Struck Down

“Patrick, would you do me a favor?” His voice rang in my head. I nodded, not really paying much attention. I wanted him to say my name like when we were younger. Before we were important, his voice was soft and caring when he talked to me. I’m not sure if it was the media or his ego’s fault that made him grow so cold. All the fame went to his head, turning him into a heartless fool.

My heartless fool.

I tried to concentrate on my breathing, but it only made the task five times harder. I try to slow it make down, but my heart is still thumping and I’m stuck feeling my lungs burn and twist uncomfortably in my chest.

“Yeah, sure,” I said, loud enough for him to hear. I never asked him what he wanted me to do, ever. He had me twisted around his pinky finger tighter than any fan he ever had. I’d gladly do anything for him, and he knew it.

I clambered out of the hotel bed, walking towards the bathroom. Pete was staring at the mirror, holding up two suits before him. The first was a pair of slacks and a white button up shirt. The second was much more elaborate; the black jacket and pinstripe paints and a button up shirt covered by a vest. There was even a bright pink bowtie. “Which one looks better?” he asked, eyebrows burrowed.

“Depends on where you plan to wear it.”

“I’m going on a date. I was thinking about taking her out to eat at that fancy restaurant that just opened. She also said she wanted to do something fun. I guess I'll take her somewhere else afterwards.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach. He had a date. With a girl. A girl he must have liked a lot because he never liked fancy restaurants. He never liked spending too much money on a date. For Christ’s sake, he took a date to the bowling alley once and then asked her to pay for her own shoes.

I looked back at Pete with dilated eyes. He asked which suit he should wear. I picked the one without the ridiculous bowtie.

“Can I wear one of your fedoras?”

“You don’t need to look like a mobster, Pete.”

“You don’t think it would add some a little something special.”

“No. You’d just look silly.”

He laughed at my attempt at being serious. He pulled off his shirt, replacing it with the clean one. “I’m going for a walk, I need some fresh air,” I mumbled, backing out of the bathroom. I didn’t need to be surrounded by Pete’s stark naked body even for just a minute. I sure as hell didn’t want to see him get ready to go on a date with some girl he cares about.

The hotel is a labyrinth. The maids and their cleaning trolleys, the newcomers with piles of suitcases, and even the fucking elevator plays slow music and doesn’t seem to ever go any faster than a snail covered in salt. All of these obstacles block my exit, my freedom to the outside world.

A sharp breath enters my lungs. The humidity of the Georgia air just about kills me. I’m used to the windy city. Here, it never seems to move. It sits there, collecting more and more heat until it explodes once you swallow it.

I like how calm it is, though. People are decent here. They hold the door open for you; they thank you. They keep to their own unless you look unbelievably lost. Then, feigning just enough happiness, they tell you where to go. It’s kind, but not too kind. I’m not sure how to explain it.

I put on my sunglasses, shielding me from the sun and crowd. My hands find the pockets of my cargo shorts, and they stay there as I stroll. Each step I take gets me further from my problems, mainly Pete.

I wandered until the sun went down behind the city skyline. I didn’t know where I was, but it wasn’t too hard to get lost in a new city. I continued to roam until I found a visitor’s booth on a street corner. She wrote directions down on the paper, smiling flirtatiously at me.

“You do know it’s dark. It’s all right to take those sunglasses of now.” She went to take them off for me, but I nearly jumped backwards. Instead, I grabbed for her greedy hands, slowly putting them down on the table, smiling sweetly at her.

“I like them. Like that song by Corey Hart,” I lied, picking up the directions.She stood there in her work uniform, jaw slack. I just blew her off.

We had one thing in common. That was heartbreak. I turned her down because I didn’t like her. Pete turned me down because he would never in a million years like me.

I looked down at the directions written in black pen. It looked simple enough. At the very end, she wrote her phone number and told me to call her if I ever needed anything. Anything was underlined with a heart beside it, which made it pretty obvious she had one thing in mind.

I ignored it, just wanting to go back to my bed. I wanted to be dead to the world before Pete came back from his date. If he had a good time, he would never shut up about it. That’s the last thing I ever wanted to see.

Who did she think she was, barging into my territory to steal Pete away? She wouldn’t last. They never did. He’d get bored and move on. I used to feel bad for them, but now I’m just glad that he maintained a short attention span. He treated them like pocketed coins. Useless, but worth keeping around incase you need it, but you eventually lose it because you forgot you had a hole in your pocket. Yet, you don’t realize it.

It took longer than I expected to find the hotel. I had to stop under the streetlights to read the directions. The darkness blanketed the city, leaving a lingering eerie feeling. Like someone was watching over my shoulder.

I still hadn’t found it. Now, I was down some street next to a strip club. I was tempted to ask the hobo in the alley where it was for my sunglasses. Desperate, I know.

I saw a familiar figure in the car across the street. The car slowed to a complete stop directly at me. The window rolled down and I almost died again when I saw it was Pete behind the wheel. He motioned me over with his hand. I wanted to disagree; I wanted to say that I was too busy to hear what he had to say.

He was too good for those cars you rent at the airport. I don’t know where he got them from. Didn’t care. I remember the Pete that was glad to have that trash van to ride around in, let alone an exotic muscle car.

So I walked across the street and stopped at his car, looking down at him smile up at me.

“Hey, Pat! I’m about to take my lovely date home. She’s staying in the town a few minutes away from here. Jump in the back and I’ll give you a ride back.”

Say no. Say no. Say no!

So I got in the back seat and got to hear their story from the very beginning.

I was introduced to his date, Ashlee Simpson. I was told that they met in a studio. I heard the cheesy pickup line Pete used before putting his number in her phone.

“We spent all that night talking about singing and paparazzi. And she suggested that we meet up soon. It just happened that she’s working here the same time we're in Georgia. Couldn’t let the moment pass us by, you know?” Pete said, rambling on and on. I listened, furtively wishing I gave the hobo my sunglasses.

Half an hour, I had to put up with their torture. All of those stories made me want to jump out of the speeding car, just to get away. For the grand finale, Pete walked her up to her expensive condo. I didn’t bother to get the details of where she was sleeping. Still didn’t care.

I get out of the backseat and into the passenger’s side. The car was left running, so I changed the music from her choice to one of my CDs I mixed especially for Pete.

I stared hard at the knees of my jeans. Just bought these and I could already see where it was fading and wearing away to turn into a hole.

I saw, from the corner of the eye, Pete lean in for the goodnight kiss. I just about had a mini-breakdown. It just hurt too much, I physically felt sick. I hoped he wouldn't think less of me if I puked in his car.