Switchblades and Infidelity [DISCONTINUED]

one

Patrick studies the soundboard as bars detect the volumes of the guitar being played in the studio booth. He had spaced out yet again, staring blankly at the controls, dials, and buttons.

Patrick manages to shake himself out of his daze, distracting himself with the fuel of coffee.

"Was that good?" the guitarist asks. Patrick hadn't noticed that she stopped. He snaps his attention to the girl, finding her standing at the microphone, studying him and waiting for validation.

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah," he stammers. He wasn't going to admit to being vacant. In fact, he wanted to be out of the studio before his brain caught up to him.

"Are you sure, Mr. Stump?" the girl asks. "Because I don't think you were even listening. What if I messed up a chord?"
"Do you want to do it again?" he suggests. The teenager nods, but her thoughtful face lingers on the 27-year-old man.

"You don't look well, sir," she states. She examines the developing dark circles under Patrick's blue eyes that once held some form of life. The teenager had seen it before.

"I'm fine, Daisy," Patrick says with a weak smile. "Nothing a little more coffee won't fix."
"A-Are you sure?" Daisy asks. "I care about this album, but... I also care about the people helping me release it, Mr. Stump. I don't want to be in the way—"
"You're not in the way, Daisy," Patrick reassures. "Let's go at this again. You have my attention."

With that, the girl nods and prepares her hands to play the collection of sounds from her acoustic guitar.

Patrick had become a local producer in Chicago. Every now and then, he would write a few of his own works. They never saw the light of day, as Patrick never wanted them to. Besides, helping others with music helped him erase a bit of the girl he loved when he was eighteen.

For once, Patrick really did listen to Daisy play her guitar. She hadn't missed a note at all, nor had she mistaken any chords. Daisy is a young sixteen-year-old, trying to make it along with her band called Pushing Daisies (inspired by her name, though she is a very humble creature). The only thing that she was faulty of was her lack of self-confidence. She reminded Patrick of himself when he was younger.

Is this what they saw?, he thinks to himself, watching the teenager pluck the strings with grace. He was almost memorized by her hands creating the sounds, each stroke with passion and purpose.

Is this what she saw?, a thought echoes through Patrick's head. The blonde man shifts a little, his chest tightening at the thought of the girl he once loved. He starts spacing out again. All his brain could focus on was a pair of violet eyes— the way they squint slightly when she laughs; how she somehow possessed the stars and planets in her tears.

"M-Mr. Stump?" Daisy stammers hesitantly. Patrick snaps out his trance again. "Did you listen?"
"Yeah," he says shortly. "It's great. Let's pick it up again tomorrow."
"Mr. Stump? Can I ask you something that may be personal?" Daisy proposes. The girl places her guitar in its case as she packs her things.
"Uh... depends on how personal it is," Patrick stammers. He runs his sweaty palms on his jeans to rid of the moister.
"Are you seeing anyone?" Daisy asks. The girl cocks her head to the side, her hazel eyes full of curiosity. Patrick feels color rise to his cheeks at the question.

"Oh, uh, kiddo... I-I don't— I'm, uh, flattered—"
"No, it's not for me, Mr. Stump," Daisy clarifies.
"Oh," Patrick huffs with a wave of relief. "Well, uh, no. But I'm fine. Dating isn't really on my to-do list right now."
"Did you recently break up with someone?" Daisy asks. Patrick nods, ignoring the strong pang in his chest that tugs on his heart.

"Yeah," he swallows. "Something like that."
"Did she... die?" Daisy asks. Worry and sorrow soften her gaze on the producer. Patrick's own eyes widen at the thought.

"No," he gasps. "A-At least I hope not. Look, Daisy, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine. I'm not looking into dating any time soon."
"Okay," Daisy sighs, accepting a portion of her defeat. The teenager makes her way to the exit of the studio before turning to Patrick again. She studies his dark circles for a moment, then his entire demeanor. Anyone could read that Patrick was missing a huge piece of himself. Patrick just didn't want to admit to it.

"You look tired, sir," Daisy says. "And lonely. If we have to postpone the release of the album, I'll do it. I just want to make sure you're okay too."
"That's sweet of you, but I'm okay," Patrick reassures once again. Daisy nods and exits the studio, leaving Patrick alone.

If she had died, someone would've told me, right?, he thinks to himself. Patrick fishes his phone out of his pocket and opens the one-sided conversation between him and the star girl. A mixture of vents, happy birthday wishes, and variations of greetings are trapped in green bubbles. All of them sent to a number in a ghost town, perhaps.

Hey, Patrick types once again. He hadn't tried the number in about two weeks. He had been busy trapping himself in his work. It was easier that way.

Patrick's phone chimes as he sets it down, causing him to jump a little. A reply from her shows in his list of notifications. He opens it, a range of emotions mixing in the pit of his stomach.

Who's this?

"Maybe... she lost some contacts?" Patrick mumbles to himself.

Patrick. :) Remember me?

Sorry dude. U have the wrong number. :\

Patrick deflates with the breath he released, not realizing he was holding one in the first place. He shrug the feeling off, not wanting to dwell on anymore possibilities of the girl he once loved. She was in California, living the life she deserves. If Patrick could convince himself that she was happy on the West Coast, then he would be happy too.

The man gathers his belongings and exits his studio for the day. He looks at his watch, then blows a sigh. It was only 2:30pm and no one else was scheduled. Patrick ducks his head down and walks along the streets of Chicago. He retreated to his own thoughts, mulling over anything else in his head that wasn't the girl from his past.

Those kids' album is almost done and ready for release, he thinks. There's definitely going to be some sort of celebration for that. Might as well pick up some stuff beforehand.

Patrick enters his car and drives to a grocery store near his apartment. He didn't want to be bothered by any other possible triggers of the girl on the opposite side of the country. The man grabs a basket from the entrance and continues down the aisles, humming potential melodies under his breath.

As he trudges down the aisle of disposable party, his attention is caught by a woman struggling to reach the box of straw on the top shelf.

"Ma'am, do you need help?" Patrick ask as he approaches the stranger. Maybe helping someone will help him get his mind off of his former lover.
"Yes, please," the woman chuckles. Patrick reaches up and grabs the box of straws with ease and hands it to the woman.

"Thank you so much," she smiles. Patrick's heart stutters at the simple gesture; he brushes it off and returns the smile.

"No problem," Patrick says back as he smiles down at his shoes shyly. Realization starts to claim the woman's face as she studies the blonde man.

"Buster?" the woman questions, a sliver of hope consuming her voice. Patrick's heart stops as a breath hitches in his throat. Only one person knows him by that name. He looks up, his eyes meeting with wide violet ones. Galaxies blossom in those very pupils as the woman gasps, a large grin claiming her face.

Nia.

A/N:
heeeyyyyyy... ;) Tell me what you think!

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