Business With The Billionaire (BoyxBoy)

sixteen

Shout At The Moon

~

Benjamin's Point Of View

He told me he would be here in four hours.

It's been three days.

I drove to the airport right after the call, and I waited for him there for a couple of hours, but I knew my family needed me more than I needed him. 

I called him a few times. 

More like a dozen, but that's irrelevant. It wasn't one of those straight to voice mail calls, either. It rang two or three times, then it was the whole, "You've been sent to an automated voice messaging system."

That's how you know you're being ignored in the 21st century.

I thought he was going to come. I hadn't asked anything from in since he left. Now, I asked him for him to come, maybe for my own personal comfort, but I thought I could at least get him to come.

I think it would be better if he just told me that he couldn't come, instead of me waiting on him.

I thought it would bother me more, but by the time I went home all I could think about was Patrick.

I found my old diary and smiled at the memories I had from him being this tiny little alien baby with tubes always attached to him, and he couldn't even eat solid foods until he was almost five. Only six years to eat macaroni and sweet potatoes. He only celebrated Christmas with the family ten times.

I wish he could celebrate as many as me.

Reading the diary made me realize that Patrick's life consumed mine in every way. Before him, I rarely got in trouble, but after he was born my life continued to grow a bit harder every year. 

I wouldn't change it for the world. He will always be my best friend. 

I have to make sure I think of Patrick every day, where ever he is. I don't want him to be forgotten. I am going to think about him every single day. I will remember every small thing that he did.

He can't be forgotten.

I sighed, taking Patrick's box out of the back of my car. It was one of those blue bins with a lid. It was full of cards that people have sent him over either for his birthday, Christmas, or the projects that children do in school to sick children. 

The box was pretty heavy, so I had to partially drag it down the parking lot and lobby of the hotel. My co-worker gave me pitiful stares and offered to help when they saw me. I always just politely declined and kept dragging the box to my room.

I didn't need their help. I need Patrick.

He would know what to do, he would tell me to stop wasting time on people I'm not even sure care for me, to stop trying to talk to Levi when I know Levi won't respond. He was such a savage little kid. 

I got to the elevator, which honestly wasn't a long walk, but with all the stares it felt like forever to get here. I stepped into the elevator, my head hung low, letting the tears pool in my eyes for the umpteenth time today. The elevator finally got to my floor, and as I went to exit, a guest bumped the heck out of me. I wobbled trying to save the box that was in my hand, but the cheap little grips made the box slide right out of my hands. I saw the box slide across the opening of the elevator, preventing it from closing. This dummy guest was lucky that I was already crying, or I probably would have looked up at them just so they can see my tears well-up. 

Patrick would have called me petty for that. 

I groaned at how far away the box got away from me. It was only on the floor, but mustering up the strength to bend down and grab it seemed completely unimaginable.