Spinning

I didn't talk to him for three weeks after that.

I went home. To Toronto.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't stay there between the two of them. For the first time in a long time, I just wanted to go home.

It was a good thing. I had a chance to figure everything out so that by the time I landed in Chicago, I knew exactly what I wanted.

At least, I thought I did.

~

The plane got in at ten that evening. I pulled my purse over my shoulder, moving in a tight line off the aircraft until I reached the doors where Patrick's familiar face is staring back at me.

Instinctively, I run to him. He looks so wonderful, standing there in grey sweats and a black shirt. But he's watching me with a look of almost pain across his face. Why does he looked so upset?

Nonetheless, I'm in his arms not a second later.

"Hi, baby."

I keep my head buried in his shoulder, holding him so tight that my hands hold fistfuls of his
shirt, "I missed you."

His hands have become almost embedded in my sides as he rests his chin on top of my head.

He's quiet. Several moments later, I force myself to let go of him and to my surprise, I see his eyes are brimming with tears.

"Oh, Pat..." I put a hand on his cheek and he holds it there, focusing his eyes up at the ceiling so that he doesn't let any of the tears fall. He doesn't say anything as he pulls me to him again, kissing my hair and then clearing his throat when he takes my hands.

"We should get your bag," he whispers.

We head down to the luggage pick-up and it doesn't take long for me to notice something is wrong with him.

He's too quiet and too blank. His face is emotionless, besides those damn tears.

"How was everything, Pat? Hmm?" I run my hand over his back, taking in a sharp breath full of emotions when he leans his head on my shoulder and closes his eyes.

"Fine."

I put an arm around his waist, brushing his forehead with my lips, "What's wrong?" I ask him in a hushed tone.

"Nothing."

The bags have begun to roll by on the conveyor belt and mine is slowly coming into view so with a quick squeeze of his hand, I hurry to step forwards and take it but Pat is quicker.

"Thank you, sweety."

He just puts an arm around me, staying silent.

The whole ride home is strange. My numerous attempts at getting a response from him produce only quick, one-worded replies. As we enter downtown, I finally give up at speaking at all, choosing to lean back in my seat and focus my attention out the window.

By the time he closes the door behind him, rolling my suitcase into the bedroom without a single word, I'm ready to burst into tears. He's never ignored me before. He's never been like this!

I clasp my hand over my mouth to try to conceal the sob that escapes my chest with the
sudden realization.

He knows.

I squeeze my eyes shut, feeling my heart rate rapidly increasing in pace, "Patrick!" I yell out, as I nearly run down the hall to our bedroom where I find him sitting on the end of the bed, head bowed in his hands, "Pat I'm so sorry."

I fall in front of him, taking his hands and then sliding into his arms, pressing my lips to his chest and wrapping myself around his neck, "I--I'm sorry."

He's been crying. I can feel the tears as I kiss his skin, wiping away the tears with my palm and holding his face in my hands, "Carly--" a choked sob forces his words away.

"I'm sorry," I whisper again, kissing his lips and tasting the salty tears.

He's holding me tightly and I can feel him shaking, "What's wrong with us, Carly? What the hell is wrong with us?"

I can only move my head back and forth, falling into him once more and digging my nails into his back, "I don't know."

He's quiet again.

"I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Stop saying that!" he says loudly, standing and pulling at his hair before striding over to the window and staring out of it with unfocused eyes. I can almost hear him telling himself to stop crying and to stay calm as he holds a clenched fist to his mouth, "saying sorry doesn't change anything," he groans, banging a fist on the window and placing his forehead against the glass, "it doesn't mean anything anymore."

I shake my head, stepping over to him and putting my hand on his cheek, "yes, it does."

He pushes my hand away, gripping it tightly before hesitantly letting go and stepping away from me, "So you wouldn't do it again? You wouldn't kiss him again? I find that hard to believe."

"You're one to talk!" I suddenly burst out, furrowing my brow, "all your mistakes and I still forgave you."

"Yeah? Did you? I'm pretty sure you just kissed him for some sort of revenge on me."

I drop my jaw, taking a step back from him and crossing my arms over my chest,

"Revenge on you? Revenge? Really, Patrick?"

"IF NOT REVENGE, THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU MAKE OUT WITH MY BEST FRIEND?"

I want to lie but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them, "BECAUSE MAYBE FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY FUCKING LIFE, I FELT LIKE I COULD TRUST SOMEONE!"

