Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Stiches And Scars
Part 3 - Now When You Call She Don't Answer Anymore
3 reviewsStacy places everything she wants in an entire kiss
2Moving
It was an hour that Patrick lay with his face turned to the ceiling before his alarm clock decided to beep loudly throughout his bedroom. He rolled over from his back and slammed his hand down upon the top to stop the mindlessly beats that shrilly thumped throughout the pain of his temples. He removed the duvet from off his sprawled out body and sat at the edge of his bed before placing his head into his face and sighing deeply into it. He gripped he mattress and sunk his finger tips into the oft cushion that it offered. Picking up some randomly discarded clothes from the floor he slid them up his white skin and embraced his new routine with a heated bliss. He picked up a hat and let it sit comfortably on the seat of his head and put his glass for better vision, the blurred room turning into sharp images. He groaned and padded out of his room and to the bathroom, spraying on a sweet scent to cover many aromas. Patrick stepped down his stairs and to his front room in which he powered up his laptop. On his counter he pressed his answer machine button; there are no new messages.
Patrick breathed heavily from the tightness of his lips, stepping over to his kitchen and began to make himself coffee, savouring the smell it made and flew around the house. He dragged his legs towards his living room and placed the cup of coffee on a coaster beside his laptop. He began to her the tap of the keyboards but he refused to recognise that he was working on it; it was as though he was surrounded by an air of confusion and he could not concentrate on anything but the tingles that resided within the pit of his stomach. His eyes skimmed over the programmes he was using to control the music and they all merged into one blur. He slammed his laptop shut, his inspiration and muse flittering away with the morning breeze and he neither had the strength nor the patience to reach forward and grab them back. Patrick, with a bitter infuriation, stepped up from his couch and slipped on some brightly coloured shoes, one that would be hideous on any other person but seemed to fit impeccably with his personality. He held his car keys in his hand and stormed out of his house and straight into his Honda car, following the road with a squint in his eyes as the sun beamed off the hood of his engine. He curved along the spiralled roads and soon hit the traffic of the bustled streets in the city.
Patrick pulled up outside the café that protruded with a home like fashion from the metallic beasts of the city. The French music loudly came from the seat of the doors and he sighed gripping the leather of his steering wheel. Many business men and women walked by without a second thought at the roast coffee bean sense that filtered through but it took a special person to stop and truly enter the humble café. Patrick let this thought disappear from his mind as he stepped out of his car, cocking his head down the back alley beside it and staring straight at Stacy's car. This was where she worked and for the past 30 something days Patrick had been popping into the café to talk to her, see her or even feel her presence near him. Alas, every time he had entered the owner of the café, Pierre, simply shrugged and flippantly told him Stacy had called in sick, though Patrick new she was crouched down behind the counter, her clumsy noises and giggles were loud enough to hear.
Patrick walked through the doors of the café and found Pierre and another waitress, Michelle, staring somewhat with a glare at him. Patrick shyly smiled and lifted his hand up to him and begun to walk sheepishly up to the counter. He pressed his hands heavily upon the side and leaned over to grab a small glance of auburn hair that belong to Stacy.
"Hello Patrick," said Pierre deeply with his old voice, it coughed with a thousand cigarettes that he had inhaled throughout his lifetime. "And what can I do for you?"
"Is Stacy back yet?" Patrick asked with no hesitation. Michelle who was now beside him just looked him up and down with a small disapproving shake of her head. Patrick's cheek began to flush red as he felt the judgement fall heavily on him. Pierre merely shrugged his shoulders with a pout of his lips.
"Stacy has not been back for a while," he said with a tone as though it was the honest truth, there was a small shuffle from underneath the counter.
"Are you sure?" Patrick said with an accusing frown, "I saw her car outside."
"There are a lot of cars that look like that, non?" Pierre muttered and began to busy himself with a customer that pushed into Patrick and dragged him along the counter. He fell into Michelle who huffed with a small tut. He spun around and faced her in the eyes.
"Why don't you just get into your head that she doesn't want to speak to you Patrick?" Michelle muttered to him with a slight abuse in her voice. "Give it up already."
"I thought we'd be able to talk about it, you know," Patrick said not to Michelle but to the body behind the counter, he spoke louder so that Stacy could hear him. "I thought she would have more decency than to leave things as they are. I thought she might be grown up about this all."
"She thought you actually cared," Michelle retorted, "So quit being an asshole and leave, before you make things worse."
"Thanks, Michelle," Patrick said with a lowly tone as though he had given up, there was dry sarcasm sticking to his tongue. "You have been so much help."
He let his shoulders and face fall and slowly walked out of the door, feeling eyes heavy upon his back. He pushed the door open and seethed at the new dead weight it had. He slowly drove home and rain had begun to fall thick on his skin, automatically drenching his clothes. He peeled off his shoes and jacket and the feeling contortion in his stomach. He picked up the phone off the hook and dialled Stacy's number, heading straight to the answer machine, "It's been just over a month now Stacy, I think it's about time we talked. Please, just call me when you get this phone call, please."
