For Patrick, there is finally peace // one shot
But how would it work? Would she even say yes? It wasn’t a matter of love. They loved each other unconditionally, and had since they first met two years ago. It was the kind of love that would last forever, through trial and tribulation, anger and passion, life and death. Or at least he hoped so…
No, that was a silly thought. But if it wasn’t a lack love, what was holding him back? He took a deep breath. He knew why, of course he did. He just didn’t want to admit it to himself, because then, and only then, there was a chance that his worst nightmare would be true: it couldn’t save her. He couldn’t save her.
He’d promised himself from day one that he would never let anything bad happen to her. But what if it had started from before day one? What if he couldn’t do anything about it because her father was an abusive, wicked, malicious...thing…that could ruin the only happiness in his life? What if his only option failed?
But he’d been over this in his head hundreds of times. This was his only choice and only hope for saving her. Tonight, on this warm, October night, he would take her to the park and propose. He would whisk her away from harm and hatred forever; he would be her hero. And with one last glance in the mirror, he headed out to meet her.
He stepped into the brisk fall air and pulled his sweatshirt hood up as small droplets plunked on his head. It was quite perfect, in all honesty. She loved the clouds, the rain, storms. He supposed it reminded her of herself: unsettled and restless. He thought it reminded him of her, but for different reasons: it was a mystery, that while some found depressing, he found awe inspiringly beautiful. Just like her. He knew it was a sign. A sign that something good would come out of tonight, and he hoped he knew what it was.
He walked a few blocks through suburbia, admiring the striking, muted colors of autumn leaves in the rain. A few houses from hers, he saw a man on his porch. The man looked at the boy, and with sadness in his eyes, the kind of sadness that only came from knowledge, he muttered “Shame they moved, isn’t it?"
His pulse sped up as did the pace of his steps. Out in front of her house was a realty sign with a bold, black SOLD slapped haphazardly across the middle. His heart, so close to being offered to his true love, dropped into the pit of his stomach with nothing short of a heavy thud. He rushed to the door and yanked it open. There was no time for surprise or any other emotion. There was only time for her; he just hoped there was enough time.
The stained carpet and empty beer bottles that lined the already broken home gave him chills as he slowly crept through the house. A half eaten plate of breakfast and scattered clothes gave evidence of rushed packing. He willed himself to move faster, but he couldn’t. One by one he climbed the stairs, holding his breath. Partly from the musty, sour smell, partly out of fear of the one thing that would ruin him forever. He turned the corner and stopped at her door frame.
Her room looked normal, as if it had frozen in time, as if they had skipped it entirely when packing. The bed was made, her picture of the two of them still standing on the broken nightstand in the corner. The closet was open and displayed the few clothes her father had allowed her to own. The floor was dirty and dented from the nights of screaming and drunken battering. And on her bed was a single sheet of white paper. He walked over to it and lifted it delicately, as if it was his one last piece of her. And he read.
I’m not going to apologize, but all I can tell you is that:
I’m not coming back.
I’ve done something so terrible, I’m terrified to speak
But you’d expect that from me.
I’m mixed up, I’ll be blunt
Now the rain is just washing you out of my hair
And out of my mind. I’m keeping an eye on the world
From so many thousands of feet off the ground.
I’m over you now; I’m at home in the clouds
And towering over your head.
And it was then – as those two oceans overflowed and dripped down his cheeks, dotting the cursive handwriting on the paper – that he knew. He knew that her father had not taken her with him. He knew that she had finally escaped, escaped to where she would always be safe. And when he walked back outside, his tears mixing with the rain from above, he finally felt at peace.
Hey guys -- ally here.
just wanted to say that in the note...all but the first is from the song Remembering Sunday by All Time Low. It's an amazing song.
Please let me know what you think of this :)