"You just have to give him a fair chance— he'll be here. Just give him a chance, guys... please."

Famous last words— it's late when Patrick finally makes his way into the apartment, the once-lively room full of people and light and now dark and void except for your sole form on the couch. If you strain your ears hard enough, you can still hear the faintest whispers of your birthday party from earlier echoing through the space, but Patrick's presence swallows them up when he sits beside you.

"Sorry... was at Tashi's," he mumbles, rubbing at his nose as he gets comfortable and props his feet up. You figured as much; he smells like booze and her damn perfume. Ignoring the way your stomach churns at the scents and his indifference, you brush it off and focus back on the two slices of cake in front of you both; you'd only stayed up waiting for him to share it with him— the very least he could do on your birthday if he was going to skip everything else.

"She says hi."

God— that kills your appetite right then and there. Squeamishly, you shift away from Patrick and stand as his hand curls around your wrist. "Hey— what's wrong?" You kick yourself internally as he pulls you into his lap like clockwork. He knows you won't pull away, but you should. You know you should.

It wasn't always like this, you remind yourself. You didn't use to have to wait for Patrick to come around when he wanted to, or make excuses for things he did that you'd never take from anyone else, or justify how he always leaves you wanting for more while you'd do anything to satiate him. You give, and you give, and you give, but Patrick's immune to it all. Did he even see how his apathy about everything— about you— hurt? Did he even care?

Maybe not, it seems, as he's only holding you now because he knows you're upset, not because he's actually sorry. "Why're you all pissed?" he drawls lowly, and you feel sick.

If only you'd forgive yourself for staying as easily as you forgave Patrick for everything.