Patrick practically keeps you on a leash. It’s pathetic to admit, but it’s the truth. He doesn’t treat you all that well, and it’s not like you’ve made much of an effort to make him aware of his behavior or to correct it. You’re not his mom, for christ's sake (but honestly, that’s probably who he really needs if he wants to fix his shit).

And maybe it’s because of your lack of discipline with him that he’s so dumbfounded when you finally snap and call him out on his shit, when you finally resort to turning your back on him no matter how much it pains you. It quite literally almost feels like death.

You hadn’t exactly anticipated his reaction. He’s actually on his knees following you around the shared bedroom as you pack your belongings. If he’s doing it for effect or if the news has actually wounded him this much, you’re not sure.

“Please, please, just look at me,” he’s practically begging, voice sounding like he might just start crying. “We can talk about this, can’t we? You can’t just leave me.”

He’d done worse shit over the course of your relationship, and you’d never once threatened to walk out on him. But at this point you’re starting to think he’s unfixable.

“Can you just sit for a minute?” he continues pleading. “Sit down so we can talk about this, baby, please.”