Truant Wave

Allie itched for a cigarette as soon as she was in Patrick's room. Everything seemed so neat and clean and un-lived in, she hadn't seen cleanliness like it in awhile. She assumed that since he had been there for a while that things would be in disarray.

"Do you smoke?" She asked him once he came around from shutting the door.

"No, sorry, I don't," he said apologetically. "I do have aspirin, though."

"Thanks," Allie sat on the edge of the single large bed, wondering how long he'd "hold her hostage" before she could leave.

Patrick rummaged through his bag, finding an opened bottle of aspirin he picked up a few days prior and a warm water bottle. He assumed he'd be leaving, that's why everything was so neat. He could see she was itching, feigning for something.

"I could get you some cigarettes," Patrick offered her softly, handing over two capsules and the bottled water.

"No, it's fine, I'll get some after I leave," she was making a point that she'd be leaving soon, "you've done enough."

"I'm sorry I'm so impulsive, I just don't want you to hurt yourself," he explained, "and I'm really sorry for pulling you back so hard. I didn't know you'd hit your head."

Allie just nodded, downing the pills and water. Patrick sighed softly, "I should look at your head."

"My head is fine," Allie mumbled.

"You said you had a cut," he retorted.

Allie looked back at him, "Okay, fine, look at it."

Patrick stepped behind her, pushing her hair away, "Where is it?"

Allie placed her hand on his wrist, gently guiding his hand over to where the cut and bump was throbbing. He smiled faintly once her hand let go, then looked over the injury, humming softly to himself. The cut wasn't all that bad, in his opinion, it looked like a scratch, and it was already healing; the bump wasn't horrible either, "You're okay," he said softly.

"Thanks," she murmured, feeling his hands fall away.

Patrick went and sat at the table, looking her over; her black floral skirt made her seem like a dancer, and her sweatshirt was quite baggy.

"So, you went to AI?" He asked to kill the quietness.

"No...I wanted to. This is my brother's," Allie told him.

"AI is what exactly? I never went to college myself," he gave a lame laugh.

"The San Francisco Art Institute; my brother, Finn studied graphic art and animation."

"Oh."

There was silence between them, and Patrick felt uncomfortable. He was never good with speaking first, he could keep going though once he started. Really, he had so many questions for her; why she had wanted to really kill herself, what her brothers was like, and how old she is.

"Hey, uh, I can see you wanna ask me stuff so go ahead," Allie told him, "My doctors were all hesitant too."

He raised his brows, "Doctors?"

Allie gave a nod, "I was put in a psych ward two years ago, after Finn died. I tried to kill myself then...took a bunch of pills."

"How did he die?" Patrick inquired, turning his body towards her.

"Finn shot himself," she stated flatly, "November 10th...about a year ago."

Patrick frowned slightly; it was November 9th.

"Do you know why?"

"He was very unhappy...which surprised me because he was very, very happy on the surface," Allie was dying for a cigarette then, her mind reeling, rushing as she thought about Finn. "He had a great job working in animation in LA. Then one day he just couldn't take it anymore and he shot himself."

Patrick watched Allie's hazel eyes grow dark and looked down. Her small, pale fingers played with the hem of her floral skirt, "You two were close?"

She looked up, smiling as tears burned her eyes, "Best friends. We did everything together...even after he left for school and then went to LA, we still got together whenever we could."

"What about your parents?"

"My mom is a drunk...my father...he might as well not exist at all. He comes home once a week and then leaves for days on end," tears filled and fell from her eyes, "he doesn't even remember my name."

"I'm sorry." Patrick murmured instinctively.

"It's always been that way," she waved it off and sniffled, "I can see why Finn killed himself, even when he had things going for him. All he wanted was our parents to be proud, but they could give two fucks about him. He did amazing, great things on his own, and they still say "Andy who?" whenever people ask. It's like I'm the only one who remembers him."

"Why did they send you to a psych ward instead of just letting you see a therapist?" Patrick got up and moved, sitting beside her.

"They thought I was truly crazy, put me in the loony bin where I was forced to take pills until my dad stopped paying," Allie wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her sweatshirt, "it's much cheaper to let your child come home and let her try and kill herself again..." her voice grew tight, "my dad said that if I really wanted to do it, I should make sure that I couldn't be revived."

Anger brewed in Patrick. No one should be treated the way Allie was treated. He wanted nothing more than to take this girl into his arms.

"No one else in your family can help you?" Patrick asked lowly.

"Grandparents are dead, no aunts and uncles, nothing. I haven't had friends since I was in fifth grade, and...I wasn't thinking of doing much than killing myself for the past year," she tugged at her sleeves, "I still plan to do it once I leave, just so you know."

Patrick sighed, "Please...I wouldn't be able to live if I knew you were dead."

"Why? Just because you feel bad for me? I'm just some girl."

He nodded, "I know, but...you're special."

Allie rolled her eyes, "No I am not."

"Yea you are, you just hadn't had anyone tell you."

She gave a hollow laugh, "Yes I have, he just didn't mean it."

"Who?" Patrick dug further in to her life.

"My first and last boyfriend...He got what he wanted then split. I expected as much," Allie muttered, her hands shaking.

She needed an out, or at the very least, a menthol cigarette.

"Well, he's a fucking asshole," Patrick spat.

Allie looked up at the sweet and tender man. She giggled, "You sound funny when you cuss."

He blushed, "I'm just sayin'," he shrugged sheepishly.

"Yeah," she looked down, "I know he's an asshole, no need to tell me."

"No one deserve the short hand you got, Al," he murmured.

She looked up at him, shaking her head, "We all get one life, it's either good enough to live or bad enough to throw you off...right now, I'm a train derailed."

Patrick was rendered speechless, he didn't know how to retort. He wanted to be positive, to give this girl some hope, but he was sure she'd just chuck it out.