I shook my head. “Okay, first of all, Carl is a loser—can’t stand him. And second of all, Fray told me he has to leave at 5 a.m. for his shift.”
“That’s tomorrow.”
“It’s 3:30 a.m. right now.”
He sighed. His words were clipped with irritation, and he rubbed his temple. “The only thing I want right now is a shower, some privacy, and my own bed. I’ll be fine.”
I reached across the middle seat and squeezed his arm. The Uber driver turned up his stereo. I lowered my voice. “I’m sorry, but you should be on suicide watch right now, Pat! You shouldn’t be alone.”
“It was an accident.”
The audacity stunned me into momentary silence. Did he think I was some kind of idiot? I wasn’t going to buy that for a second. “You’re lying.”
“The mental health lady didn’t seem to think so.”
“You told her it was anaccident?”
“It was.”
“Patrick, stop.” The street lights flashing by lit up his face every few seconds. His features were unmoving, refusing to give away any hint of emotion. I knew images of him—lifeless—would haunt me forever. “You were basically dead. You should be in a psych ward right now, so you don’t try again.”
“I don’t want to be in the hospital.”
“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you took a billion milligrams of I don’t even know what.” I shouldn’t have said it, but my agitation—and exhaustion—was taking a front seat.
Pat’s head tilted back onto the head rest, and his eyes closed for a second. He adjusted the ice pack over his rib cage. The obnoxious and inappropriately timed Beatles streaming from the front seat almost drowned out his gentle response. “Failing wasn’t part of the plan.”
Reality dawned on me. Pat didn’t want to be saved. He wished he was dead even now.
This isn’t the same Pat from Wednesday night.
Despite my agitation, empathy washed over my spirit. I wanted to force him to see how he needed help, but instead I touched his arm again. He drew it away, and tucked it over his lap. I fumbled for words, wishing I knew the right things to say. “Pat, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know what you’re going through.”
He looked at me for the first time. The world of hurt behind those hazel eyes sucked me in once more. The pull on my emotions toward him was unexplainable and, at times, uncanny.
I continued, “I just want to be a good friend.”
He nodded once and looked back out the window. We rode the last three minutes in silence. Though brief, it was all I could do to keep my eyes open. The speed bump at the complex’s gate jolted me. I directed the Uber driver to Pat’s building.
Pat sighed when I opened my door. “You don’t have to walk me in.”
“I want to.” I got out and joined him on the sidewalk.
He said nothing. We slowly climbed the stairs to the third floor corridor. “Pat, please keep your phone charged and the ringer on. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to be checking in on youa lot.” I emphasized the last bit to make sure he knew I meant business. “If you don’t respond like the wind, I’m calling 9-1-1 and sending an entire emergency crew to your apartment.”
“Jules—”
“No. I’m serious. Either you go home with me, or you answer your phone.”
He shook his head. My heart dropped into my stomach as he rolled his eyes. I was making him angry. That was the last thing I wanted.
I gave him a quick, very awkward hug. He didn’t hug me back, and disappeared into his apartment in silence. The fear and anxiety I had juggled all night bubbled to the surface. Pat’s cool, blue lips and rolled back eyes surged to my memory. A shiver crawled up my back as the sound of his ribs cracking reverberated in my brain. I covered my mouth with my hand as sobs I’d suppressed escaped in hushed bursts. I urged my feet forward, desperately trying to get into the safety of my own home before the flood gates opened.
TWENTY-TWO
Patrick
Agentle click pulled me out of dreamless sleep. My eyes fluttered open. Judging by the sunshine, it had to be late morning at the earliest. My bedroom door, which I had locked, opened a crack. I lifted my head off the bed to get a better look. Once I moved, the opening closed.
