CHAPTER 9
Ashley texts me that morning, telling me she wants to see me. I ask her where, and she says the Starbucks close to her house. I say okay, and start walking. I get there and she’s sitting outside in a very yellow dress, one that doesn’t one that doesn't in any way match her current disposition. She looks sad, and I want to go up to her and hug her until she can’t breathe anymore, but I just wave, and she smiles back.
“Is this seat taken?” I say, jokingly.
“No, go right ahead.”
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to sit or stand, or kneel.”
“Sitting’s fine.”
She’s just kind of looking at me, studying me. My facial expressions, my body language, and she has every right to.
“I’m really sorry about Sunday night.”
“I know, I got your voicemails and your texts. I know you didn’t mean to scare me.”
“But I did.”
“You did.”
“I don’t know why I flipped at the old guy. I still can’t figure it out.”
“I don’t know why either, but I’m willing to forget it happened if you can.”
“I’m trying my hardest.”
“Where do we go from here?” She tilts her head a little when she says it. Almost like she was trying to lure me into an answer she wants.
“What do you mean?”
“What do we do now? Do we stay friends…do we never talk again, do we go on more dates…what happens?”
“I’m not sure. I’d like to take you out on a second date if that’s possible. To blank out the first second date.”
“What first second date?” She smiles and I smile and I feel like she’s forgiven me as much as she can.
“Exactly.”
I get up and ask her if she wants any coffee, and she says yes, so we both go inside and get it, and everyone inside looks like they’re in a daze, all staring at computers. We go back outside but someone has taken our table, so we sit at the one in the corner near the trashcan.
“There’s another reason I wanted to see you, actually. A very big reason.” She picks up her phone and starts scrolling through the screen.
“What is it?”
“Your friend Sarah, the one that dates Patrick.”
“What about her?”
“Do they have an open relationship?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do they see other people besides each other?”
“No. Why?” She hands me her phone and it’s a picture of Sarah sitting down at lunch with a guy, whose face I can’t recognize.
“When was this?”
“Yesterday. Scroll to the next picture.” I do, and it’s of Sarah kissing this brown haired guy who I still don’t recognize.
“What the fuck?”
“I thought you might be interested in it. When I saw Sarah sitting down, I was about to get up and go say hello until I realized it wasn’t Patrick she was with. And the only reason I'd decided not to say hello, is because I hate introducing myself to strangers in front of other people who were strangers to me less than a week ago.”
“When did you take the pictures?”
“Well, I was there with my friend Lauren, and she said she knew the guy, and that he was kind of dumb. So, I decided to take the pictures to show you, and for you to show Patrick I guess. I don’t know. I don’t want to get involved, but Patrick was such a sweet guy, and I knew how good of friends you two are.” I sit there, trying to wrap my head around it.
“Are you a hundred percent sure that was Sarah sitting down?”
“Without a doubt.”
“Do you know the guy’s name?”
“His name is Thomas. I can’t remember his last name, but I can get it for you if you need me to. He’s an engineering major. Outside of the pictures and what I told you, that’s all I know. I really hope there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this, but somehow, I’m guessing there’s not.”
“No, there usually isn’t. Text me those pictures. I’ve got to go find Patrick and tell him.” I stand up and go over to her and kiss her on the cheek.
“I’ll text you about our second date later. I promise. For now though, I’ve got things to do that might take up a bit of time. So it might not be until later this week.”
“That’s fine. Let me know what happens.”
“I will.”
I start running back to the apartment, and I hear the noise of the pictures getting to my phone. I stop and look at them, making sure that it’s Sarah, and nobody else but her. That there’s no other possibility that it could just be a case of mistaken identity. But without even glancing at it, I know it’s her, and I feel my heart sink into my stomach. What is Patrick going to do? What the fuck is going to happen now? Part of me wants to just keep it a secret. Never tell Patrick that I have these pictures on my phone, that I never met Ashley, that she never saw Thomas and Sarah kissing, and that they continue on in their relationship, like nothing ever happened. But when I get to the apartment, I see Sarah’s car in the driveway, and I sit down on the steps. What if she’s in there telling him everything that happened yesterday? That would make this so much easier. If she just came clean. But she was the one yelling at him for hugging Samantha. I start walking to the door, and I hear it open and Sarah pops out, with Patrick following her, and they kiss goodbye.
“Hey, where have you been? You look pale. Is everything okay?” Patrick says.
I can’t even look at Sarah in the face. I’m on the verge of throwing up from how this makes me feel, but I can’t avoid it. He’s my best friend, so he has to know eventually.
“Just getting coffee with a friend. I’m back now though. What are you two up to? Two?”
“What’s wrong with you?” Sarah says.
“Nothing. Nothing’s wrong at all. In fact, I feel wonderful.”
“Okay, freak. I love you, Patrick.” She kisses him goodbye.
“I love you too. See you tonight.”
I speed walk into my room, and go and splash water in my face and stay in there for an hour or so, thinking of how I should do this. Thinking of what’s going to happen when I tell him. I finally walk out into the living room and Patrick is messing around with the TV.
“You seriously look sick. Do you need me to take you to the doctor?” He says.
“I’m fine. Just ran back here. Thought I could use the exercise. Turns out, I’m out of shape.”
“You look like you just robbed a bank.”
I look at Patrick, and then I look at my phone, and then I hold it tight in my hand.
“Sit down for a second.”
“Okay. What’s wrong?”
“You know when you know something, but you don’t want to tell the other person because of how much shit it’s going to make them feel like, but you feel like you have to tell the person because they’ve been your best friend for the last ten years?”
