Your day doesn't start until you get a voicemail from Patrick. That's not a blemish on how over you are from that dumpster fire of a relationship, per sé. It's just that from between the hours of 12AM to 4AM, if you don't receive a voicemail or a video or a Venmo request from ex-boyfriend-in-question, you'd consider filing a missing persons report. That's how consistent he is.

If only he was so during the span of your actual relationship. Oh fucking well. You've stopped listening to half of them; the contents span from drunken blabbering over how much he misses you, and still loves you, and other meaningless platitudes that lost their spark against the other voicemails. The voicemails that consist of incessant pIapping and the sIoppiest of sounds.

Patrick Zweig is the only man you know who'd send you a grainy, 140p video, shaky as all hell, showing the blurry span of his dorm room and an all-encompassing perspective of the back of some chick with the same hair colour as you and everything that came with it; features unmistakably resembling a certain someone in the mirror. If that weren't enough, his growled "This is for you, baby," certainly hammered it in. In more ways than one.

1:32 AM I know u miss my big fcking [XXXX] baby [video attachment]

Poor girl. He's a bastard for crying out your name. He definitely deserved that slap. You're almost surprised he didn't cut it from the video, though you wouldn't be surprised if he imagined that part was you, as well.

He’s fiIth. Though, you suppose he’d eventually stop if you stopped watching the fucking videos. Maybe. The read receipts underneath are all the motivation he needs.