Chapter 4The Moment We Broke Up

Mary’s older sister drove me home, cursing Patrick the entire way. As she left, she solemnly asked me, “Claire, don’t love him anymore. He’s not worth it.”

I smiled and nodded. “I know.”

From the moment his heart so openly leaned towards Eleanor, I knew he wasn’t worth it. But thinking of leaving him, I still found it hard to suppress the sourness rising in my throat. This trip to Sydney was probably fate’s way of giving me an opportunity. An opportunity to finally leave Patrick for good.

I practiced the violin for a while, then sat on the floor, packing my luggage. Before long, I started to doze off, unconsciously falling asleep among the piles of clothes. In my dream, someone seemed to sigh, picking me up and placing me on the bed. I squinted, seeing Patrick. His once neatly ironed shirt was now wrinkled, and he reeked of strong cigarette smoke. I couldn’t help but cough, raising a hand to push him away.

“You smell awful,” I mumbled.

I was very sensitive to smoke. When Patrick first started working, he was under a lot of stress, but even if he smoked at the office, he would immediately shower after coming home before getting close to me. He had actually quit smoking last year because Eleanor said she didn’t like it. I didn’t know why he had started again today.

Patrick seemed displeased by my rejection. He forcefully leaned over, pinning me to the bed. “Darling, don’t be angry,” he nuzzled his lips against my neck, the foul smoke continually invading my nostrils. “I was worried something would happen to Eleanor, and my mom would blame me again.”

I frowned, struggling to push him away. My accidentally injured right leg hit the foot of the bed, and the pain made me gasp.

“Stop it, Patrick.” I didn’t want to hear him talk about Eleanor. Every time I heard her name, I felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest.

“I’m sorry, darling, does your leg still hurt?” Patrick was momentarily flustered. He stood up like a child who had made a mistake, helplessly watching me gently rub my right leg.

I shook my head. “I’m not angry, I just don’t like the smell of smoke.”

“Then I’ll go take a shower. I’m sorry, darling.” Patrick observed my expression. Seeing that I didn’t seem truly angry, he let out a sigh of relief and walked towards the bathroom. Passing the clothes piled on the floor, he asked curiously, “Why are you suddenly packing clothes?”

“Going for a performance out of town?”

I said, “No, I’m moving out.”

Patrick stopped short. “What do you mean?”

“We need to cool down and think things through.”

Patrick irritably turned to glare at me. “Stop being dramatic, Claire. I haven’t slept all night, and I’m exhausted!”

“Didn’t you say you weren’t angry?”

I tried my best to speak calmly. “Did I make you go all night without sleep?”

“I’m not being dramatic, and I’m not angry. Patrick, I’m serious.”

Patrick was speechless. He stared at me blankly, as if I was a stranger to him. After a long pause, he laughed, exasperated.

“Fine, fine, fine.” Then he slammed the door and left.