Patience is a Virtue?

If I walk around the apartment much longer, I'll leave a trench in the carpet, Darren thought. Taking a deep breath, he slumped down onto the cream white sofa and sighed out loud, crossing his arms across his chest.

His phone sat on the glass coffee table and he found himself picking it up, just in case Aura had text and he hadn't realised but, just as the time before, there were neither a missed call or text.

Darren had a right to worry and knew how much of a big deal this was for Aurelie to go; the look on her face had said it all, which is why he hadn't pushed too hard for her not to go or for him to accompany her. Still, even though he had trust her enough to be safe, the image of her hurt or in any danger brought instant dismay to his heart and a shot of adrenaline to punch him in the stomach.

Chill out, Lad, he told himself, She must know what she's doing. Leaning forward, Darren picks up what remains of his second pint of Guiness and drains the glass. Moving through to the kitchen, he takes another can out of the fridge and drops the Chinese take-out containers into the trash before cleaning his dishes.

Thinking he heard a beeb, Darren runs through to the lounge, banging his knee of the door frame as he goes.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he shouts, hopping to the coffee table and snatching his phone.

No new messages. "Fuck", he repeats, aimed at both his phone and his knee, which he was hastily rubbing. Looking at the clock, Darren sighed before getting his third pint from the kitchen, hobbling as he went. Returning, he slouched down on the sofa and looked at his phone one more time.

No new messages. "Patience my fat Irish arse," he mutters, throwing his phone down and taking a gulp of the bitter alcohol.