I try to watch TV for a bit, but my thoughts keep going back to Patrick, no matter how much I try to forget about him. I can't get him out of my head, and I don't know why. It's weird, and I really don't like it.

To try and distract myself, I check for messages on my phone, but Brett hasn't called. For a moment, I wonder whether I should call him. I've go his number up and I'm about to press the inviting little green button that says "Call", but then I decide not to. He dumped me, after all. So I do the exact opposite and delete him from My Contacts. I don't want to see his name ever again.

Slowly, I get up, turn off the TV and put on my shoes. My movements are slow, mechanical, even, and I don't even know what I'm doing or where I'm going. It's only when I'm standing in my leather jacket and black boots in front of Patrick's door that I finally snap out of it.

I wonder whether I should knock. Then I wonder: why am I even here? I don't know Patrick. Do I? And then, almost like I'm watching myself from above, like a bird, I see myself knock on the door of a man I didn't know the name of two hours ago.

From inside, I hear the faint sounds of a small scuffle. I can hear a few whispered "Shit"s and then the key scrapes in the lock and the door opens.

It's not Patrick who answers the door but a taller guy, with dark poofy hair and stubble. He has wide eyes that stare at me accusingly. "Who are you?" he asks.

I stop for a minute. Who exactly am I to Patrick? I can't decide, so I just say, "I'm here to see Patrick." The guy raises an eyebrow. "I am!" I cry indignantly.

"Patrick, there's some hot ginger chick who says she's here to see you," he yells.

"Let her in," replies Patrick from inside. His voice sounds shaky, but there's a certain firmness to his words that makes the guy open the door, but not before giving me a funny look. I go inside.

The first thing I notice about Patrick's apartment is the size. It's a lot smaller than mine, and a heck of a lot messier. There's dirty clothes lying on the floor and a wonky coffee table covered in sheets of paper. The whole place smells of alcohol and cigarette smoke, as well as an underlying scent that might be pot, but I'm not sure. There's also another smell, like honey, that sticks to the room like glue. The room's pretty empty except for a battered TV in the corner and, weirdly enough, shelves lined with books and music. There's an old-fashioned record player perched on a small table that looks like it's come from someone's bedroom suite, and in the other corner, a slightly more up-to-date CD player.

In front of the coffee table, cross-legged on the floor, is Patrick. He's holding a lit cigarette in one hand, and with the other, he's frantically sorting through the sheets of paper, putting them into a pile, which he then shucks under the table.

"Hey," I say, squatting down next to him.

"Lydia!" he proclaims, surprised. "How come you're here?" I bite my lip. To be honest, I'm not really sure why I'm here at all. Thankfully, he picks up on this and hurriedly says, "Uh, Lydia, this is Joe," gesturing to the other guy, who grins and nods to me. I smile back. I've seen him coming and going, but I don't think I've ever said a word to him before today.

Patrick holds out a bottle of wine. "You want some?" I'm about to decline, but something makes me reconsider. I grab the bottle and gulp.

"Was it you who Pete was mouthing off to last night?" asks Joe.

"Yeah. It was."

"Sorry about that, man. He'd had a bad day, that's all. He's not usually such a dick."

"I sure know what those are like," I mutter. Joe looks at Patrick questioningly.

"Her boyfriend dumped her last night, and it's her birthday today," Patrick informs him. Joe shakes his head.

"What an asshole. I'll bet you're glad to be shot of him, right?" Patrick hits him over the head with a sheaf of papers and gives him a significant look. "Sorry," says Joe, looking sheepish. I don't know is he's talking to me or Patrick, but I smile anyway.

"You want one?" asks Patrick, offering me the packet of cigarettes. This I will say no to.

"Nah, I don't smoke," I say, waving him away.

"How come?" he asks, as though he's never heard of anyone who likes to take care of their health.

"My father died of lung cancer when I was a kid, so I don't really want to go the same way." This results in a very long and awkward silence.

"I'm sorry," Patrick says, shattering the quiet. Well, I guess someone had to.

