America's Suitehearts
I need to run dry
2011
He woke up as suddenly as he passed out, head swimming and legs twisted around hotel sheets which smelled of smoke and something unfamiliar, something feminine.
Patrick closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose willing his head to stop pounding. He couldn’t remember the previous night, not like he was trying very hard. He didn’t see the point of chasing after wisps of memory that were like water between your fingers—there and then gone all too quickly.
He slid a hand across the mattress, feeling the remnants of someone else’s warmth there. The hotel room was silent though, and he was thankful to be alone once again.
He exhaled loudly into the empty room before slowly sitting up, waiting for the inevitable spinning to commence. He blinked slowly as he placed his feet on the floor before he stood up, swallowing to get any kind of moisture back into his dry mouth. The air in the room smelled stale and was cold on his bare skin, causing him to shiver as he stumbled to the bathroom.
After a much-needed shower, he felt a bit better. He wiped condensation off of the mirror to assess the damage. There was little evidence of the night, except for a few pink scratches across his chest and shoulders, easily covered by a t-shirt.
He got dressed and then decided to open the blinds of the hotel window, blinking quickly at the sudden onslaught of light, despite the gray clouds covering the sky. He bet it would snow later.
He looked over the Chicago skyline, once his home. He had thought it would always be his home, but now he felt like a stranger to himself. This city felt unfamiliar to him, as if he was seeing it through new eyes.
He was 27 and felt lost. He didn’t have his band, he didn’t have his short-lived solo career…He had nothing really. Or at least, that’s how it felt. He felt hopeless and empty and misguided.
He ran a hand through his hair, slightly dry now but for a few droplets of water still clinging to the strands. He had recently gone back to his natural mousy brown, having felt defeated every time he glimpsed platinum blonde.
He suddenly remembered Pete’s fascination with 27, how he had believed he wouldn’t make it to 28, was destined for a membership to the exclusive 27 club. But he had made it. And Patrick… 27 was not treating him kindly but he was sure he would get through this, no matter how much he felt he was being pulled back.
He’d never felt this way before. He felt heavy and listless, the ground he stood on crumbling beneath him, weighted ropes around his limbs trying to pull him under no matter how much he pulled against them.
Patrick swiped a hand across his mouth, sweat beading on his forehead, thinking about going downstairs and getting a drink. He was on the elevator before he knew it, halfway down to the ground floor when he checked the time, noting that it wasn’t even noon yet. The thought of whiskey now made his stomach turn—maybe he’d get a coffee instead.
He glanced at the bar as he entered the hotel restaurant, a few people already with drinks in hand—he longed to join them. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to that bar and order a drink. He had to hold on to some self-control.
He sat at a small table not too far from the bar though and glanced over the menu that was already there, thinking about maybe ordering something to eat to settle his stomach when a loud thud of glass on wood sounded from the bar.
Normally he wouldn’t have paid attention to the blonde attempting to get drunk at 11 in the morning, but as she threw back a shot of something clear, she turned around and their eyes locked. A sneer formed on her face and she laughed in a mocking way.
“Of fucking course.”
He hardly recognized her through the displeased look on her face, but it was definitely her.
“Nora.”
He woke up as suddenly as he passed out, head swimming and legs twisted around hotel sheets which smelled of smoke and something unfamiliar, something feminine.
Patrick closed his eyes tightly and pinched the bridge of his nose willing his head to stop pounding. He couldn’t remember the previous night, not like he was trying very hard. He didn’t see the point of chasing after wisps of memory that were like water between your fingers—there and then gone all too quickly.
He slid a hand across the mattress, feeling the remnants of someone else’s warmth there. The hotel room was silent though, and he was thankful to be alone once again.
He exhaled loudly into the empty room before slowly sitting up, waiting for the inevitable spinning to commence. He blinked slowly as he placed his feet on the floor before he stood up, swallowing to get any kind of moisture back into his dry mouth. The air in the room smelled stale and was cold on his bare skin, causing him to shiver as he stumbled to the bathroom.
After a much-needed shower, he felt a bit better. He wiped condensation off of the mirror to assess the damage. There was little evidence of the night, except for a few pink scratches across his chest and shoulders, easily covered by a t-shirt.
He got dressed and then decided to open the blinds of the hotel window, blinking quickly at the sudden onslaught of light, despite the gray clouds covering the sky. He bet it would snow later.
He looked over the Chicago skyline, once his home. He had thought it would always be his home, but now he felt like a stranger to himself. This city felt unfamiliar to him, as if he was seeing it through new eyes.
He was 27 and felt lost. He didn’t have his band, he didn’t have his short-lived solo career…He had nothing really. Or at least, that’s how it felt. He felt hopeless and empty and misguided.
He ran a hand through his hair, slightly dry now but for a few droplets of water still clinging to the strands. He had recently gone back to his natural mousy brown, having felt defeated every time he glimpsed platinum blonde.
He suddenly remembered Pete’s fascination with 27, how he had believed he wouldn’t make it to 28, was destined for a membership to the exclusive 27 club. But he had made it. And Patrick… 27 was not treating him kindly but he was sure he would get through this, no matter how much he felt he was being pulled back.
He’d never felt this way before. He felt heavy and listless, the ground he stood on crumbling beneath him, weighted ropes around his limbs trying to pull him under no matter how much he pulled against them.
Patrick swiped a hand across his mouth, sweat beading on his forehead, thinking about going downstairs and getting a drink. He was on the elevator before he knew it, halfway down to the ground floor when he checked the time, noting that it wasn’t even noon yet. The thought of whiskey now made his stomach turn—maybe he’d get a coffee instead.
He glanced at the bar as he entered the hotel restaurant, a few people already with drinks in hand—he longed to join them. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to that bar and order a drink. He had to hold on to some self-control.
He sat at a small table not too far from the bar though and glanced over the menu that was already there, thinking about maybe ordering something to eat to settle his stomach when a loud thud of glass on wood sounded from the bar.
Normally he wouldn’t have paid attention to the blonde attempting to get drunk at 11 in the morning, but as she threw back a shot of something clear, she turned around and their eyes locked. A sneer formed on her face and she laughed in a mocking way.
“Of fucking course.”
He hardly recognized her through the displeased look on her face, but it was definitely her.
“Nora.”