Patrick stared up at the ceiling, laying flat on his back, you by his side. You laid on his bare chest, sound asleep. His arm rested around your middle, keeping you tucked in and safe under his grasp. He hated it, he hated people touching him, he hated touching people. But for some odd reason that he couldn't understand, you were somewhat an exception.

Thing had become a bit different. His life was still the same; morning routine, exercise, work, party, sex, drugs, repeat. That's what his life was made of. But you had made it different. He hated different. He despised change. Sometimes an image of you; your smile, it appeared in his mind. And that's what he would think about for the rest of his time.

He had to remind himself that you were only a temporary thing, just a fianceé for the time being. He wasn't capable of feeling any sort of love or affection for a person. But, if t ever came to it, he knew that it would be you. He hated that.