"It's ok," I say, because it really is. I shouldn't have said that at all. I silently curse myself for being so stupid. Why the hell did I have to go and say that?

Patrick takes a drag, and it's only then that I realize Joe's still standing up, his tattooed arms folded. Oh. I get the feeling he's waiting for me to do something, but I'm not sure what. I don't want to ask him.

"Am I interrupting some...." I start, but Joe cuts me off.

"No we were just talking." About what? I wonder. He yanks the bottle from my grip (I hadn't even realized I was still holding it) and tips it back. He wordlessly passes it Patrick, who drinks too, and then wraps his arms around it, like it's a lifeline. Maybe it is.

"You live upstairs, right?" asks Joe.

"Uh-huh. I moved in a couple of years ago."

"You liking it?"

"Um, yeah, I guess?"

He looks across and Patrick and smiles. "I'm surprised that Patrick's managed to hold onto this one so long. He's usually evicted within a few months."

"How come?" This question's directed at Patrick, but, as usual, it's Joe who answers.

"Can't pay the bills. There's not enough money."

"Thank you, Joe, for confirming my financial situation for me," mutters Patrick, rolling his eyes and stubbing out his cigarette on side of the coffee table.

"You're welcome." Just then, there's a sound at the door. It opens, and two other guys come in. One of them, which I suppose is Pete, as he's the one who swore at me last night, gives Patrick an evil look. The other guy stands awkwardly stands next to the door. He's ginger and has a lot of tattoos. He smiles at me and gives me a small wave, so the others won't notice. I smile and wave back.

Meanwhile, Pete's kneeling beside Patrick, whispering into his ear. He looks furious, for some reason, and he keeps gesticulating at him, jabbing his finger in my direction. I can't tell what he's saying, because he's speaking very quietly and very fast. It's clear he wants me out.

Patrick listens to him for a bit, and then mutters, "Pete, this is my apartment."

"But this is ours," hisses Pete, gesturing to a door that leads into another room. Patrick shakes his head. "You wanna leave?" Pete demands.

"If I go, you'd be nothing." Patrick's losing his temper, but so is Pete. He grabs Patrick by the scruff of his neck and starts whispering threats to him.

Joe grabs Pete's arms and pins them behind his back, pulling him away from Patrick. Pete pulls his arms away from Joe's iron grip and hisses something, jabbing at his chest with his finger. Joe folds his arms and Pete throws his hands in the air, clearly exasperated. With a slam of the door, he's gone.

"Sorry about that," says Joe.

"Yeah, Pete's being a bit of a dick at the moment," says the other guy.

"Oh, yeah, Lydia, this is Andy," says Joe, pointing to the ginger guy. "Andy, this Lydia. She lives upstairs."

"Nice to meet you," says Andy, shaking my hand.

"You too," I say. I look over at Patrick. He's staring at the floor, still sitting cross-legged, and he appears to be talking or singing under his breath. Joe's noticed too, and he nudges him. Patrick looks up at him questioningly. Joe nods towards me, and Patrick jumps up and offers me the bottle. I take it gratefully, and then pass it to Andy.

"Are you ok?" I ask him, but he's just gazing at his shoes and doesn't say anything.

"He's fine," Andy murmurs. "He just gets like this sometimes.

Joe licks his lips and then says to me, "I think you should go." And so, baffled by Patrick's sudden silence, I do.

Back in my apartment, I try to make sense of the day. I don't really know where I am with Patrick. To be honest, I barely know him, but I want to. He seems to actually be a pretty nice guy, and not the asshole I thought he was. His friends seem ok, too. Except for Pete, that is, but I think he's just annoyed, although I don't know what he's actually annoyed about.

Then again, maybe he doesn't want me around. He's always quiet, and I don't know whether that's me being irritating or him being socially awkward. I suspect it might be the latter. Joe pretty much kicked me out, but I still don't get that.

It's confusing, and I'm tired. So I just decide to forget the crazy dynamics of friendships (and acquaintances) and go to bed.