FicWad

Gerard arrived home just as promised at half seven. He was a little tipsy. Okay, understatement. Clearly, ordering wine with the meal was not a good idea. He tried to justify his actions by saying that it kept the conversation going. When asked what they talked about he just tilted his head to the side and said: ‘I don’t… remember’. Apparently, they did connect on a very deep and insightful level. Apparently. It’s not like I could exactly take Gerard’s word for this. Especially when he decided just to kick his clothes off in the middle of the living room and put them in the oven, mistaking it to be the washing machine.

Mikey grabbed him by the arm before it got too R rated for my innocent eyes. Leading him to his room while he babbled a goodnight between stumbling past the furniture. Tucking him in, Mikey was back in seconds sighing and shaking his head.

‘Alcohol huh?’ Mikey snorted, rubbing the back of his head

‘Yeah,’ I laughed, grabbing my jacket up from the kitchen table, ‘Well, don’t think I’m needed here anymore’

‘Thought we were just hanging out’ Mikey smiled, sceptical, ‘You sure sound like a babysitter’

‘Shut up’ I gently swing for him, wrapping my fingers over his shoulder and looking him in the eye, ‘Look, I’m a friend right? Not some teenage girl in need of some lunch money’

‘I get it’ Mikey crossed his arms, breaking the eye contact with a shrug ‘It’s okay, I was only kidding. If you really have to go then you better get going’

‘Actually, I do’ I grinned, thinking forward to my oh-so-very-awesome plan, ‘But if Gerard and his ‘lover’ have somewhere to go, or if you just want to hang out, I’ll be right around here, okay?’

‘Okay,’ He blushed a little, looking over to the coffee table, going to retrieve something, ‘Don’t forget this, yeah?’

He handed me the Smashing Pumpkins CD from earlier. I was actually psyched to hear it. At least then I’d have something to discuss with Patrick over our meal. Since we hadn’t seen much of each other lately maybe the conversation would be affected. What the hell was I supposed to talk about? What I’d done today? Basically it was all just filler until I was back with him again. Sure, I liked Mikey and Gerard And Becca And Ryan, and Lacey sorta but I don’t really know her but she seems to have a hell of a lot of sass which is always a good quality to have, but all these people were like extras in my little world. Patrick’s the leading man, wait, too cheesy. Would that make me the leading lady? Never mind.

‘Thanks’ I answered politely, ‘And hey, keep all the cutlery out of any electrical appliances and if the bathroom’s cold put the heater on before you run the bath instead of taking it in with you’

‘Sure,’ Mikey hooted, ‘Hey, you should buy a jungle gym. That’d keep you from swinging off the medicine cabinet’

Mikey walked me out to my car. Unnecessary but sweet none the less. I really liked that kid. My second favourite seventeen year old. I think. I wasn’t sure how old he was. I mean, if I had to guess then I’d say he was about 19 or almost 20. Just to be safe I’m leaving it at 17 at the absolute youngest. He was tall, lanky and reserved. Sharp features but a kind aura surrounding him. The way he spoke gave me the biggest clue. He was educated, very bright. The topics he threw out were astounding and fantastical yet very valid and extremely contextual.

I know, if I really wanted to I could stay for at least another half an hour. Patrick wasn’t due until about nine so I wasn’t too concerned about the time. However, better safe than sorry huh? Knowing my luck I’d probably screw it all up so I’d have to give myself what I like to call ‘confusion time’. This is a strict belief of mine. A strict belief in my incompetence to be precise. What I do is, look at what I want to do and when I want to do it by. I then figure out how long it would take a capable person to do it. By multiplying this time by about one and a half I can come to the conclusion of how long I should assign myself. The difference between regular time and the time I set is known as the ‘confusion time’. See what I mean?

Right, so, I get back to my apartment by about ten to eight. I ended up making some spaghetti. I didn’t know if Patrick liked spaghetti but I’d seen ‘Lady and the Tramp’ enough times to know that it was a romantic meal. It was perfect. The light in the apartment was off but I had some candles lit on the kitchen counters. I had to practically dust off the dinning table as I never ever used it. Even when I was with Ash. We’d always have sushi or some shit on this mini tray. Stupid, I didn’t even like sushi. I even closed the curtains for once. Everything was perfect. I must say I was excited. This boiling feeling in my stomach, anticipation. Hemmy bounced through, smelling the food no doubt. I scooped him up.

‘Hey, hey, hey Hemingway’ I smiled, he barked gleefully

Hemmy was such a sweetie. He licked my cheek manically, making me grimace. I tried to pull him off of me to no avail. I suppose he’s missed me. I hadn’t seen him since this morning. I don’t want him thinking I’m pulling a Patrick on him. Too mean? Perhaps a tiny bit. You have to understand though. I am the typical jealous but very earnest boyfriend. I don’t want you thinking I’m a complete tool. Okay, I am a tool but not about things that matter. I act like an ass over taxes, paying my bills, parking fines, the price of eggs. Money. Money is my problem. Not people. I can treat people like crap from time to time. I’m human, hell, as an ex journalist it was my job. Though, 99% of the time? I’m vulnerable, needy, lost, confused, paranoid and very very desperate for attention.

When nine o’ clock rolled around slowly I kept my eyes, unblinking, fixed on the door. It was all ready. Spaghetti steaming, Hemmy wagging his tail, a song called ‘Disarm’ playing on my laptop and the candles burning on the counter. Smirk dancing on my lips and remaining stuck as if stapled on. I lifted Hemmy up onto my lap and stroked over his twitching ears.

‘When Patrick gets in,’ I tell him firmly, ‘You’re gonna have to go sit quietly on the couch’

Hemmy barked, disagreeing as I dropped him onto the white leather. I sat down next to him, biding my time. Shuffling around, antsy and fidgeting, worried as the time ticked on. Patrick was only thirty minutes late but that was just another thirty minutes without him. When half and hour turned to an hour I started to fret that the food would get cold. Two hours in the candles started to burn down to their half way point and I’d heard the entire album about four times, even Hemmy had had enough. Three hours late, microwaving the spaghetti came to mind. Crying? Not a good look for me. Considering that I was alone, I didn’t think it mattered.

Tears running down my cheek like some stupid four year old, nose between my knees, tucked up in a ball on the couch. The candles had long gone, I could practically quote all the lyrics of every damn song on that album, Hemmy was snoring on my right and the food was far, far past salvageable. The door swung open slowly and no matter how desperate I was earlier to see Patrick I didn’t want to turn around. I didn’t want to see him walking in late on what I thought would be a meal we could share together as a real couple. A meal to reassure me that everything was okay and was going to be okay for a long time to come. I didn’t want him to see me upset.

For once, my prayers were answered. Patrick didn’t see me upset or see the effort I put into tonight. In fact, I’m not sure he even realized I was there. It was dark with the only light source, I.e. the candles, already melted down to the end and the flames gone out. Patrick swore, not bothering to flick the light on, bumping into stuff before tumbling forward into the bedroom. I sighed, getting up as soon as the bedroom door was shut. Still sobbing in silence I picked up both plate from the table and tipped them into Hemmy’s bowl. I shut down the top of my laptop and lifted it up, tucking it under my arm. Taking a few laboured steps, weighed down by my heart, I decided that I couldn’t face the rest of the night, or technically the morning as it now was. Choosing against talking to my Houdini boyfriend, I spent the rest of my sleepless night, well, morning in the spare bedroom, dishonourably crying into the fresh pillowcase.