Hurricane

She was always very messy. Always leaving her things about the loft. Patrick used to be annoyed by it but now it was kind of a clue that she was still the same Greta. Just no longer his.

Backtracking through their past, Patrick tried to realize what went wrong. They were both aspiring musicians living under the same roof in an old Chicago loft. They were in love. Yes, they fought. Yes, they squabbled. But didn’t every couple?

The news came one day. Fall Out Boy had been signed. He remembers Greta being less than happy. She stayed silent throughout the transition. He went on the road for three months. He came home. The lock had been changed. He waited for her. She never came. The neighbors said she had moved. Patrick picked himself up and went to his mom’s.

The questions were never answered. Patrick tried to actively hunt her down, but no one ever knew where she was.

He found out. California. Recording an album for her own group. But why now?

He found out. Her group had been signed. To a record company. Needless to say, he was confused.

He got the call one day. A new tour. He didn’t want to think about touring. What would he come back to this time? Would his own mother kick him out? But this time was different. They were touring with a newly signed group. The Hush Sound.

Tom, the A&R man, mailed him their newly recorded album. “Get to know them. You’ll have to be with them a lot more coming up,” he had written across the burned, post-production disk.

Patrick shrugged and slipped the CD in. By the second track, he wanted it off. He wanted it done. He didn’t want to go on this tour. He didn’t want to see her or hear her voice or anything of the sort.

The company urged, unsure of why he was fighting it. Patrick knew he had to do the tour. Not just for him but for his band mates. They wanted this so bad. He had to do it. He put his name on the dotted line and signed away the rest of the heart he had left.

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Greta remembers the day Patrick left for the tour. The way all his things were out of the loft. The emptiness she felt with him gone. What could he be doing? Was he with other girls? Was he off forgetting about her?

She got the call. Her new project wanted to go out to California and record. She liked the idea. She didn’t want to be in Chicago right now. She didn’t want to wait up for him. She left and recorded the album.

They mailed it out to every record company that had an address. She still remembers the call from Fueled By Ramen. She knew she would be stupid to not take the contract. She and her band mates were all set to be the newest Fueled By Ramen band.

Then she got the real call. The one that told her of the tour. Opening for Fall Out Boy, a big act at the time. She asked, “Why so soon? Can’t we tour with someone more our speed?” But the executives prodded. They said this was the lineup. Take it or leave it.

She put her name on the dotted line and signed away the rest of her memories of Patrick.

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The tour had been going on for three months. Patrick and Greta had seen each other a few times. None of the encounters were ones they wanted.

It started out nice. They didn’t have to speak or see each other. They kept their distances. But Patrick had always been hanging on her. Missing her. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted his questions answered. One morning he went to her bus. Bob pointed him to the backroom. He knocked on the door once. “Come in,” he heard her voice. It sounded tired and tried. He opened the door. She lay there in a too big T-shirt. A book of crosswords in her hand and the end of a pen in her mouth. Pete was lying by her side. Asleep.

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Greta still remembers the look on his face when he came in. It cut her inside. She wanted to run away, she wanted to hide. She couldn’t. He looked at her, then Pete, then back to her. He looked so hurt and so disappointed. He thought she could do better. He thought he was better. Greta looked back into his blue eyes. He shook his head and left, shutting the door on his way out.

That was seven cities ago. Now, she didn’t want to think about that morning or the night before it for that matter. Pete was a sweet talker and he wrote with silver luck. His words played with her mind. She didn’t find reasons to stop him from seducing her. Patrick didn’t seem close enough to be called a reason. He was more a fond memory that she wished she could capture like a firefly.

Now they were in South Carolina, on the coast, and Hurricane Ally was on her way. She was destined to bring heavy rains, winds, and flooding. The category four prevented them from doing their show that night. Their original hotel had closed and the company was forced to find them a safe place to stay. A rundown six room bed and breakfast was the only place they could find.

Together.

All eight of them.

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Patrick woke up in the thick of the storm. He felt the heaviness of his denim against his legs. He had been too lazy to undress this morning when they got here. He looked around the room. It was pitch black due to the hurricane shutters that blocked out any potential sunlight. A vanity sat across from the bed. The mirror forced him to look at his outline. Blurry from not wearing glasses, he saw the face of a man with nothing to live for at the moment. Why was he here in this hotel? Why didn’t he leave?

Patrick reached for his glasses on the bedside table. He checked his phone. It was 4:00pm. He went out to the living room. She was sitting at the couch with her crossword book and a flashlight.

“Where is everyone?” he said blankly. He went to get a glass from the cabinet before remembering there was nothing to drink. You couldn’t drink the water during a hurricane. He sighed and put the glass back up.

“Sleeping,” she said simply and continued her scribbling.

Patrick went and sat down on the couch opposite from her. The room was done in a cheesy seashore motif complete with wicker seats, a seashell shadowbox coffee table, and sailboat printed seat cushions. Patrick could have barfed, but instead he looked up to Greta’s face. So concentrated. So pretty. Unlike him, she fit quite well in this room. Her light blue pajama shorts and tank top with an ivory satin robe laying delicately over her shoulders. Her blonde curls gathered in a messy ponytail.

Patrick couldn’t let go of that fact that this time was the first time they had been alone in a year. He couldn’t let go of all the questions he had in his mind. He tried to find the answers in her intent eyes or her curved posture. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t anywhere he could see. He had to ask. He had to gather all his courage and—

“Why did you leave?” the words sputtered out. It was too late to stop.