Patrick slumped his body into the stool at the breakfast bar. He pinched his temples as the marble of his counter never felt so cold. It was a dawning realisation that he needed to talk to Stacy, not just because of the awkward emotion they left upon but because he never realised how much she meant to him, how stunning she was and how incredible her personality. Patrick never realise how much he loved her until the tingles still lingered upon his lips.
*****
Ciao Bella
Patrick breathed heavily from the tightness of his lips, stepping over to his kitchen and began to make himself coffee, savouring the smell it made and flew around the house. He dragged his legs towards his living room and placed the cup of coffee on a coaster beside his laptop. He began to her the tap of the keyboards but he refused to recognise that he was working on it; it was as though he was surrounded by an air of confusion and he could not concentrate on anything but the tingles that resided within the pit of his stomach. His eyes skimmed over the programmes he was using to control the music and they all merged into one blur. He slammed his laptop shut, his inspiration and muse flittering away with the morning breeze and he neither had the strength nor the patience to reach forward and grab them back. Patrick, with a bitter infuriation, stepped up from his couch and slipped on some brightly coloured shoes, one that would be hideous on any other person but seemed to fit impeccably with his personality. He held his car keys in his hand and stormed out of his house and straight into his Honda car, following the road with a squint in his eyes as the sun beamed off the hood of his engine. He curved along the spiralled roads and soon hit the traffic of the bustled streets in the city.
Patrick pulled up outside the café that protruded with a home like fashion from the metallic beasts of the city. The French music loudly came from the seat of the doors and he sighed gripping the leather of his steering wheel. Many business men and women walked by without a second thought at the roast coffee bean sense that filtered through but it took a special person to stop and truly enter the humble café. Patrick let this thought disappear from his mind as he stepped out of his car, cocking his head down the back alley beside it and staring straight at Stacy's car. This was where she worked and for the past 30 something days Patrick had been popping into the café to talk to her, see her or even feel her presence near him. Alas, every time he had entered the owner of the café, Pierre, simply shrugged and flippantly told him Stacy had called in sick, though Patrick new she was crouched down behind the counter, her clumsy noises and giggles were loud enough to hear.
Patrick walked through the doors of the café and found Pierre and another waitress, Michelle, staring somewhat with a glare at him. Patrick shyly smiled and lifted his hand up to him and begun to walk sheepishly up to the counter. He pressed his hands heavily upon the side and leaned over to grab a small glance of auburn hair that belong to Stacy.
"Hello Patrick," said Pierre deeply with his old voice, it coughed with a thousand cigarettes that he had inhaled throughout his lifetime. "And what can I do for you?"
"Is Stacy back yet?" Patrick asked with no hesitation. Michelle who was now beside him just looked him up and down with a small disapproving shake of her head. Patrick's cheek began to flush red as he felt the judgement fall heavily on him. Pierre merely shrugged his shoulders with a pout of his lips.
"Stacy has not been back for a while," he said with a tone as though it was the honest truth, there was a small shuffle from underneath the counter.
"Are you sure?" Patrick said with an accusing frown, "I saw her car outside."
"There are a lot of cars that look like that, non?" Pierre muttered and began to busy himself with a customer that pushed into Patrick and dragged him along the counter. He fell into Michelle who huffed with a small tut. He spun around and faced her in the eyes.
"Why don't you just get into your head that she doesn't want to speak to you Patrick?" Michelle muttered to him with a slight abuse in her voice. "Give it up already."
"I thought we'd be able to talk about it, you know," Patrick said not to Michelle but to the body behind the counter, he spoke louder so that Stacy could hear him. "I thought she would have more decency than to leave things as they are. I thought she might be grown up about this all."
"She thought you actually cared," Michelle retorted, "So quit being an asshole and leave, before you make things worse."
"Thanks, Michelle," Patrick said with a lowly tone as though he had given up, there was dry sarcasm sticking to his tongue. "You have been so much help."
He let his shoulders and face fall and slowly walked out of the door, feeling eyes heavy upon his back. He pushed the door open and seethed at the new dead weight it had. He slowly drove home and rain had begun to fall thick on his skin, automatically drenching his clothes. He peeled off his shoes and jacket and the feeling contortion in his stomach. He picked up the phone off the hook and dialled Stacy's number, heading straight to the answer machine, "It's been just over a month now Stacy, I think it's about time we talked. Please, just call me when you get this phone call, please."
Patrick slumped his body into the stool at the breakfast bar. He pinched his temples as the marble of his counter never felt so cold. It was a dawning realisation that he needed to talk to Stacy, not just because of the awkward emotion they left upon but because he never realised how much she meant to him, how stunning she was and how incredible her personality. Patrick never realise how much he loved her until the tingles still lingered upon his lips.
*****
Ciao Bella
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