“What are you talking about?”
I ungrasp the phone and go to the pictures and slowly hand them to Patrick. He looks at them, and I can see his eyes get big, and then I can see little tiny droplets of water starting to form in the bottom of his eyes, and then they all just come out like a dam broke.
“What the fucking fuck? When was this?”
“Yesterday. Ashley saw them together and took the pictures. She showed them to me because she thought it was a bit odd. And I thought, there has to be an explanation. This is Sarah. Your girlfriend of three years. Loving, adoring, Sarah. One of my best friends. But I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t want to even fucking show you.”
Patrick is dumbfounded, and he’s still crying, and I can’t sit there and watch him go through this, so I go into the kitchen and start pouring a glass of water into a cup, emptying it, then pouring it again, until I have the nerve to walk back into the living room and hand him the cup.
“Listen, I’m sure if you two just sit down and talk, that everything’s going to be okay.” “What the fuck makes you think that’s going to solve this?”
“I don’t know, Patrick. I’m just spouting off random ideas because I have no fucking idea what to say.”
Patrick stands up and puts his shoes back on and grabs the keys from the key rack.
“Wait, don’t leave. Just sit down and relax. Please, for the love of God.”
“No, I’m going to go find her and ask her what this was. If she lies to me, then that’ll be it.”
For a moment, I start thinking, this is Patrick. The unbreakable giant. The monk in his past life. But then I start thinking about how much he’s changed. How long he and Sarah have been together. His girlfriend that cheated on him in high school with me only dated him for two weeks. This is much bigger. This is much worse. As much as he might want to find this guy and beat the shit out of him, he won’t do it. He’s Patrick. He won’t even say anything to either of them. This is Patrick from high school you’re thinking about. Not the Patrick now. Get it together, and go after him, and make sure he doesn’t snap.
I grab my keys and Patrick’s already backed out of the driveway, and speeding off towards Sarah’s. I get in my car, and try to follow him, but there’s a dump truck in between us that’s going slow as fuck, and I want very badly to pass him, but I also want very badly to stay alive, and these roads are windy and small, and there’s a slim chance that I’ll come out of this situation in one piece. This would make two problems for Patrick instead of the one he already has. But this dump truck starts making stops, and there’s a steady stream of traffic coming the other way, and I can’t risk it. So I start becoming impatient, and getting closer and closer to the back of the truck to see if maybe that will make them move a little quicker. But then I start thinking about what the old man said for some stupid fucking reason. About the way the fish go with the wind, and right now, I’m going against the wind. Which means, I’m not going to catch up with Patrick. That I’ve just got to let what happens, happen. In about a mile, the truck pulls off to a side road, and I slam the pedal against the floor and take off, and I’m going about seventy in a forty five. If a cop stops me by any off chance, I’m almost certain he won’t give a shit about my scenario, and will probably still arrest me for reckless driving. But at this point, I don’t care.
I get to Sarah’s house, and Sarah’s car is there, but Patrick’s isn’t. A big feeling of relief washes over me. He probably went somewhere else and just took a breather.
“Sarah!” I scream at the top of my lungs. This isn’t Patrick. Patrick wouldn’t hurt Sarah. He’s not that type of guy.
I walk into the living room, where Sarah is standing with the brown haired guy from the picture. The only difference is, he doesn’t look anywhere near the same as he did.
“What happened?” I say
“Patrick came in and saw us together, and he looked like he was going to punch one of us, but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything. He just backed out and left.” Sarah says, still crying because she just got caught in her love triangle and knows the only way out of looking like a bad person is to cry.
I start driving back to the apartment, because it’s the only place I think that Patrick might be. Out of the thousand other places Patrick might be, it’s the only one I can reasonably think he might’ve gone back to. Probably to get some clothes and start getting as far away from what he just saw as humanly possible. I call the police just to make sure. Just to tell them I might need them there in case Patrick is angry, or freaked out, and needs someone of authority to calm him down, because I’m not much compared to someone who is six inches taller than me. I tell them nothing has happened yet, but that I’m just worried about my friend.
I pull into the apartment and see Patrick’s car in the driveway, neatly parked. I jump out of my car and run up the stairs and the door is locked from the inside. I pull out my keys and start fumbling for the right one, and then after I get the door open, everything looks fine, I bust through the door, only to notice the apartment looks fine. Nothing’s broken. Nothing’s missing. Everything looks exactly the same as it did before I left. Except, Patrick’s door is shut. I call out his name as loud as I possibly can, to the point where it feels like I’m about to lose my voice, but nobody answers. I start walking slowly to his door, expecting to open it and see him crying in his bed. Then I start thinking, what I would do. I would help Patrick. I would help get Patrick out of here as fast as possible. I would drive him to Mexico or Canada or wherever the fuck is far away from here, and I’d help him start a new life, away from this shit. I would do what any good friend would do. If Patrick was in my shoes, he’d probably drive me to where I need to be, so if that’s what he wants me to do, then that’s what I’ll do.
Opening the door, I see Patrick, lying down in his bed. A gun sitting on his chest, and blood pouring out of his head like lava. I run up to his body and start shaking him, calling out his name, but no response. I start slapping the shit out of him, and he’s not responding. My best friend is now nothing more than a body on a ruined mattress, and I look at the blood on my hands, and the blood all over the floor, and I hear cop sirens pull up to the apartment, and then hear footsteps walking up the stairs, and then the second I hear the door open, I black out.