John Laurens was everything Patty's mother always told her she needed to look for in a husband.
'From a wealthy family and destined for success', for one. Patty didn't really care about that all that much, if she were to be honest, even if money was a nice perk.
Other things her mother said, she agreed with more.
Kindness. John was probably the kindest boy she knew. Patience. Virtue. He was so patient and virtuous that he wouldn't even hold her hand most days. Respect. He never spoke out of turn and not once had he said even the vaguest of cruel words to her.
And he was gorgeous–that hadn't been on her mother's list, but she had mumbled a 'and it helps when he's easy on the eyes' as she'd walked away, so Patty had jotted that down as more of a guideline than a strict rule.
They were only seventeen, still in highschool, but lots of people married young these days; her parents had been twenty when they'd tied the knot, and they'd had her only a year later.
She never brought it up, of course, for fear she would scare him away with the mere mention of marriage like she had seen happen to some of her girlfriends, but that didn't stop her from doodling Martha Laurens all over her notes like the lovesick schoolgirl she was.
Lots of people married their highschool-sweetheart, after all, and John was too prim and proper and honest to start something without the intention of finishing it.
John invited her to go places a lot.
To take a walk, go to the library, get lunch–it didn't escape her that he always chose public places to take her.
She thought it quite sweet that he was so concerned with her reputation he didn't even dare suggest going home with one another–or, Lord forbid, taking a drive out to lover's lane. It appeased her father as well, and every time he ran into John's father, he would make a point to express to him what a perfect gentleman his son was with Patty.
Mister Laurens seemed quite pleased with that.
He was an imposing man, serious, distant, with a hard set to his shoulders that made Patty glad she hadn't yet had a conversation with him one on one. She knew it wouldn't be avoidable forever, especially with her hopes for where this relationship would go, but she trusted John when he said, "You don't have to worry about him, Martha. That's just the way he is, he doesn't mean anything by it."
John was the only person who called her by her actual name.
No Patty, or Patsy, or even Marty, just Martha.
It made her feel grown up. Like John could see beyond the seventeen year old girl she was slowly evolving out of, as though he was already addressing the woman she would become, the woman he hopefully planned to share his life with.
He took her seriously like no one else did, and she didn't think he knew just how much that meant to her.
Alexander Hamilton was in the year below them, and for some reason he always seemed to hang around John.
"He's my friend," he would say with a shrug and a disarming grin, and Martha would want to ask why he spent just as much time with that boy as with his girlfriend, but she never did.
Patty wouldn't even mind him that much if he didn't always get that weird expression on his face when he thought she couldn't see it; something that was almost pitying, but not quite. It still had an edge, as though whatever it was that made him pity her, at least a small part of him thought she deserved it.
"I'll talk to him," he promised every time she brought it up to John, and then Alexander wouldn't come close to the two of them at all for a few days–and then he'd be back. Not overbearingly so, never overbearingly so, more like a shadow at the corner of one's eyes.
Always there, but only noticeable if one put conscious effort into acknowledging his presence.
He was seeing a girl as well, or at least Patty thought so. Alexander had lots of different girls on his arm, and she felt bad for all of them.
He would grow up to be one of the men Patty's parents always warned her about, but as long as he wasn't a bad influence on John, she wouldn't say anything against him.
They had been going steady for almost three months when Patty suggested they go out Friday night. Not even to do anything risky, just- dinner. Maybe the movies.
John froze for a moment. He took to rolling up his sleeves, baring his defined forearms, and he never once looked away from the fabric when he answered.
"Alex and I are going camping that weekend."
Are you? She wanted to say, because he'd never mentioned anything about those plans to her throughout the week, but she stayed silent even though she could tell something was off.
Patty wanted to be a good girlfriend, and Mom said that a good wife never talked back.
John disappeared most weekends.
He went camping, he said. Helped build a shed. Mended some fences.
With Alexander.
Patty wasn't jealous, she was just… displeased that her boyfriend spent not a single weekend with her; she only got the weekdays, school and a few hours after school, and it would be fine, perhaps, if Alexander wasn't-
If he wasn't the way he was.
He rotated girlfriends like one would flip through songs in a jukebox, and he was scrappy, only wore clothes that didn't fit him quite right and that had gone without a wash for too long, always scrounging smokes off of his friends, never bringing his own food.
