Everything changed the day you left. Patrick's ranking quickly dropped, he was back down to the Challenger tour. No more immediate qualifying for big tournaments, but worse— no more you in his hotel bed. Patrick was doing well when you first met, winning ATP 250 events, lavish hotels and first class flights. He quickly convinced you to follow him on the tour, your wallet always full, a new suitcase of clothes after every stop along the way. Yours were the first set of eyes he looked for in his box after every win.

His insecurities got the better of him, and he pushed you away. Left you with no choice but to leave, Patrick knew that deep down. But he still hated you for leaving. Right after a huge loss, the biggest loss of his career, you left. Patrick was still hoping one day you'd call and say you were sorry too. His phone had been devoid of you since the last he saw you, but he ached to see your name light up his screen, even just once more. Taking home girls who looked like you, just to feel close to you. Almost saying your name, he couldn't even feel bad. Patrick didn't care about anyone else, just you.

It wasn't closure that Patrick wanted, he's not even sure if he wants you back. Well, he doesn't not want you back. What he cares most about is knowing that you're still thinking of him as he is you. He wants to fill up your thoughts, to know that you feel guilty, if there's any part of you that still dreams of him. Another night alone in a dingy motel room. More thoughts of nights with you in five star hotels. He's holding onto his past, praying it could become his future. Patrick's eyes glued to his camera roll full of you, his perfect girl. In perfect clothes, in perfect hotels, that he wishes to be able to afford again.

His fingers ghost over the unsent message, his thumb pressing send before his mind can catch up with the action. It'd been months since he last contacted you, the anxiety hitting him almost immediately. Reading, and re-reading the text—

11:37PM My phone misses your call.