded myself to think of all the things I couldn't remember in that moment later. All the small things. He knows everything about me. My favourite songs, my favourite movies, the food I like, the food I don't like. How I take my shitty instant coffee, and how I take my decent coffee. He knows when I'm pissed, when I'm hiding something that's bugging me, when I wanna talk about stuff and when I just wanna grab the Ben and Jerrie's out of the freezer and put my favourite chick flick on...
It was a lot to process in ten seconds, and I was completely overwhelmed with the realisation that Patrick, my best friend Patrick, maybe... liked me?
But after those 10 seconds when I let myself think that he maybe had liked me all this time, I shook my head and laughed.
Of course he didn't, this is Patrick we're talking about. He doesn't do feelings and girlfriends. His interest in girls doesn't extend beyond the physical. And a part of me thought he might have been playing me in that moment. But he wouldn't do that to me? Would he?
The band started playing You and Me by Lifehouse, and I thought, well that's just fucking perfect. Exactly the kind of song Patrick hates, but would put up with if I wanted to listen to it in my car or something. He'd let me listen to that type of song in his car, come to think of it. He would moan and roll his eyes and sigh dramatically, but he would leave the song on and listen while I sang along.
Thinking of all of this and listening to the band playing the fucking slow song that I just know Patrick can't stand, my confused expression faded away, leaving a smile in it's place.
"What are you thinking, Jame?" He asked, still dead serious.
I was thinking, 'dude, can't you see this smile on my face? Can't you hear this shit song that I actually really love, that I know you really don't love? Can't you see all these moments from the past five and a half years flashing in front of my eyes?' But I just couldn't say those words. I was still in shock. And I didn't know if he was telling the truth, or just trying to play me. I was drunk, and so was he. So instead of saying anything, I placed both my hands lightly on his cheeks, leaned in, and kissed him again. I just wanted to, I don't know why. It was slow, and lingering, and when I broke away I rested my forehead against his, keeping my eyes closed. I was still smiling.
"...it's not because it's New Years Eve." He said, making me laugh. My eyes were still closed, but I knew he was smiling too.
"Quoting When Harry Met Sally? In your drunken state? Impressive." I shook my head against his, still refusing to open my eyes, my hands firmly secured to his cheeks. If he was playing me, he was doing a damn good job.
"Jamie." He placed both of his hands over mine, "Open your eyes."
I didn't want to open my eyes. I was afraid that if I did, the room would spin and everything would melt away beneath me. You and Me would end, the lights would come on, the confetti would be swept up and this moment would be gone forever. I was afraid that reality would catch up with me. It was already starting to creep in. Me and Patrick? It's crazy. It's ridiculous. He was drunk, and so was I. I knew we would both regret this in the morning. And he would apologise for trying to hook up with me and we would laugh it off. Hopefully.
But I knew I had to open my eyes, and when I did, I instantly met his. They're blue by the way. Did I ever mention that? Not light, like Joel and Jay's. Dark blue. But in that moment, I couldn't see any blue in them. They had darkened so much. I could have gotten lost trying to find the blue of his eyes, but then he looked away. When he looked back, he was shaking my hands a little and his lips were moving. I can't remember what he was saying. I just remember him jumping off of his bar stool, shaking the bar tenders hand from over the bar, laughing at me, taking my hand, and leading me outside.
***
After that, all I remember is stumbling into the back of the cab with him, giggling, joking around, smiling a lot. Then all the kissing. So much kissing. I don't really remember things going far enough to warrant me getting all of these hickeys, but the proof is right there. On my neck, below my collar bone. One is dangerously close to my breast...
I take a deep breath again, before finally getting up off of the bathroom floor. I let all those memories in, and it was the right thing to do. I need to talk to Patrick and get everything straightened out. When he wakes up, he's gonna be just as confused as me. If not more. He doesn't like me, of course he doesn't. Are you kidding me? He was caught up in the moment, just like I was. We can fix this, I'm confident we can. We can go back to normal.
I walk over to the sink and splash some cold water over my face. My mouth still tastes like acid, so I brush my teeth and go to town on some mouthwash. I have total panda eyes from last nights make-up, which I wipe off a little. It's still smeared in places, but I make the conscious decision to leave it like that. Patrick has seen me looking my worst before. So why would I care about how he sees me now? I wouldn't. I don't..