Alexander was a poor kid who liked to sponge off his wealthy friends and seduce half the female student-body, and everyone just let him.
Patty had brought it up to John only once. He had gotten a look, had turned to her with a pinch to the corners of his mouth and a sharp edge to his voice.
"His father doesn't care about him. We help out."
She didn't see how that was John's problem, but she didn't say it for fear that the sour expression on his face would deepen and turn into harsh words she wasn't sure she could take.
Patty got used to sharing John with Alexander, if only with reluctance.
Her mother had told her that men had their close friends, they would keep having them, and there was nothing the women in their lives could do about it, no matter how annoyed they were.
So, she learned to adapt.
Alexander was… fine, after all. He wasn't violent, or cruel, or mean. Just poor and a nuisance.
But John looked at him with stars in his eyes and that sweet smile curling his lips, and she could tolerate having to put up with him if it meant she got to see him so happy and carefree, like he rarely ever was otherwise.
A small part of her wondered, though... why he never looked at her like that. Like she was everything, the sun and the moon and all the stars in the sky–but that was a ridiculous thing to dwell on.
John wouldn't be with her if he didn't love her as she loved him, and it wasn't like Alexander was competition. He was nothing more than a friend, a boy, a little project to fund that made John feel good about himself.
In other words: He was a distraction, but a harmless one.
Around the fifth time John cancelled plans with her at the last minute because 'Alex needed him', the resentment threatened to boil over despite her honest and fierce efforts to control herself.
Patty was a good girlfriend. She never caused unnecessary drama, bit her tongue whenever she was tempted to put her foot down, she was supportive, always made time, didn't tell Alexander to keep to one of the girls he liked to ruin for a change instead of hanging onto her boyfriend, like she had imagined doing way too often.
So, why was it that John would ditch her and their plans at the drop of a hat if Alexander's smile was just a little bit off?
Sometimes there wasn't even anything wrong with him, he just asked John if he wanted to come down to the creek with him after school, flashing that stupidly bright smile all her girlfriends swooned over.
And John would agree without thinking.
The number of times she'd had to clear her throat to remind him she was still there, that they had plans later, was ridiculous.
He was sheepish, then, scratched the back of his neck with a nervous smile, and asked her if she would like to come along?
Patty never took him up on that, too miffed in the moment to even consider it.
John did always make it up to her, though; brought her flowers the next day, took her out to a fancy restaurant, and Patty just couldn't stay mad at him when he was trying so hard.
Still.
Sometimes she wished Alexander would just disappear off the face of the earth and leave her boyfriend to her.
It was five whole months into their relationship when John asked her to attend family-dinner for the first time.
She agreed immediately. John had come home to meet her parents a few times already, but she hadn't officially met his family as his girlfriend yet.
Well, Patty knew all of them–they lived in a small town, and Mister Laurens was a businessman, everyone knew him, and of course John's younger siblings Patsy and Harry went to the same school as them.
But being included in a family-dinner as John's girlfriend was a different thing entirely.
"And how is my future daughter-in-law finding everything so far?" Mister Laurens said with a twinkle to his eyes, a teasing glint that adults got when they knew they had said something that would make her blush.
And Patty was flustered, of course, the heat shooting into her cheeks as she wrung her fingers in her lap, mindful not to crinkle her skirt too much. She did manage to stammer out that everything was just great, that she was so thankful for the invitation, but that she didn't quite know about 'future daughter-in-law' yet.
"I would think that is where the two of you are heading, is it not? I barely get to see my own son anymore with all the time he spends with you. You wouldn't believe it now, but he used to spend the weekends holed up in his room before he met you, dear girl."
That gave Patty pause.
The conversation lulled to a stop as she thought it over; Mister Laurens raised his eyebrows at her apparent hesitation and asked her if something was wrong right away.
She only took a moment to weigh if she should share her thoughts, but Mister Laurens was- in spite of her earlier doubts, he was kind, and she trusted him in that unquestioning way in which she trusted all her parents' friends as well–the ones she had known all her life, the ones who had watched her grow up.
And, well. If he assumed that John spent the weekends with her–which he had never done, not once–then… John was lying to him.
She didn't know why he would do that, but she didn't like it either way.
So, Patty took a deep breath and admitted, very quietly, her eyes following John's every move as he stacked the dirty plates and bantered with his oldest sister, that he hadn't been spending the weekends with her.
