Switchblades and Infidelity [DISCONTINUED]

seventeen

"We're going home." The words alone leave a nasty, metallic taste in Patrick's mouth.

He feels his chest tighten around his heart, making his pulse feel more strained as it grows louder in his ears— almost as if it were amplified.

He tries to hide his hurt, not wanting to withhold Nia from what she wants.

But this isn't what she wants, Patrick argues with himself.

He looks up at Nia, meeting her violet eyes. The orbiting planets in her irises seem to be stuck, frozen in time. Patrick doesn't have to say anything; she already knows what plagues his mind. Nia still tears her gaze from the man, leaving him with the sensation of switchblades sinking into every inch of his body.

"Are you and Daddy not getting a divorce?" Costello asks, snapping Patrick out of his daze. It's his turn to look away from the star girl. His blue eyes drift to the table, fixating on the empty plate before him. Patrick's stomach churns, swirling into a sickening, yet anticlimactic storm. He almost believed for a second that the contents of his lunch would resurface. He's almost disappointed that it didn't.

"C'mon, Stello," Nia coaxes gently as she guides her son to start packing his belongings. The curious boy asks again, repeating his question a few times in hopes that his mother will answer to ease his pondering mind. She doesn't answer. Instead, Nia leaves the boy to pack his things as she escapes to the shared bedroom Patrick sacrificed for her comfort. He pushes his knotting stomach aside and follows her. He has no plan on what to say, exactly, but that doesn't stop him from his fixated, unplanned mission.

"Hey," Patrick blurts out once he opens his mouth. Nia looks over at the blond, confused man as she starts to fold and stack clothes into her suitcase.

"Are you serious?"
"Patrick—"
"No, I'm asking," he clarifies. Nia studies him, then gives a curt nod. Tiny daggers find their way to Patrick's chest. He inhales slowly, ignoring the pain.

"So, what's happening? Are you two working things out? Is this just a show for Costello?" Patrick quizzes. He furrows his brow in confusion, folding his arms over his chest.

"Why does that matter to you?" Nia huffs, irritation and venom drenching her voice.
"What's the point of going back when you don't even know that you love him?!" the man argues. Patrick feels a lump in his throat as his eyes start to lightly sting.
"This is none of your business, Patrick," the violet-eyed woman snarls. Nia starts to carelessly fold her clothes as she tosses them into her luggage.

"If it's none of my business, then why did you call me?" Patrick demands. "Why did you ask to stay at my place? Why did you tell me that Costello is my son?"
"Look, I'm sorry—"
"I don't want an apology, Nia," he declares. His voice starts to give way as the switchblades sink deeper into his chest. "I want answers. I have been wanting answers for eight years. Do you have any idea what that is like?"
"No one told you to wait for me, Patrick! You could have easily moved on and forgotten about me," the woman retorts.
"You don't think I tried doing that?" Patrick scoffs.

Nia heaves a sigh and shakes her head, ignoring the situation as she continues to pack her belongings. Everything hurts for Patrick. His chest tightens even more, his breath becoming shallow as his lip trembles.

"Goddammit, Nia," he mumbles. "This is not fair!"
"Not fair?" Nia quizzes, disbelief lacing with her echo. "Last time I checked, I didn't owe you a damn thing, Patrick!"
"You don't owe me anything, I'm not saying that!"
"Then, what are you saying?! What more could you want from me? I'm here in stupid Chicago, but we're adults! We can't just go out without a care like we did when we were younger, Patrick! I have a child and I have a husband waiting for us to come back!"