I unzip my dress and let it fall to the floor before stepping out of it, taking off last nights underwear and examining myself naked in the mirror. I'm glad to see the hickey situation doesn't extend beyond my lower neck, and I am totally satisfied that nothing happened between Patrick and I. Well, besides everything that happened...
I spy a white vest top and a pair of blue cotton pyjama shorts sitting on top of the hamper. They were destined for the laundry, but I am not putting that dress back on, and I'm not walking into my room naked. One last glance in the mirror, and I can confirm that I look like shit. I'm not even gonna attempt to tame my hair. I shouldn't have let Erin curl it last night. The curls are still in tact, just a little looser than they were, and it doesn't actually look half bad. It's just a little messy. I kinda like it, to be honest.
I unlock the bathroom door and walk back into my bedroom, making no attempt to be quiet this time. Come on, Patrick. It's time to wake up and address the situation. He's still fast asleep, cuddling into my pillow. He looks so fucking cute. This is awful.
I decide to run to the kitchen to get a glass of water. I down the entire glass on my way out of the kitchen, so go back to refill it. I get a second glass for Patrick, my friend who is currently practically naked in my bed right now. I know he'll have a dry throat too, we were both so drunk. I take up some aspirin too, and a spare toothbrush from the cupboard. I'm such a good friend. Friend.
When I re-enter my room, I set the glass, aspirin and toothbrush down on my bedside table (the one nearest Patrick). I look down at him again, hands on hips. Why is he not awake yet? I walk around to 'my' side of the bed, pick up 'my' pillow, and toss it onto his head. Nothing. I kneel down on my bed to retrieve the pillow, and throw it at him again, harder this time. Still nothing.
I give up, laying back down next to him on my bed and exhaling sharply. I consider my options. I could kick him, push him off the bed, shake him, pour the water over him. Or, and here's a crazy idea, I could talk to him. It's then that I realise I'm scared. I'm worried about how he's going to react when the memories of last night come rushing back to him. What if he freaks out like I just did? I think it might hurt me a little. I don't know why it would, I just think it will. I don't really know what to think.
I absentmindedly turn onto my side to face him, and at the exact same time he rolls onto his side and faces me. He yawns. He frowns. His hands appear from beneath my pillow and he rub his eyes. And here we go, almost time. Commencing 'Patrick's Freak Out' in 3, 2...
"Morning, Jame." He yawns again, and he still hasn't opened his eyes. "Happy New Year."
I don't say anything. He clearly can't remember a god damn thing. Happy New Year? We've already been over that. So I wait, he needs time to come to himself and let his brain remind him of the past nights events.
I wait, a little scared. But when he opens his eyes and looks into mine, instead of awkward regret, he seems kinda... happy? He's smiling anyway.
"I really fucking hope we never see that cab driver again" He laughs a little.
Wait, so he remembers taking a cab all the way back here? And he remembers making out in the cab? He didn't freak out at all. He seems so calm and relaxed. He must still be drunk.
"Jesus, your neck is a mess." He notices all the hickeys, and he looks a little alarmed. That's more like it.
"Sorry about that..." He says, with a sheepish grin. Sheepish grin!? Where's the horror? Where's the regret? Where's the fucking panic stations!?
I reach over for my blanket and throw it back off of him a little, exposing his naked chest and stomach. God, he has more hickeys than I do. Some of them are worryingly close to his waist line. I still can't tell if he has any clothes on his lower region...
"I'm not naked, if that's what you're trying to check." He assures me. Thank god.
"I was checking out your hickeys actually. They look worse than mine. Sorry." I speak for the first time, trying to sound flippant and aloof. I think I sound nervous and nauseous.
He looks down at his own body. His perfect, tanned, tattooed body. I haven't seen him without a shirt on enough in the past. Note to self: find ways to make the guys roam around topless in front of me more often. Not that I'm interested in what Jay or Joel have going on... But, I don't wanna play favourites. Maybe I should start throwing food at Patrick and spilling stuff on him. Might get a little obvious after a while though. Why the fuck am I thinking this?!
"Don't worry about it," he says, pulling the blanket back up, right over our heads, covering us both.