That she didn't know where he disappeared to, but she did know that Alexander was involved in some way.
A shadow flitted over his features at the mention of that name, and he gave a grave nod, thanked her for being honest.
John drove her home later that evening in silence; it didn't differ from the silence that usually accompanied the two of them, but it somehow still felt a hundred times heavier.
He parked the car at the curb and walked her to her front-door, ever the gentleman, and rummaged around the pockets of his sturdy jacket, bemoaning that he had run out of smokes.
Patty smiled politely and leaned up for the small goodbye-peck he always gave her, watched as he turned away and jogged over the pristine front-lawn back to his car.
It was only when the engine stuttered back to life with a deep rumble and John took off down the street, that she realised she had never told him about her conversation with his father.
Patty stood on the doorstep for a few more minutes, mesmerised by the orange light of the streetlamps bouncing off the silver trashcan-lids, and wondered if John was headed down to the store to buy smokes or if he was off to see Alexander.
The next day, John came to school with a bruise purpling along the side of his face, and Alexander was nowhere in sight.
He was late, and Patty only caught a fleeting glimpse of him when he finally arrived–they didn't have any classes together that morning, so she had to sit there, worried out of her mind, a steel weight in the pit of her stomach, for hours until lunch rolled around and she could see him.
All the while, her classmates gossiped, of course. Speculated.
'Anyone seen Hamilton yet?' they said. 'Maybe they fell in with the wrong crowd'.
But John wouldn't have. He just wouldn't.
Patty almost sprinted from the room when the bell sounded at last, hurried through the twisting corridors and out into the schoolyard, over to the little shaded corner John and his friends frequented, her books clutched to her upset heart like a shield.
She found John sitting cross-legged on the ground, his back against the rough bark of a tree, writing something down on a notepad balanced on his knee.
He glanced up as she approached, and Patty stood, frozen, and just stared.
His cheekbone was a deep purple that faded out into a sickly green and yellow down his cheek and up around his eye.
It looked like it hurt. Like it really, really hurt.
Patty got as far as opening her mouth to ask what had happened when John cut her off, his voice just as inexpressive and toneless as his eyes.
"Don't ever mention Alex to my father again."
He stared for another moment, a moment so long it felt like three and a half years to her, and then his eyes dropped back down to his notepad, and he continued scribbling.
Patty stood there, wanting desperately to say something, anything, a horrible, tight pressure in her belly that made her sick to her stomach, but no words came to mind.
After a while, she just hung her head and left.
A quick glance back over her shoulder told her that John had taken no interest in her departure.
The following weeks were odd.
Alexander kept his distance–he barely even glanced in their direction most days, and every time they passed him in the halls, John stared straight ahead.
They acted like they didn't even know each other.
Patty couldn't enjoy the much needed break from Alexander stealing her boyfriend away every chance he got, though, because John… wasn't the same.
He was less attentive. Lost in his thoughts, staring off into the distance with a frown, and always writing something.
She could never quite make out what exactly it was he was scribbling–the one time she got a good enough look, the only thing she could tell was that it was french.
Patty hadn't even known John could speak french.
Once or twice, she noticed him discreetly slip a folded piece of paper into the palm of one of his friends, Gilbert, who proceeded to walk off without an acknowledgement or goodbye.
It was only when she caught Gilbert clasp Alexander's hand a few days later when they were all out in the yard that she managed to make some kind of sense of all the odd behaviour around her.
A flash of white was visible between their palms, and Alexander's fingers curled around something when he drew his hand back and chanced a quick glance around–before he handed Gilbert a slip of paper in turn.
She was almost glad when Alexander became more present again, when he walked up to them uninvited and gave John a blinding smile before he seemed to remember her and nodded in her direction.
Yes, she had to share her boyfriend again, but at least John's smile was back.
Patty felt just… a bit queasy about the fact that John had needed Alexander to return his smile to him, and that she hadn't been enough to accomplish that herself.
After they'd graduated, on the one year anniversary of their first date, John took her to the park and sat her down on a bench underneath two old oaks, the canopy of leaves overhead providing some much needed relief from the blistering summer sun.
He fidgeted with an unlit cigarette for a while before he pinched it into the corner of his mouth and struck a match to light it, and then they just sat and watched the people walking past.
