It didn’t help that he was so horny he could barely think straight. Celibacy had him jacking off to Cheryl’s Instagram twice a day, which probably made him as big a creep as Nessie.
He reached the top of the stairs and paused outside her front door. Her blinds were open, and he could see into her apartment. No Cheryl, but her TV was on, a glass of iced wine sitting on her coffee table. She was home.
Then she appeared, her phone pressed to her ear. She looked tense. Her forehead was furrowed, and she was making a lot of big hand gestures as she talked to whoever was on the line.
He watched her pace, that same tight, unfamiliar look on her face, and his mood dropped somewhere into the earth’s core. He had no right to be lurking outside her house. He felt like a dumb kid. Like he should be wearing a Pokémon t-shirt and Dunlop volleys. He imagined Cheryl answering the door and finding him holding flowers, the look of impatient disgust on her face. ‘Patrick, I’m busy. What are you doing here?’
God, he’d rather fucking die.
He ducked down and put the flowers on her pink doormat. Maybe she’d guess they were from him, but she’d see it as a gift. Just more simp behaviour from her simp friend. He backed down the stairs.
Coward. Baby. Youngest.
He climbed into his car and fought the urge to punch the steering wheel. He was such a pussy. He’d never made a real move before, and he hadn’t done it tonight because it was easier to be a simp than know Cheryl didn’t want him. And now he had to live with that.
* * *
Present Day
At first, Cheryl replied to his messages. Short replies, but replies. Then she went dark. He wanted to believe she was too busy looking after her mum to get in touch, but after a couple of days, he knew she was avoiding him. He remembered Eden’s advice and stopped pushing, waiting for her to come back the way she had before. But he had a bad feeling. More days trickled past until it had been almost a week since New Zealand. Pre-season was ramping up and he worked out like a maniac, meal-prepped and stretched, trying to distract himself. But it didn’t help. He still thought about her every minute he was awake, unsure where she was or what to do.
Everything that happened in Wellington felt like a dream to him now. Had he and Cheryl really stayed up doing MDMA and telling each other their darkest secrets only for her to ghost him? Had they really been having the best weekend of his life when she’d gotten a call saying her mother was in hospital and she’d lost her job? Had he really gone to an awards event while she flew home alone?
But she’d told him to go to the party. Or at least she hadn’t seemed like she’d wanted him to fly home with her. It had felt like she couldn’t get away from him fast enough. He’d thought her old, private nature was snapping into action and he needed to respect that, but maybe he should have put his foot down and insisted on going with her?
The rest of his time in Wellington had been miserable. He’d barely been able to think, he was so worried. He’d misspoken so many times at the awards, people probably thought he had a concussion. He’d barely slept that night and he hadn’t been sleeping since. He didn’t want to put pressure on Cheryl while her mum was unwell, but now what? Surely, she wasn’t done with him after everything that had happened? Surely it wasn’t over?
This morning, Cheryl’s Instagram account vanished. At first, he thought she’d blocked him, but when he searched her in incognito mode, the account was still missing. He gritted his teeth and called her.
“The number you have dialled has been disconnected,” a cool female voice said. “Please check the number and dial again.”
Panic gripped him like a python.
He drove past her old office. Her Suzuki Swift wasn’t in the employee car park and when he stuck his head in the building to make sure, her old boss launched herself at him.
“Cheryl isn’t here,” Bridgette snarled. “She wouldn’t do her two-week handover.”
“Well, you did shitcan her with no notice,” he said and, unable to help himself, added, “Derek Hardiman will hear of this.”
He went to her apartment, but her cute kitten door ornament was gone and when he looked through a gap in the curtains, he could see the place was empty. A neighbour spotted him skulking around and came to investigate. Luckily, she recognised him.
“Cheryl’s moved out,” she told him. “Special circumstances to break the lease. Wish my landlord would do that.”
Patrick thanked her as he felt his world burn to ash. He had no idea where Cheryl was. Who she was with. He’d guess her mum’s place, but he’d never been there. She was breaking every tether holding her to her old life. Vanishing somewhere he’d never find her again.
Miserable and unsure of what else to do, he drove straight from Cheryl’s old apartment to Dan Murphy’s and bought a bottle of Chivas. At least he didn’t book a room at Heavenly Stays motel, he just went home and got drunk on his couch like a normal person. Somewhere around one in the morning, he found himself calling Eden.
“Hi,” she said, her tone wary. “I don’t know if I should be talking to you.”
He stayed quiet, waiting. A long time ago, he’d helped Eden get home at the end of a bad night and he knew she remembered that too. Maybe it was why she’d answered his call in the first place.
Eventually, she gave a long sigh. “Cheryl’s okay. She’s at her mum’s place and looking for a new job.”
He drew breath for what felt like the first time in days. “Can I see her?”
“I don’t know. Are you drunk?”
His head throbbed like the hangover had come early. “Yeah. Please just tell me what happened? Why’s Cheryl mad at me? What did I do?”
