I don’t want a fucking thing.
10
Erin
I get out of the tub immediately and let the water
fall to the floor. I look around and all I can find is a
miserable towel. I wrap myself up in it the best I
can, dripping all over the apartment, running after
Patrick. Why am I doing it? Why? I just don’t
know.
“Patrick!” I yell before he can walk out the
door.
He stops in his tracks but does not turn around.
“Please, don’t go.”
“This is not my place, Erin.”
I bite my lip and try to breathe deeply to quell
the urge I have to cry.
“You don’t need me,” he adds with a voice so
thick with desperation that I’m tempted to throw
myself at him and hold him until daybreak comes.
I slowly go to him, still barefoot, and I’m
careful not to slip. I touch him lightly on the
shoulder—he’s still soaking wet—and I can feel
him tense up at my touch. So I remove my hand
and take two steps backwards, feeling my eyes
swell up with tears mercilessly.
“No one needs me.” His voice is broken.
This time it’s my turn to be courageous. I put
my hand on his back and squeeze it hard so as to
let him feel my support.
“Patrick…” I try to get closer to him, in any