John had stopped offering her a cigarette when he took one out for himself months ago–Patty thought it was just like how her mother never put mashed potatoes on her father's plate at supper, because she knew he didn't like it.
The simple familiarity warmed her heart. Her mother was right–it really was the little things that made a relationship special.
John stared up into the twisting branches above their heads as he finished his cigarette. The last puff of smoke blew from his lips in a little grey cloud, like fog drifting up from the forest after a heavy downpour.
His profile looked like something out of a painting like this, hazel eyes, shining near golden when the sun hit them just right, downturned as he dropped the cigarette butt and crushed it under his heel, long eyelashes kissing his cheeks, dark hair–longer than anyone really wore it these days–tied at his nape, and the smattering of freckles along the bridge of his nose forming constellations in the changing light that fought its way through the leaf-ceiling sheltering them.
"Martha," he said and glanced back up at her. She snapped to attention, having gotten lost in his handsome features for a moment. "I- I need to ask you something."
She offered a smile and shuffled closer, took one of his big hands into both of hers, and squeezed softly.
John squeezed back and drew a deep breath, didn't meet her eye as he fumbled something out of his pocket.
Patty watched, eyes wide, as he flipped the small box open with one hand and held it up for her to see.
"Will you marry me?"
From inside the black velvet box, a thin golden band glinted back at her, topped with a single, white stone that shone in all the colours of the rainbow as it caught the sunlight.
Yes was out of her mouth before she'd even comprehended the question.
She said it a few more times just for good measure, and John smiled at her, careful and small in a way that betrayed his nerves, that explained why he had been so quiet up until then; it was a team-effort to fumble the ring onto her shaking finger, but as soon as it was on, she knew she would never take it off again.
Patty cupped his face between her hands and kissed him, then, not a single spark of the firework of thoughts in her head dedicated to worrying about who might see.
They would be married, after all.
John would be her husband and Patty would be his wife, and they could kiss all they wanted, finally move beyond the careful pecks shared, on to intimacies she hadn't dared think about yet, and-
Martha Laurens would become a reality.
…and perhaps, when their next anniversary rolled around, they would have their first baby on the way already. Just like her parents had done.
When she pulled back, his eyes were red and brimmed with tears, and Patty couldn't help but laugh, overcome with a happiness that was too overwhelming to put into words, her own eyes misting over as well.
The only thing she managed to do was to tell him how happy she was before she tackled herself back into his arms, and John rested his chin on her head, sniffling quietly.
"Yeah, me too," he said, choked up.
Patty couldn't wait to call him her husband.
Alexander congratulated them with a tight smile when they ran into him a few days later.
He barely looked at her for the duration of the conversation, his gaze locked with John's, not hearing a word of what came out of Patty's mouth.
She couldn't bring herself to care–there was a ring on her finger, after all, and that put her above Alexander in every single conceivable way.
A wife would always have more sway over her husband than a best friend.
Even if the best friend happened to be Alexander Hamilton.
Their parents were, of course, ecstatic, and a mere week after the proposal, they had thrown together an engagement party between the three of them.
John flinched when his father clapped a heavy hand to his shoulder and told him that he'd always known he would do the right thing; Patty didn't think about it. She just bashfully ducked her head and tried not to let it show how pleased she was that her future father-in-law considered marrying her the right thing.
The evening went by in a blur of laughter and friendly conversation. Their families mingled and really got to know one another–Patty listened with half an ear to the story John's youngest sister Polly stumbled her way through, and at the same time she tuned in to Mister Laurens telling her mother what a lovely girl Patty was, and somewhere in the back of her mind she was distantly aware of her father talking to John about his plans for college-
The shrill ringing of the phone cut through the thrum of conversation, and everyone fell silent for a moment.
"I'll get it," John said and bounded across the room, disappearing into the open archway that led into the kitchen, and another heartbeat later, the ringing ceased.
Patty excused herself as well, thinking that maybe it was just another well-wisher and the call would be wrapped up quickly, but she stopped dead in her tracks after she had taken but a few steps into the room.
John stood with one shoulder against the wall, hunched into himself, the handset cradled flush to the side of his face.
"Hey, hey, slow down-" he spoke, directly into the mouthpiece and so quiet it wouldn't carry into the other room; the words were soft, dripping with care like she had never heard them before.
