Take Your Tears, Put 'Em On Ice

~ S-E-V-E-N-T-E-E-N ~ {II}

~Thursday; 24th of December 2020~

*- disgustingly sad 3rd PoV-*

He sat on his bed staring blankly at the wall. His hands were clasped together upon his thighs covered in his worn black jeans, faded knees from countless times falling on the ice.

His face was pale and cheeks hollow. His eyes were red and swollen, aching from the amount of tears that had leaked from their ducts just moments before. His golden red hair was an unkept mess upon his scalp, no longer seeming to shine. His blue eyes were dull and glazed over, staring at that single spot on the wall.

He knew why he felt the way he did. So did his flatmate down the hall, the neighbors next door, the two girls down the road.

They all knew that just days before, was the one year anniversary of his heart break.

December twenty-second.

The day he was taken away from everything he had ever wanted because he was just a mere seventeen years old and his legal guardian was elsewhere. The day that his love, his happiness, his life was left in the backseat of a car in Chicago as he boarded that plane.

One year of the best. One year of the worst.

And any way he tried to take a new perspective, it always looked the same. Even though that was two days ago, it seemed to hurt more now, than then.

There was a small knock on his door before the knob turned and the door creaked open. He looked up and met eyes with his flatmate, bright blue to dead grey.

"Come to the rink, mate," Aaron spoke softly. "I know it makes you think of him, but I also know how happy it makes you."

Patrick sat unmoving for a good few moments before nodding. "Okay," he said, voice hoarse and scratchy. It was better to do something, than nothing.

*-*~*-*

~ P-E-T-E ~

We landed and got checked into this amazing hotel around five, Manchester time. Brendon and Ryan had ditched their bags and left me in the room to go find a place for food, and I wasn't arguing. These beds were so much more comfortable than anything I've slept on before. No, I'm not sleeping. I'm too energized for that. I mean hell, I'm in Manchester, possibly just minutes away from Patrick.

There was a knocking on the door, and I figured they had brought back some take-out. I jumped up from the bed and hurried to the door, quickly pulling it open. But who I saw was not either of my friends, but a smaller framed girl with extraordinarily large brown eyes and two coloured hair, wearing a pink lacy dress and a white fuzzy hooded coat, with a matching pink bow on top of her head.

"You are Pete, yes?" She tilted her head, her voice with the native accent.

"Uh, who's asking?" I raised an eyebrow. I've seen the movie Taken, I know how this may go.

"Me, silly. It's important," she smiled. "I know who you are anyways, I just didn't want to seem like a stalker or something. Now come on!" She grabbed my wrist and pulled me out of the room.

The door slammed behind us as we ran down the hall and down the one story of stairs, bursting out of the lobby and into the chilly air. She drug me down the streets, weaving around people and streetlights, keeping a firm grip on my wrist.

"What are we doing?" I said loudly, it almost being a struggle to keep up with her pace. She suddenly slowed down and let go of my wrist, but kept walking in the general direction we were headed.