FicWad

Blood coursed through her veins like lava rushing down the mountain side, her emotions the volcano erupting deep inside. Clenching her slender fingers into a tight fist at her sides, Ana swallowed the lump building in her throat, struggling to stand her ground, to hold back the tears as voices were raised and the web of their argument began filling the room, thrashing through the air like a cold winter wind.

Pinpointing the exact moment or the exact reason that causes us to lose our cool proves to be impossible and all we can ever seem to grasp is the consequences that soon follow our actions; but as Ana fought back her threatening emotions, she searched his features, his actions, his voice, hoping for some insight. Fighting back her tears, she was now determined to be strong, to hold her ground and not let him see her weakness, she was determined to hold onto something; she needed to be strong and determined, after all, she was already a miserable, selfish and unruly bitch who would never for any reason, be happy. At least that's how she was viewed in the eyes of the man she had now begun to fall so deeply in love with.

Stress becomes a double edged sword, caused by a specific problem, conjuring up specific problems of its own, no matter how hard we may try to avoid it or how many excuses we try to make. Work is stressful, no matter what your occupation may be, but he endured more stress than he should and she was aware of that, and it was understandable for him to snap, to lose his cool to a certain degree. But in every confrontation, or turbulent situation, there is a moment where the excuses fall short.

"Honestly" Patrick spat, wrenching his hands in his hair, his voice much lower now, but no less calm, "What the fuck was I thinking, pining for you for so long, just waiting for you to come back and give me a chance? You abandoned me for years, for years without so little as a goodbye and I waited for you to give me a chance? You should count your blessings that I was willing to give YOU a chance."

"Stop it" Ana pleaded through clenched teeth, attempting to swallow the lump that was building up again in her throat, the lump of emotions she tried to hold back, "I've apologized so many times before; I thought we were over it. Why do we have to bring it up in every argument we have?"

"I don't know, Ana" Patrick shrugged, his voice still cold and harsh, "Maybe because I'm not over it; because sorry doesn't always cut it. Maybe it wasn't worth the wait."

And with the last words to fall over his lips, her right hand connected with his left cheek with more force than she could ever imagine mustering up. "Maybe you weren't worth the wait."

Immediate pain crashed through her hand now, the stinging in her fingers breaking down the barrier built by his verbal lashing; her tears crashing down over her cheek bones. The force of her hand connecting with the flesh of his cheek is what pulled Patrick back to the harsh reality of the situation, opening his eyes to the scene that had just played out. Standing alone in his living room, his left hand grazing the tender flesh of his cheek, he zoned out completely, the words he had just spoke replaying in his mind until the crash of the front door slamming shut reverberated off of the walls around him, letting him know that it was far too late, that the damage had been done.

Dashing to the door as quickly as his feet would take him, Patrick threw it open to see Ana running to her car as fast as her legs would move, pulling off down the road before his body could even react to follow her.

"Fuck fuck fuck!" Was all he could mutter to himself as he dug through his pocket for his phone, dialing the numbers his fingers knew all too well. "Fuck fuck fuck! Please pick up! Fuck fuck I'm an idiot!"

Ignore buttons would now become Patrick's worst enemy as he continued to redial the phone the entire drive to her apartment and once ignoring the calls got old, she would shut her phone off all together; at the moment he pulled into the parking lot of her apartment building, realizing that her car was not there.

"You have reached Anabella, if you leave a good enough reason as to why I should call you back, I'll think about getting back to you ..."

Slamming his fist against his steering wheel, he cursed his stupidity as the call was forwarded straight to her voicemail. "FUCK!" Was the only word he could mutter to himself, throwing his phone onto the passenger seat, speeding of to his next destination.

After an hour of searching the entire city for any possible place Ana could have run to, he retreated to her apartment, where he then spent over two hours sitting in the hallway outside of her door, awaiting her return, his phone constantly redialing the number he would never be able to forget.

