[A/N: Apologies for the crap that is this chapter. I promise something exciting/horrifying will happen soon.]

Dear Patrick,

I'm getting better. Like, I have my bad days, and my even worse nights, but I'm getting better.

You're here almost every single day, sometimes only for a short while, sometimes you stay late into the evening. You have no idea how much you've helped. Knowing that you'll come back tomorrow, that's what gets me through the night. Knowing that someone cares.

But. You being here means that Joe is never far behind. He always visits with you. He's always here before you, and he always goes home after you. I don't even know how he knows when you're going to be here, he's like psychic or something. The man is on a mission to stop me being alone with you even for a second. I mean, I love Joe, he's a great guy, but I would also love to slap him sometimes. The dude doesn't even take bathroom breaks when he's here.

Meanwhile, it's full speed ahead on the new record. I've been spouting lyrics all over the place with everything that's happened, and you just gather them all up and make music, it's amazing to watch. The other day, I did this thing talking about the suicide, but wrapped up in this love song, and you got it, straight away. You read the messy words in the notebook I handed to you, and you saw what I was trying to say. And suddenly there was a melody, and they came to life. And it was so perfect. You're so perfect.

I'm doing a great job at getting over you.

I haven't seen much of Emma lately. There's a small hope in me that maybe you drifted apart, and decided to call it quits? Or maybe you started to like someone else, say, me? Or maybe she accidentally tripped and fell into a very deep hole with fire and knives at the bottom of it? A guy can dream. But Joe assures me that you are very happy together, so I just nod along when you talk about her.

That's the one time I can't stand you. You don't bring her up often, but when you do it's so deliberate, as if you want to show me how wrong I was about her. It's started seeping in to our conversations more and more. You're all Emma likes this shirt, or Emma's so nice, she's so respectful of our music, or the one that hurt most, it's great to have a girlfriend who's also your best friend.

Your best fucking friend. What happened to me, I thought I was your best friend? Or am I only worth something to you when I myself feel worthless? As soon as I start to get better, are you just going to abandon me?

No. I'm not going back there. This letter started out positively, I'm not going to let that go. You've been helping me so much, and you are at a perfect liberty to talk about your girlfriend at any time, even if it makes me want to throw up. Being angry at you didn't turn out well the last time, and besides, I'm getting better, aren't I.

Aren't I?

From Pete