He hadn't noticed her, and Patty stayed silent, her throat too tight to form any words even if she had wanted to.
Had something happened? He seemed upset-
"What- sweetheart, what's wrong? No, I- can you calm down for me? Come on, baby, deep breaths."
Patty stood there in a daze, her mind lost in a thick fog of confusion.
Sweetheart. Baby.
The only thing running through her head was that John didn't like petnames. He never called her by one, and he had put an immediate stop to it whenever she'd attempted to call him by anything but his given name.
"Where are you? Are you alright? Are you hurt? Baby-"
She had heard him speak like this to his siblings before. Polly was sweetheart, sometimes. Patsy was honey. Harry was as well, on occasion.
Patty glanced back over her shoulder into the living room.
They were all right there.
"By the creek? Okay, okay, I'm on my way. Stay there, do you hear me? Don't move, I'll come get you. Yes, love you, too, Alex. Bye."
He gently set the handset back into its cradle and slumped against the wall for a long moment, rubbing a hand down his face.
The ring on her finger tightened. It clamped down until it cut into her very bones, melted away skin and muscle until there was nothing left but the bare core of her being.
Alexander.
Why was she not surprised.
It was always Alexander.
John sucked in a breath and pushed himself off the wall, turned- and froze when he saw her standing there.
The panic overtook the worry reflected in his eyes, and she watched him struggle to come up with something, anything, any kind of excuse.
"Can- can we talk later? I'll explain, I promise, just- I need to go. Sorry." It rushed out of him in one breath, and he didn't wait for an answer before he strode past her and back into the living room.
Patty listened to the clirr of his keys when he picked them up, the rustle of heavy fabric–his jacket, and why would he take his jacket in the middle of summer if not with the intention to stay out until he'd need it–and his empty words, explaining a friend needed his help right now and there was no time.
She turned just in time to see the front-door fall closed behind him.
Patty stayed silent the entire time, even though she wanted to scream.
The clock struck midnight, and she hadn't heard anything from her- her fiancé yet.
'He would explain later', he had said. 'He promised.'
Patty sat at the table in her parents' kitchen, an empty mug that had once contained tea in front of her, fingers drumming restlessly as she waited for the phone to ring, even though she damn well knew it wasn't going to.
Sweetheart. Baby.
Alexander.
They were like that.
Fags.
She should have known, should have seen it, but she had been blind to every single sign, convinced that a nice boy like John couldn't-
That there was no way-
And now, there was a ring on her finger, glinting with empty promises and meaningless words in the washed out light of the overhead lamp.
Well. This would be the last time she let them get away with their bullshit.
Patty pushed herself up from her chair and breathed through the dozens of sharp stabs that punctured her ribcage with every tiny movement–the million shards of her broken heart, slipping out through her ribs to shatter on the floor.
Her parents had gone to bed hours ago, so she didn't feel bad when she took her father's car-keys without asking.
Patty put the car in park and turned the headlights off when she reached the last phone-booth before the town fizzled out into scattered farmhouses.
Some way down the path, the road would fade into nothing more than a dirt-track, and her car wouldn't help her there. She knew this road–it was a popular spot with kids, and she and her friends had used to cycle there and down to the creek it led to almost every day of the week during summer-holidays long past.
That was what John had said when he'd talked to Alexander.
'By the creek.' This was the only possible spot they could have been talking about, and the phone-booth in front of the car had to have been the one he had called from.
They were long gone, probably, because why would they stay there? But Patty was sick, she was sick of waiting, sick of being second choice, sick of being treated like an afterthought by the man who'd asked her to marry him, knowing full well he was a fucking faggot.
She pushed the door open and locked the car before she set out on the short walk down to the creek.
The night was cloudless and the moon full, so everything was illuminated enough for her to see perfectly well.
As she walked, she couldn't help but remember the past year, all the times she should have realised, all the secret smiles she'd thought nothing of, the way Henry Laurens had reacted that one time she'd mentioned Alexander to him-
The boiling hot fury in her heart cooled and solidified the farther along the path she went, and by the time she spotted two figures sitting in the gently swaying grass, the little red dot of a single lit cigarette the only spot of colour in the blue and silver landscape, whatever was left of her heart had calcified.
She felt heavy. Heavy and cold, despite the relatively warm night. Heavy and cold and betrayed and so, so hurt.
It was the ring, probably. It weighed her down.