"The poor boy has been sitting out there for almost three hours now" Ana's roommate explained to her, whispering into the phone from the kitchen, just beyond the front door where Patrick was seated on the other side, cursing his mistakes.

Ana sighed heavily through the phone, "Send him home, tell him I'm staying with my parents for the night."

Footsteps echoed through Patrick's ears and his heart shot to his throat as the door creaked open, Ana's roommate Rachel standing in the doorway with a frown on her face, shaking her head at him, "Go home Patrick, she's not coming back tonight."

Jumping up from his seat on the floor, Patrick sighed in defeat, he deserved this and he knew very well he had no way of going back now. Waiting for the elevator to the ground floor, Patrick slid his phone out from his pocket, dialing the number for a final time, and following the given instructions with a defeated sigh.

"My voice is probably the last thing you want to hear right now, but I'm sorry, I'm an idiot and I didn't mean a word I said. But I bet you knew I would say that. I know you hate voicemails, but I have to say it somewhere, please call me back, please let me explain, I'm so sorry ..."

Ana sat in her car, in the parking lot of her apartment building, hiding out in the back row behind an SUV, listening to the voice mail as she watch Patrick drag himself from the building to his car, pulling away into the night. Tears spilled over her cheeks, drenching the steering wheel her forehead was now resting on and covering the phone she held to her ear, replaying the voicemail she would listen to seven times before finally deleting. Excuses only take you so far.

Excuses pulled Patrick through the next two weeks; skipping out on work meetings, neglecting his music, abandoning his laptop computer and spending his days sulking, moping and attempting to conjure up the next solid excuse that would roll past his lips and pull him through the day. What he had said was far harsher than anything he could ever imagine himself even thinking, and she had every right to ignore him, to be angry but he gave her a second chance; or at least he thought he did. Maybe thinking too much was becoming his problem.

Persistent knocking filtered through the air from his front door, the ringing of his doorbell quickly following suit and pulling him out of his trance as he drug his body up from the couch.

"What?" His voice snapped as he pulled the door open without noting the persistent knocker.

"I wont lie to you, buddy" Pete stood at the door, with his eyebrow raised, a brown box in his grasp, "You look like hell."

"What's that?" Patrick inquired, noting the box in his best friend's arms as he shuffled to the side to let him through the door. Pete shrugged, pushing it to Patrick.

"It was on the steps"

Patrick's heart sunk when he noticed the handwriting on the box, his name scribbled on the top in a familiar handwriting. "It's from Ana" His voice was a low mumble now.

"Have you talked to her yet?" Pete inquired, taking a seat on the couch and picking up Patrick's recently abandoned laptop computer.

"No" Patrick shook his head absently as he warily opened the box in his arms.

"Don't worry about it man, she'll come around, she just needs to cool down."

Sincere, reassuring words from his best friend went almost unnoticed as Patrick pried the box open to find a shirt on the top, a shirt Ana had borrowed one morning when she couldn't find her own in the disaster of his bedroom. Tossing the shirt onto the back of the couch, Patrick's heart stopped when the remaining contents of the box were revealed and the sound of the box crashing to the floor is what caused Pete to turn around, to turn around to see a disheveled Patrick with his hands running down the length of his face with a frustrated sigh.

"What?" Pete inquired, nonchalantly, oblivious to the hurt in Patrick's eyes.

"She's not going to come around" Patrick sighed, choking back the tears that threatened to fall before storming off to his bedroom; a curious, worried and confused Pete still seated on the couch.

With the slam of Patrick's bedroom door, Pete placed the computer back down on the table and pulled himself up from the couch to examine the box now throw haphazardly on the floor. The necklace Patrick had given Ana for Christmas, the very expensive necklace that Ana loved with all of her heart and wore on a daily basis now lay strewn on the carpet near the cardboard box and a stray square of paper; Pete's heart broke for his best friend as he picked up the folded paper and strings of muttered curses followed as he read the words scribbled in black ink.

Sorry doesn't always cut it.