"I am fucking dying" he tells me, in our new safe place under the covers. I feel much more relaxed now, for some reason.
"Me too." I whisper. "I'm never drinking again."
"When did you change?" He asks me, noticing I'm wearing my pyjamas.
"Just now, I got up for water and brushed my teeth."
"Oh my god, don't fuck with me like that." He says dramatically, throwing the blanket off of us again and sitting up.
I laugh and point at the items I left on the bedside table beside him, Patrick always makes me laugh. He downs the glass of water, grabs the toothbrush and pushes the blanket down lower so he can get out of my bed. I avert my eyes. I really don't know why, it just seems polite. He said he wasn't naked, but I don't know that for sure.
As he leaves my bedroom, I can't stop myself looking. Did I actually just check Patrick out from behind? What the fuck is that about? I've seen him before, I know he's hot. I've never really checked his butt out before though. Well, until now. I like it. Too much.
I pull the covers back up over my head, trying to hide from my own embarrassment. I feel the bed dip when Patrick gets back in a few minutes later, he steals 'his' half of the blanket back and joins me under the covers, facing me.
"I'm gonna tell Joel we need to keep some spare toothbrushes at our place from now on, in case you guys ever need one. That was so fucking essential." I laugh again.
"I pretty much inhaled most of your mouthwash too, sorry, I'll get you more." He says with a smile.
"You better, I know where you live." I say, smiling back at him.
What the hell am I doing? That sounds like flirting to me. Nah, it's just friendly banter between two friends. We're always like this. Just, with more clothes on, and not lying underneath the sheets in my bed together. It is flirting, it fucking is. I can't help it though, it just came out!
He's still smiling, and now he isn't meeting my gaze anymore. His eyes are focused on my lips. And I'm suddenly aware that my lips are so close to his. Dangerously close. And we're both minty fresh. And he's only wearing his boxers. And I'm wearing cotton shorts and a vest top, no underwear whatsoever. Oh fuck, now I'm looking at his lips. And his arms, and his body, and his boxers. Jesus, that could not have been more obvious if I'd tried. He's laughing at me though, which is a good sign. Patrick and I always have a laugh together. I smile and look back up at him.
And then, just like that, I'm reaching for his head, and he's reaching for my waist, and we're making out. Again.
It's fast, so fast. I'm kissing him (full on, tongues, lip ring, everything) with my hands roaming through his messy hair. He's pulling me by the waist, and I'm not resisting. He pulls me on top of him, and I'm straddling him, never breaking away from our kiss. What the hell are we doing? What am I doing? I can't seem to stop, and he's showing no signs of stopping either.
I feel his fingers slip underneath my top at the sides. He moves his hands up, and up, making my top rise up too. I'm very aware that I don't have a bra on, and just before his hands reach their prize, I involuntarily moan into his mouth and rock my hips into him. This has an immediate effect on him, and his hands quickly move to my butt so he can pull me closer into him still. His hands are underneath my shorts, and I can feel them sliding back to my waist now. He tugs on the material of my shorts, like he's willing them to come down. But they won't, not while I'm tangled up in him like this.
Then my phone starts ringing. I don't even know where it is, most likely in my bag from last night. It's definitely in my room somewhere though, because it won't stop fucking ringing. I don't want Patrick to stop kissing me, so I straighten up and pout at him when he does. He laughs at me.
"You gonna get that?" He's so fucking breathless.
I shake my head slowly as I lean forward again, bringing our lips back together. That's better. I didn't want to stop kissing him. Much like last night. All I remember is wanting him. I wanted him so bad, and I still do. Jesus. Maybe I'm still a little drunk. But I know he wants me too, I can feel how much he wants me...
My hands were raking through his hair, but now they're making their way down his body. I have never touched him this way before. It's such a thrill, feeling his hard abs under my finger tips. I stop kissing him (just for a minute) so I can look down and admire his body properly. He is actually perfect.
"What are you staring at?" he breathes into my neck. What's a few more hickeys now?
"You." I say breathlessly, closing my eyes and trying to stay focused as I feel his teeth nipping at my neck. "You're fucking perfect."
