you knew when you felt it hit for the first time that this could only end badly. your "relationship" with patrick, if that's even the right word, was volatile at best, every time you got together either ended in fighting or fucking. still, though, you can't bring yourself to end it. maybe it's the way your bed feels like it's on fire every time he's in it. maybe it's the way he sounds like he's saying a prayer every time he spits in your mouth. the fact remains that your mother still has no idea why every phone call to her results in you crying and blaming it on current affairs.

"you're serious?" patrick blinks up at you from where you're standing above your bed, still half-naked from earlier and done with his shit. "babe, you can't kick me out! i'm sorry for saying that, i swear, baby. please. you know i didn't mean it." he begs, blue eyes going wide.

will this be the last time this happens? probably not.