FicWad

I woke up with a nose pressed into the side of my neck and an arm wrapped around my waist. I smiled, feeling the warmth coming from the body next to me. Sure, Patrick insisted that he sleep with his t-shirt and boxers on, that much I was fine with. I was so comfortable that I didn’t want to move, let alone wake him. It was early and his quiet snoring tickled me. I smiled, pulling myself into his embrace. He look adorable when he slept. Really, so peaceful. A small smile played on his lips as he whispered sweet nothings into the top of my shoulder. I ran my fingers through the hair on his hatless head. I did insist that he take his hat off. After a few minutes arguing he did give in.

‘Pete...’ Patrick mumbled, eyelids flickering

‘Morning’ I said in a hushed tone, figuring that shouting isn’t what you want to hear the first thing

Patrick lifted his head up, going to kiss me before pulling back in disgust. Giving me a good shove he manage to move me off of the bed and straight on to my ass.

‘What the hell?’ I called, rubbing my sore derriere

‘You’re breath stinks’ He mumbled, from under the pillow he’d put on his face, ‘Clean your teeth then come back to bed’

I grumbled a little but did as I was asked. No, told. I walked into my bathroom and found my toothbrush in the bath. The medicine cabinet had gone A.W.O.L, probably throw out and yet to be replace. I grasped my head, the memory flooding back, and gently touched where they put the stitches. Okay, ouch. Stupid idea. Finally feeling minty fresh I returned to my original post beside my beloved. He was swiftly falling back to sleep so I gave him a sharp shake. Cruel? Yes, but I had yet to receive my good morning. Patrick snorted awake. Eyes instantly opened, staring at me wickedly.

‘Asshole’ He yawned, pulling me down and kissing me gently, ‘Good morning’

He then rolled back over into the pillow.

‘Now fuck off’ He grumbled, laughing

Figuring that Patrick probably wasn’t a morning person, I decided it would be better to leave him to it. Pouring myself down onto the couch I picked up the pen and paper that I’d taken from the hospital. There was some scribbles, dotted with Patrick’s name now and then. The messy first drafft of a song written for him. Then there were two little lines that kind of stuck. ‘I’m having another episode. I just need a stronger dose’. I’d written that in the hospital. It was about my ‘overdose’ I suppose. The way I’d felt. Like Joe said, write from experience right?

I heard Patrick shuffling around in the bedroom, flipping over in his sleep. I wrote anything that came to mind, sighing I put the pen to paper.

‘I’m sleeping my way out of this one’ I whisper, under my breath as I write, pausing after a few words, ‘With anyone who will lie down’

Now, I’m not usually obsessed with rhyming and stuff but I’m ashamed to say that I sat there for a good ten minutes saying: aown, bown, cown, down, eown, fown, gown…etc. You get the picture. Finally, this was my stroke of genius. I decided to rhyme the word down with the word down. Simple but effective. I closed my eyes trying to remember how I felt. How all I could think about was…

‘I’ll be stuck fixated on one star’ I wrote some more, tongue out to the side like a child drawing with crayons, ‘When the world is crashing down’

I smiled, satisfied. Sure, I’ve got four lines, not including the ones from forever ago but it’s a start. I slouch back, staring at the paper, hoping inspiration would jump up and bite me. No such luck I’m afraid. I hand my head. Wishing I wasn’t so desperate to do this. It was partly for Patrick, I’ve got to admit. I love watching his face light up and lyrics seem to do it. I keep telling myself, I’m not the desperate type. Guess that’s a lie. Wait…

‘I keep telling myself I’m not the desperate type’ I write in a new paragraph, the chorus?

‘This about you?’ Patrick asked from over my shoulder, making me practically shit myself

‘Jesus!’ I yell, clutching my chest

‘No, I’m Patrick,’ He jumped over the back of the couch and landed next to me, ‘Good guess though’

‘Shut up’ I smiled, ‘And yes it’s about me’

He studied it, I could see the wheels turning behind his blue eyes, devising a melody already. He nodded in approval.

‘That’s about…’ Patrick scratched his head, ‘Last night?’

I shook my head.

‘Actually,’ I hesitated, not really wanting to admit it was about my alleged overdoes, ‘It’s about Monday’

‘Oh’ He simply answered

‘Oh’ I repeated, continuing to look at the paper, writers block already

‘Why don’t you write about how the drugs made you feel?’ Patrick joined me in staring, waiting for my next move

I nodded, placing the pen on the blank line below the last sentence I wrote.

‘But you've got me looking in through blinds’ I scribbled in my terrible handwriting

‘But you've got me looking in through blinds’ Patrick read aloud, considering it, ‘That’s how the Zoloft made you feel?’

‘Yeah…’ I sighed, ‘It was like… It took the color out of everything… I was looking through someone else’s eyes.. Like, as I wrote, you know, looking in through blinds’

Patrick sympathized. I know, he had this look that tells you he feels your pain. The slight nod and the tightening of the lips. He took the pen and scribbled some things down on the paper. Verse and bridge. He then wrote the word chorus with a question mark next to it. I batted his hand away.

‘I’m working on it’ I shrieked, stealing the pen back, ‘Right…Brain storm time…’

‘Okay…’ Patrick sighed, ‘Why not write about the medication like it was a …’

He blushed, I rolled my eyes.

‘Like it was a…?’ I prompted, waving my hand

‘Lover’ He said quietly, just loud enough for me to hear

‘See,’ I smiled, ruffling his hair, ‘That wasn’t too difficult was it…’

I put the pen to the paper on yet another new paragraph and scribbled out the word chorus. The pen weaved around in it’s own form of dance while Patrick watched, entranced. When I’d finished a record four lines in a row I put down the pen and passed the pad to Patrick.

‘I’m sitting out dances on the wall,’ He read out to me, as if I wasn’t sure what I’d just written, ‘trying to forget everything that isn’t you. I’m not going home alone, cause I don’t do too well on my own’

He stole the pen back, apparently knowing what should go next. He wrote down two lines and passed it back to me. Patrick signaled for me to read them out loud.

‘The only thing worse than not knowing,’ I read, not knowing where this was going, ‘Is you thinking that I don’t know’

Patrick scratched his head and looked at me sheepishly. I’ve never felt so guilty in my entire life.

‘I was stood behind the kitchen door’ Patrick huffed, ‘I heard everything’

‘Patrick…’ I tried to say something, explain why I didn’t tell him but no words came to mind

‘You know…’ He sighed, ‘I’m not as pissed off as I probably should be…’

‘What if the kid’s mine Patrick?’ I moaned in my hands, ‘I’m twenty two for christ sake’

‘Is she keeping it?’ Patrick asked, arm around me

‘I didn’t ask…’ I shook my head, ‘She was pretty messed up… Checked out mentally…’

We sat in silence. His holding on to me and me fretting as I usually do. Maybe this won’t be as bad as I thought. I knew however, things could get a hell of a lot worse. Trouble is, knowing my luck, it probably would too.