He stops kissing my neck and looks into my eyes, just for a second, before flipping me over so I'm laying on the bed, and he's above me, pinning my hands down on the pillow above my head. I can hear my phone ringing again, but it's not so loud this time. All my senses are focused on Patrick and what he's doing to me. His hands are tugging at the bottom of my top again now, slowly raising it upwards. If only he had done this when I was on top of him, my boobs would have looked so much better from that angle. But I don't care. He stops, and I want to cry out in agony. He's torturing me.
"Someone really wants to talk to you." He says, the struggle evident in his tone. He wants to ignore my ringing phone as much as I do.
"I don't care," I say, wrapping my hands around his neck, and my legs around his waist. I don't want this closeness to end. He smiles. He doesn't want to stop either. I pray for my phone to just fucking run out of battery already.
"I haven't seen this enough since you got it." His fingers are tracing the outline of my tattoo. It's just below my left breast, so it's barely ever on display. Bikinis, underwear, and naked are the only times anyone would see my tattoo.
"You saw it in the hot tub at the cabin the other day. If you wanted to see it before then, all you had to do was ask." I know he likes it, he's told me plenty of times before.
He stops moving his fingers across my inked skin, and his gaze shifts from my tattoo back up to my eyes. He's not smiling now. In fact, I've never seen him look so serious. I feel my stomach flip as I sense what's coming. He's finally about to have his freak out. With my fucking legs wrapped around him and his hard on pressed up against me. Really? Is this the best time to realise that what we're doing is totally fucking crazy? No, Patrick. It really isn't. Just remain calm, and kiss me again.
But he's not kissing me again.
I panic. I untangle my fingers from his hair, and unwrap my legs from around his waist, just as my phone starts ringing again.
"Jamie..." I ignore him, and he lets me push him off of me.
I get off of the bed and follow the sound of my ringtone. Right enough, my phone is in the bag I used last night. I pull out my phone and see the name 'Noah' on the caller ID.
Noah.
Fuck.
I walk over to the window and answer the call.
"Hi," I say. My voice is quiet and hoarse.
"Hi." I hear Noah's voice, and my state of panic starts to build. "I called a couple of times already."
"Yeah, I was, um, busy." I turn around to see that Patrick is gone. And his clothes aren't lying on the floor anymore.
"Listen, about last night," Noah says. Fuck, what about last night? What does he know?
"I'm so sorry, Jamie. I was an asshole. I shouldn't have said all of that stuff to you. I don't know why I said it." He genuinely does sound sorry. "This is just so new to me and I don't know what I'm doing."
I'm startled. This is new to him? What, exactly, is he talking about? Me and him? He practically told me there was no me and him.
"What's new to you?" I ask. "I assume you aren't talking about our... relationship? Or lack of relationship. I don't even know." I sigh, I can feel my hangover really kicking in now.
"That's exactly what I'm talking about." He says. "I should never have said I didn't wanna be exclusive. You just kinda sprung it on me, you know? I got freaked out, and it was a dick move. Are you still mad?"
Am I? Honestly, I'm not. After everything that's happened over the past... fuck, I don't even know what time it is. Lets say twelve hours. After everything that's happened since I last spoke to Noah, I do not feel any anger towards him. I don't know what I feel towards him.
"I'm not mad, Noah." I say.
Before I can say anything else, he cuts me off. "Thank god! I've been so worried." He's telling the truth, I can hear the worry in his voice. "I just - I don't wanna risk losing you. Tell me what I need to do to make this up to you?"
I need to tell him what to do? Okay, there's a romantic gesture. I don't know what I want him to do. I don't really know if I want him to do anything.
"I don't know, Noah" I sigh again and rub my temple, my head is fucking pounding right now. "I'm not your girlfriend, so you don't need to do anything."
"Jamie, please." He sounds a little desperate. Damn, he really does feel bad. "I don't wanna label this right now, but I'll get there. We'll get there. I know we will. All that stuff I said to you at the beach, the night of the Snow Ball... nothing has changed. I just, I don't know. I fucking suck at this."
Poor guy, he really is trying. I'm such a bad person. If he knew what I was doing with Patrick while he was calling me, he'd tell me to fuck off right now and never talk to me again. I think. I mean, I'm not his girlfriend, remember. And we aren't exclusive, according to him. But I know that's no excuse.
"Happy New Year, by the way." He says, sounding a little defeated.
