Truant Wave

Allie woke up a few minutes later. Her stomach churned, head pounded as she sat up slowly. Her eyes opened, fluttering; she had been laid out on a black leather couch, it groaned and rubbed under her, the leather sticking to her bare thighs.

Her only thought was: Just what I need; to be alive and to have a headache.

"Ah, fuck," she groaned softly, the pain intensifying as she looked around.

Patrick was looking at her with wide eyes, thanking the stars she was alive. He had dropped her pretty hard, but there was no damage done, she might have a knot later. He had sat and watched the poor girl, praying he didn't kill her, but quickly calmed down once he felt a pulse. He had carried her in, surprised at how light she was in his arms, and set her down, sitting in a desk chair beside her, waiting for her to wake.

"Are you alright?" He asked her softly as she tried to stand, "Sit, you might be dizzy."

Allie groaned again, "I can go...I need to go."

"No, you're hurt, just sit," Patrick urged, taking hold of her arm gently to sit her back down.

"I'm fine," she hissed at him, "I would be just as fine if you would have let me jump."

"I wasn't going to let you jump," he shot back, but in a soft tone.

She looked at him, still not believing his actions, "Why not?"

"I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had let you.”

Allie felt the bump on the back of her head, hissing at the sharp cut, “You’re stupid.”

Patrick could only looked at her as she stood up, her knees nearly buckling; she had stood up too fast. He stood too, placing his hand on her back and sat her down again. Allie held her head and groaned once more; everything felt as if it were moving at a fast pace and she couldn’t get a grip.

“Please, get me something for my head,” she begged him.

He nodded, making his way towards the computer chair where his bag was containing his laptop and other mindless things. Patrick had just come from New York, doing business with a label for his new solo work, he wasn’t even supposed to be in San Francisco still, his agent booked the wrong week, his flight wasn’t for another week. He thought, he wasn’t supposed to be there, but he was. He had come to record, for some reason, to keep his head on straight.

“I don’t think I have aspirin," he said, looking through his bag continuously.

“Well, shit,” Allie got up cautiously, her legs wobbly, “I’m gonna go home then… we have a bunch of tylenol. That’ll do the trick.”

“No,” Patrick turned to her, dropping his bag, “don’t, please.”

She looked at him, his frantic look confused her. Then it hit her, he thought she was gonna overdose on pills. She rolled her eyes, “Dude, I am not going to give my mother the satisfaction of finding my dead body. I do not want to die in a place where I don’t feel wanted.”

Patrick blushed slightly, his pale cheeks burned a soft pink, “Oh…”

“Thanks, I guess, for the headache...I’m gonna go now,” Allie wobbled to the door, but everything seemed to spin as she did. She couldn’t clutch the doorknob.

“How about you come with me to my hotel?" Patrick spoke loudly; it all came out so fast, it barely registered in his head before he said it.

Allie turned slowly to look at him, “Hotel? I thought you worked here, don’t you like live in a house or somethin’?”

Patrick shook his head, “I'm here on business...my agent booked my flight to New York for the wrong date.”

Allie smiled lazily, her head was pounding more, but she chose to ignore it, “Lucky me, huh?”

He smiled back, “I guess so.”


The walk back to Patrick’s hotel room was quiet. He had so many questions he wanted to ask, but he felt as if he was intruding on Allie. He was always shy around a girl, but he had saved her, he shouldn’t feel the way he did.

“Uh, you said you were here on business,” Allie started as they rounded the block of Electric Recording, “What are you? Like a producer or something?”

Patrick rarely heard this question from a girl her age. He always assumed that they would know him, recognize him instantly, but she didn’t. But maybe if she had a good look at him, his face would jog her memory.

“Yeah, but I’m a singer. I was in a band too," he explained softly.

“Oh…anything I’ve heard? Your name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Fall Out Boy.”

Allie shook her head, “You guys sing that Sugar something song, right? My brother liked that song.”

He chuckled, “Uh, yeah.”

“I don’t really listen to popular music, per se. I’m a music snob. I like old stuff.”

“Like what?”

“I’m really into Queen…the Beatles, the Smiths…Bowie, the Clash…the Ramones. I don’t listen to the radio, and I don’t own a TV. My brother left me his laptop and iPod.”

Patrick hummed, “Oh.”

Allie looked at Patrick, he seemed as if he had a lot on his mind. The poor guy almost witnessed her death, who wouldn’t be freaked out? Allie sighed and got closer to him, “I’m sorry you met me," she said apologetically.

“I’m not.”

They caught eyes, her brow furrowed in confusion, “Why? I’m no one special, and I’m pretty sure you’re freaked out.”

They had stopped in front of the hotel; Patrick faced her, “I saved you. I know someone would miss you.”

Allie shook her head, “No. Not a soul.”

“How do you know for sure?”

“I haven’t met anyone who ever made me feel worth remembering.”

Patrick just looked at her…he’d always remember this girl. She was pretty, and her sad life story made him want to take her in. He wanted to comfort and take care of her.

"I’ll remember you," he murmured, his cheeks burning again.

Allie wanted to laugh, but his big blue eyes stopped her, “That’s because you feel sorry for me," she replied quickly, then changing the subject entirely, “could we go up now? I’m freezing.”

Patrick nodded, turning and escorting Allie into the hotel lobby.