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A couple weeks after Patrick's disappearance, Henry had grown distressed, frantically searching for the other boy in the junkyard, in alleyways, hell, even asking other students if they had known where Patrick went. At first, he thought Patrick might've just gone on a vacation or something, but that wasn't the case when he stopped getting phone calls from him, sex talking. Henry was smoking Patrick's favourite brand of cigarettes on his bed, reminiscing about him.
Memories flashed in his head; Going on little "dates", getting blackout drunk and having sex, which only ended in a party of puke, putting out cigarettes on one another's tongue and sucking on the sore flesh.. it felt all surreal. Why would Patrick just disappear without a trace? His eyes welled up with tears, missing the cold yet alluring touch only Patrick had. He missed him so much. He could still feel those bony fingers in his rear, mouth, around his neck. Chilling, eerily soft. His body shook with each silent sob he choked out, the cigarette slowly going out, he only took 3 puffs. "Just come back to me." Henry mumbled, his eyebrows furrowing in anger and desperation. He knew it was pathetic to be crying over someone, especially a guy, but he couldn't help it.
Henry looked out the window, it was dark. A dark summer night, the faint noises of a carnival rang through his ears, kids yelling and laughing while he cried like a bitch. A street lamp caught his eye, resulting him in seeing his reflection. He noticed his mullet got longer, his hair slick with sweat and tears. "You look like a sissy, boy." Butch said, a couple days ago. Henry stiffened as he remembered those words. He clenched his fist and suddenly got up, his mind filled with Patrick. His Patrick.
He grabbed a rusty old pair of scissors and ran to the bathroom, turning on the flickering yellow tinted light above himself, he saw a weak guy who couldn't handle someone disappearing. He was nothing but weak. He scowled and lifted the rusty scissors, chopping off the long ends. Blonde hair fell around him on the floor, some falling onto his bare shoulders. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you!" He roared, all he could think about was that damn brunette. He couldn't keep on thinking of him, he needed this misery to end one way or another, and he wasn't killing himself.
Once his hair was short, he stared at himself in the filthy mirror, his scowl fading into something more sad. He knew Patrick had found his mullet cute, but he had cut it all off. He suddenly broke down in tears, his head hung low and hands grabbing at the counter desperately, veins popping out. "I'm sorry. I'm fucking.. sorry." Henry hissed, watching tears and snot fall onto the floor and onto some chunks of hair on the floor. He needed that boy, and that boy needed him. If he was alive. They were nothing but a toxic type of duo, full of control, isolation, suffering and worth. But Henry, he had enjoyed all of it. Every second that Patrick had spent picking on him, hurting him, messing with his head, manipulating him, he always wanted more. He needed that control Patrick held in the palm of his hand.
Henry choked on his tears, but quickly recovered and wiped his face with a filthy towel that hasn't been washed in god knows how long..
His mind was broken. Broken permanently, because of Patrick. He himself was broken. He couldn't be fixed, he was all alone now. A broken toy left alone for the rest of his life, who wants a broken toy, when you can break a fresh toy the way YOU want to?