"Thanks, same to you." I say, while looking at my neck again in my mirror. Where did Patrick go? Did he leave?
"What did you do last night?" Noah asks. Why is he making small talk with me right now?
"I went to a party in South Bridge with the guys." Why didn't I say 'Jay, Erin and Patrick'?Whenever I say 'the guys' it means Jay, Joel and Patrick. My guys. It's like I'm trying to hide the fact that I was with Patrick. Even though, no matter what Noah takes from my saying 'the guys', Patrick is part of it. Jesus Christ, I don't know what's going on right now. I just didn't wanna say Patrick's name, I guess.
"Just you, Jay and Patrick then? Joel and Sarah were at the Times Square party last night." I wince when I hear him say Patrick's name.
"Yeah, and Erin's here too, remember?" Seriously, why are we chit chatting right now? I need to end this call. I need to find Patrick.
"Oh yeah, cool. I think Joel enjoyed the party last night. And Kim." He pauses, then says, "I should have brought you to the City too, Jamie. I fucked up. I really am sorry."
I'm done talking about this. I wanna talk to Patrick. If he is freaking out, I need to make sure he's okay. Patrick comes before boyfriends. Jay and Joel do too, of course! Not just Patrick. And Noah isn't even my boyfriend...
"Noah, I need to go. Erin's parents looked after Benji for me last night, I need to go pick him up."
"You haven't picked Benji up yet? It's 2 o clock in the afternoon, when did you leave South Bridge?"
Fuck. Honest answer: I left South Bridge around 12 hours ago in a cab with my best friend Patrick because I wanted to take him home and have my way with him. And I almost did, but he stopped me. And I almost did ten minutes ago, but you kept fucking calling me.
"Noah, I need to go." Avoidance tactics, great.
"Jamie, wait!" He sounds desperate again. Christ, has he been thinking about this all night? It sounds like it's really tearing him up. I am such a bad person.
"I'll be back in North Bridge on the Fourth." Classes start up again on the Fifth. Makes sense. "Can I see you when I get back? Please?"
"Sure, I'll talk to you then." I say hastily, before ending the call.
Fuck, it really is 2 o clock in the afternoon. Well, 14:06 to be exact, according to my phone. I have a few messages (Aubrey, my dad, The Middle group) but I don't open any of them. I toss my phone on to my bed and hurry out of my room. Where did Patrick go?
He's been known to take a shower in my house without asking in the past, so I check the bathroom first, but somehow I know that's not what he's doing right now. I guess I was hoping he'd be acting normal, doing something casual like using my shower after a heavy night of drinking. But no, he's not there.
I rush down the stairs, feeling my headache pound with every step I take. I check the kitchen, dining room, living room, then decide I need to check the garage. If he is still here, I know he'll be in the garage. I could have went straight down there, but I was trying to delay actually having to talk to him. As much as I wanna help him work through the freak out he is clearly experiencing right now, I am a little nervous to actually talk to him about... well, you know.
I take a deep breath and begin descending the stairs down to the garage. He's still here. Thank god. He's gotten dressed back into his clothes from last night (unbelievably sexy still, even in his hungover, rough state). He hasn't bothered putting his tie or suit jacket on of course, and as I reach the bottom step, he shrugs on a hoodie and zips it up to cover his shirt.
His hoodie. No, my hoodie. The black one with the VANS label beneath the hood. That's not his hoodie anymore, that's my fucking hoodie. He knows how much I love it. And he's wearing it, for the first time in forever. It barely even fits him anymore, he hasn't worn that thing in years. Why is he doing this? Is he trying to hurt me? No, of course he isn't. He's trying to cover his formal attire with an everyday item of clothing. But I don't want him to. I don't want him to take my hoodie home. I'm convinced he's trying to be spiteful.
"What are you doing?" I ask a little shakily. I'm not convinced I managed to hide the hurt from my voice.
"Was that Noah?" He turns to face me, completely ignoring my question.
So I ignore his. "Are you taking my hoodie home?"
He sighs and rubs his eyes. "What did he want?"
Why is he pushing this? Why does he care what Noah wanted? And why isn't he taking my god damn hoodie off?! "That's none of your business Patrick. Give me my hoodie back!" I'm pissed.
He frowns at me, and stares at me for a couple of seconds. I'm frowning right back at him. Then, he breaks our eye contact and turns to face his drum kit.