Greta looked up from her work. She looked shocked. She opened her mouth and prepared to say something. It took her a second. “I had to go to California. I had to record,” Greta tried to shrug away the question and return to her work.

Patrick sighed. That hadn’t really gotten him anywhere. He needed more. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he said.

Greta didn’t look at him this time, “You were busy.”

He shook his head. She wasn’t surrendering. She wasn’t being honest. “Why didn’t you just break up with me like a normal person? Why did you just up and leave?”

Greta eyes turned annoyed. She looked over to him, “I thought it was apparent. I thought you could put the pieces together.”

“Obviously not,” Patrick started to get annoyed too, “if I’m still seeking answers. But doesn’t look like I’ll find them ever.”

Greta went back to her book with a pompous look on her face, “I guess not.”

Patrick didn’t want this to happen. He gnashed his teeth together stared over at the lightless windows. He got up and grabbed his jacket from a hook in the foyer.

“What are you doing?” Greta looked up, super confused.

“I’m going out. I’ll be back later,” Patrick pulled on his gray beanie.

Greta rose from the couch, “You can’t go out there. I don’t know if you heard but there’s a hurricane out there.”

Patrick shrugged, “Just a little water. I’ll be fine.” He unlocked the door and went outside making sure to close it on his way out.

It was fine outside. Greta must have been crazy. A bit cloudy and a hint of wind. Whatever.

The bed and breakfast had a nice dock that lead towards the water. Patrick walked out on it. The black waters made little white waves that went to and fro. He sat down letting his shoeless feet grace the water’s surface. The water felt icy cold. He sat there for a second contemplating the whole affair.

He began to take off his jacket. He felt the cool air hit against his t-shirt. He threw the jacket farther up the dock towards the land. He stood up and faced the water. Looking down on it. Watching it move.

“Patrick!” he heard her voice call from behind him. He turned towards it. She stood on the land. “Are you mad? Come back inside.”

Patrick shook his head, “Why? The storm’s done. It’s fine.”

Greta wrapped her robe tightly around her. The ends blew in the wind. “No!” she shouted. “Haven’t you ever been in a hurricane? This is the eye! It’s only half way through.”

No, Patrick hadn’t ever been in a hurricane. He supposed Greta was probably right, but at the moment his life wasn’t a priority.

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“Come on,” Greta waved back towards the building. The freezing wind nipped at her ankles and ears. She didn’t know how Patrick looked so habitual in the middle of a raging storm. She looked to the sky. The gray blue clouds told her that they didn’t have much time. The storm would be back soon.

“Why did you leave?” she heard Patrick’s voice from the edge of the dock. The wind was trying to drown it out. Trying to make it fade.

She processed the question. It was one in a series of questions she didn’t want to answer. “I was scared,” she shouted towards him.

“What?” Patrick said back. The winds picked up and dragged the word north away from its place.

Greta came closer to him. “I was scared. I was scared that you would forget about me.”

Patrick stepped closer, “Well, I didn’t. Obviously.”

“I was trying to beat you to it. I guess it didn’t work though,” she looked out onto the water.

“So why are you avoiding me?” Patrick stepped closer to her. He didn’t have to shout anymore even though the rain was beginning to fall again.

Greta sighed loudly, “Cause I’m embarrassed of myself. I was foolish and immature. Especially my new relations.”

Patrick smiled, “yeah what’s up with that?” The rain went from a light sprinkle to a harsh downpour.

Greta felt the water seep through her clothes, ruining her robe. Oddly enough, she didn’t care. Greta smirked, “Ahhh. I don’t know. He’s too refined.” She waved it away.

Patrick shook his head and little droplets fled from his hair and glasses, “You know I’ve tried, I really have tried, to forget about you. But I just can’t. I can’t out run you. You keep popping up and reminding me why I love you.”

“Patrick,” Greta started.

“It’s okay. I get it. You’re past it. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not,” Patrick by passed her.

Greta let him pass her. She bent down towards the dock and got his jacket. The thick fabric was heavy from the water that had soaked into it. She came back up and turned around. “Patrick!” she shouted towards him as he walked away.

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Patrick turned around. He saw her holding her jacket. He sighed. He walked back to her and went to grab it. She moved her hand and pulled it out of his reach. He looked up into her face.

“I’m not past it,” she shook her head with a smile.

Patrick’s face broke out in a smile, “what do you mean?”

“All tour, I’ve been trying to find a reason for us not to be together,” Greta started. “I’m out of ideas.”

Patrick pursed his lips, “an 8 letter phrase for ‘I’m all out of ideas.’”

Greta bit her lip, “Confound?”

“No,” Patrick smiled, “I love you.” He leaned in kissing her sweetly. He had never felt so good in such bad weather. He gripped her neck with his hand, remembering the signature curve in it. He pulled away and looked into her bright eyes.

“Patrick?” she asked.

“Yes?” he answered back.

“I love you too,” she grabbed his hand from her neck. “But, we need to get inside.”

Patrick nodded, “You’re right.” He grabbed Greta and picked her up honeymoon style.

She squealed and laughed. “Patrick!”

“Got to get inside,” Patrick mocked her, lovingly.

He had never felt more settled in the middle of a storm. Never so calm in such chaos.