Patty sucked in a breath and stomped over to where they sat.
By the time she was close enough to talk, they had gotten to their feet, the cigarette extinguished like the last shred of goodwill she'd had left in her, and John stretched out an arm to his side and gently pushed Alexander halfway behind himself.
She snorted–cynical and very unladylike, she knew, but she just didn't care anymore.
Alexander had John's jacket draped around his shoulders, she noted with a stale taste on her tongue.
She had worn that jacket as well, sometimes. It looked better on him.
Patty hated both of them for it.
"Martha-" John began, but the sound of his voice alone was enough to crack her stone heart back open and make the lava bubble forth from the depths.
"Shut your mouth," she snapped. Alexander curled both his arms around the one still in front of himself and stepped out from behind John, holding onto him like Patty had done every day for the past year. "You-"
She broke off and blinked the angry tears from her eyes.
"You- you're cruel, John Laurens. You're a cruel man," he said and raised a hand to scrub over her leaking eyes; the ring glittered in the moonlight, and she never ever wanted to look at it again.
"I'm sorry," he responded quietly. Alexander slid one of his hands down the length of his arm and laced their fingers together, and God help her, she wanted to break every last one of those fingers. "I'm sorry, Martha, I never meant to hurt you-"
She snorted a humourless laugh. "You meant to hurt someone. If it hadn't been me, it would have been some other poor girl, am I right? God, you're- you're disgusting."
John swallowed thickly and averted his gaze, shameful.
Good. He should be ashamed. Ashamed for treating her like he had, ashamed for being enough of a coward that Patty had to come find him instead of the other way around, ashamed of these disgusting urges he shared with Alexander.
"I- yes. Yes. But- I needed to protect us. My father-"
"I don't want to hear it!" Her voice expanded over the dark fields around them, loud and hysteric, and it felt good. Screaming was good. She deserved to scream, and John deserved to be screamed at.
Patty breathed deeply once the sound of her own voice had faded and they descended into the pressing silence of the night once more.
The ring burned her finger and made her skin crawl, knowing what she now knew about that man.
She fumbled it off her finger with such haste she skinned her knuckle in the process, and then she chucked it at him hard enough the impact rang out between them.
It bounced off his chest and landed on the grass at his feet.
"You should keep it," he said quietly, staring down at the softly gleaming metal. "Sell it, maybe-"
"I don't want it," she cut in, ice in her voice. "I don't want your money. Give it to your whore. I hope you'll be happy together until both of you fags end up dead in some ditch."
John looked like she'd struck him, features twisting with a kind of heartbreak she had never known–she hoped it was worse than hers. He deserved it.
"Don't act like a scorned lover, Martha," Alexander spoke up, stupidly reminding her of his presence. "I'm not the 'other woman' in this situation–you are."
She barely heard John's gentle admonishment over the screeching in her ears, a sound so grating and horrible she thought her eardrums would burst.
"Another word from you and I'm going straight to the police to turn you in," she said, and that shut him up good. "Both of you."
John pulled Alexander closer, wrapped his arms around him almost like he wanted to protect the little rat, and Patty sneered, every patch of her skin John had ever touched crawling with repulsion, before she turned away and strode back the way she came.
They watched her until she disappeared from view; she could feel their eyes on her like the edge of a knife between her shoulder-blades.
All she told her friends and family was that John had cheated on her, and that the wedding was off.
When John didn't resurface after the night he had disappeared from their engagement-party, everyone just assumed he had eloped with the other woman.
Patty didn't say anything, no matter how much she was needled for answers; she just wanted to forget the whole thing had ever happened.
Mister Laurens gave her a knowing look every time they crossed paths in public, but they never really talked. He knew that she knew, and she knew that he knew, and that was it.
Once in a while, she found something John had gotten her in the depths of her closet or hidden away in a drawer, and she wanted to cry and scream every time, because curse him, curse him for stepping into her life with the intention of making her fall for him, curse him for having succeeded in that, curse him for being perfect, the perfect man, exactly what Patty had always wanted, except for the most important thing-
He hadn't loved her back. Not even for one second.
And she should have realised it sooner. Should have known right away from the way Patty had always been 'Martha', and Alexander had always been 'Alex' that he'd been using her as a cover, and nothing more.
Patty had been nothing to him–nothing but a means to an end.