"Do you remember everything we talked about last night? Well, this morning, technically." He asks, as he picks up one of his headbands from on top of his snare. He throws the headband around his head, like he always does before we play. Is he seriously about to start playing right now? What the fuck?
"If you start drumming right now, I will hurt you." I say, deadly serious. My hangover could not handle that.
He turns to face me. "Are you serious? I'm just getting my hair out of my face a little."
"Oh." I say. I never considered that.
Then I notice the headband he's put on. It's the headband I got him from the Ed Sheeran show. The stupid blue one I wrote "I <3 TS" on. I wear it all the time when we're messing around over here (never in public, for obvious reasons). He's wearing my hoodie (well, his old hoodie, but it is mine now!), and he's put on my headband (well, I did get it for him, but I wear it more than he fucking does!) Surely that's not a coincidence?
"You wanna take my guitars home too?" I say, with no attempt to hide the annoyance from my voice.
He looks up at the ceiling for a second, like he's trying to bite his tongue. Then he says "Do you remember what we talked about last night or not?" He sounds impatient.
The truth is, I remember everything from the hotel in South Bridge. He told me he doesn't date because he already found the girl for him. And that girl is me. Well, he never said those words exactly, he didn't get a chance before I kissed him again... But he totally played me. And it worked, I completely fell for it. I don't remember much talking in the cab... Well, there must have been some, I remember laughing and smiling. We didn't just make out the entire cab ride back. I can't remember what we were talking about, just that it was funny.
And I don't remember getting back to my house at all. But I know there was no talking involved at that point... There was only kissing, clothing removal (his clothes at least) and hickey making.
So yeah, I remember everything we talked about. He told me Noah's no good for me. Is that what he's getting at right now? Who cares!? After what we were just doing in my bed!?!
"Patrick, what the fuck does that matter!?" I'm shouting at him now. "You think Noah's no good for me, okay, I get it. How can you care about that right now? You totally played me last night at the hotel! We were three items of clothing away from fucking each other barely ten minutes ago, I think we have bigger problems to focus on right now!"
I can't believe I just said that out loud, and by the look on his face, neither can he. I'm staring at him, waiting for his quick comeback, waiting for him to make a joke out of this whole thing, waiting for him to throw that fucking headband at me and tell me to get over myself. This is Patrick I'm dealing with. He loves sex, I know this. He loves sleeping with girls and never calling them again. But it was never meant to be like that with me. I was never meant to know what it felt like to kiss him, to have his hands roam all over my body, to have his smile make my heart flutter in my fucking chest. This isn't right. I feel like I've broken something, and nothing I do will ever fix it. But I feel like he's broken something too. Why would he go there with me? After all these years, everything we've been through together as friends. Everything we've been through with Jay and Joel, too. Why would he want to throw it all away like this?
I can feel the tears coming. I'm angry, and I'm sad, and I'm shaking. I'm a total fucking mess of emotions, and I'm unbelievably hungover. I have never experienced this mixture of feelings before in my life. Even when my mom died, I was completely overcome with grief. And I do feel grief now; for my friendship with Patrick, and my bond with my band. The Middle. We love each other, we say it all the time. What have I done? I've ruined it. I should never have asked Patrick to kiss me at midnight, I lead him on. I feel guilt over what I've done to Noah. As much as he insists we aren't a couple, to me, that doesn't matter at all. We have something. And I've ruined that too. But most of all, I feel anger. Towards Patrick. I'm not the only one that did this, he did too.
In the seconds all these emotions rip through me, Patrick hasn't said anything. I thought he would try to laugh this off. Tell me not to mention it to anyone, and move on. If he asks me to do that now, I'll tell him to fuck off. I don't know what last night meant to me, but I know it meant something. I can't just pretend like it didn't happen and carry on as normal.
But he doesn't react like I expect him to. He sighs deeply, then says, "If all you remember talking about last night was my opinion on you and Noah... And you actually think I was trying to play you? You begged me to kiss you, then you kissed me again, Jamie. Fuck."
He shakes his head, eyes on the floor. Then he opens the garage door and walks out. I don't follow him, I just stand here, feeling the tears finally escape from my lashes and start streaming down my cheeks.
***