He steps towards me, putting his hands on my shoulders so he's in control, "you're saying you could never trust me? Almost two years and you can't trust your boyfriend? Well, isn't that just perfect!"

I shake his grip off my shoulders and take a step forward, pressing a finger to his chest, "How could I possibly trust you after what you did?" I hiss, staring hard at him before letting out a huff of air and spinning around.

"Because, Carly," he's pulled me back to him, gripping my arm tightly, "like you fucking said, you forgave me and Goddammit I really changed for you!"

"Before or after you fucked her?"

He throws my arm from his grip, letting out a loud groan and then taking hold of me again,

"Are you even listening to me, Carly? I made a mistake!"

"WELL SO DID I!" I scream out, stepping even closer to him so that my torso presses against his, "and I'm sorry! Truly, Patrick, I'm sorry."

His hands settle on my sides, holding me firm in his hands, "Sorry for what, exactly? Kissing him? Or liking him?"

I lower my eyes, knowing I'm trapped, "Both."

The look in his eyes makes me immediately regret my response. He kind of half-smiles as he lets go of me, turning towards the window once more, "The truth really does hurt," he says, laughing dryly.

"Pat--"

He shakes his head, slumping down against the wall and leaning his head back before closing his eyes, "No, no. I get it. He's a good guy."

"Patrick--"

"You don't have to defend yourself," he interrupts, opening his pretty blue eyes again, "I get it. You like him. What am I supposed to do about that?"

"Stop it, Pat."

"Stop what? I'm just stating the obvious. You like Jon, Jon likes you. You're my girlfriend, and he's my best friend. I guess that's just what happens, right?"

I open my mouth to defend myself but my heart has seemingly sunk in my chest, pulling any energy I had left with it, "Please stop blaming me."

He rolls his eyes, "Yeah, because you didn't do anything wrong at all, Carly. You never do anything wrong. That's why no one can ever get mad at you. That's why you can just run away to Toronto, and I can't. I have to stay here, getting fucking beat on by everyone around me because I made a fucking stupid mistake months ago. But you, on the other hand, don't have to deal with any of that because you're Carly. You are Carly fucking Hughes and you're the perfect little girlfriend that any guy could ever want."

The only reaction I can manage is to stare at him with terrified eyes before finding my voice, "what are you talking about, Patrick?"

His eyes darken and he looks away, staring absentmindedly out the window, "take a guess."
"Take a guess?" I repeat in a harsh whisper, "why don't you just explain to me what the hell you meant by all of that? I have family in Toronto, Patrick, and I haven't seen them in almost a year because I choose to stay here with you."

"If I'm such a burden, why don't you just leave?"

I drop my jaw, striding over to him and grabbing his chin with my hand to force his eyes onto mine, "What are you saying, Patrick!? I never called you a burden. I chose to stay in
Chicago because I love you so much! Look at me," I nearly cry out as his eyes finally focus on mine and I fight the urge to let my tears fall, "Patrick, we both made mistakes and we're both sorry for it. God, I'm sorry for it. But I can't change what I did and neither can you."
His eyes burn into mine but I keep my gaze on his, "we can't change it, but we can stop it and I stopped it."

"So have I."

He shakes his head and tears slip from his eyes, "you haven't, Carly. You still love him."

"No."

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a sharp breath, "Yes, you do."

"I'm with you, Patrick. I don't love him. I--"

"You TOLD him you love him, Carly! PLEASE, stop lying to me."

My hands grip his face and it's my turn to shake my head, "I didn't mean it like that. I love him like...like a brother."

"That's shit, Carly," he says weakly.

"It's not 'shit'," I press my lips to his and brush his curls back from his face, "it's not 'shit'," I repeat, kissing him again and hating the way his eyes refuse to lock onto mine, continuing to stare up and out the window.

"Why would you kiss him then?" he asks me shakily, "you don't kiss your 'brother', Carly."

"I told you. I made a mistake. Pat, I don't love him. Believe me."

"How can I believe you?"

"Because I'm yours," I whisper, leaning in and touching my lips to his even though he doesn't kiss me back, "and I don't want anyone else, Patrick."

"Prove it."

I touch his lips with my finger and his eyes come back to mine, "I will, baby."

He kisses me for the first time since I left and it's a real kiss, with honestly in every fiber of his body, "I don't want to lose you."

"You won't."

He kisses me again, cradling me in his arms while his lips stay against mine, "Promise me."

"I promise."

I won't hurt him anymore. I just won't.