Light My Way Back Home •Patrick Stump+Fall Out Boy•

Chapter One: Open Your Eyes, Child, Let's Be On Our Way

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

His soft finger traces my jaw line lightly, the rough yet smooth touch of his pointer finger making me giddy inside. His other hand is occupied with intwining our fingers, our hands moulding together perfectly as my hand fits in his. I let out a peaceful sigh, letting my eyes slide open just the slightest bit. Dawn is just an hour past us, the sky still cloudy and just beginning to transform to a dim blue. Through the thick web of my dark eyelashes, I take note of Patrick and his soft blue green eyes, cloudy with sleep. When he notices that I have opened my eyes, he smiles drowsily at me.

"We have to get up soon." Patrick mumbles, dropping his hand from where it travelled to my cheekbone to around my waist. He tightens his grasp on me and pulls me into his body, holding me close to his chest. I snuggle into his chest, feeling his heart beat against my chest.

"But do we?" I ask him, knowing what the answer is anyways,

"Maya is going to wake up any minute now." Patrick comments quietly, his fingers twirling strand after strand of my dark coloured hair. "Her diaper is probably full by now, her bottle is empty, the pacifier is probably under the blanket, and she's going to start crying for food."

"I know." I whisper softly, curling into Patrick's warm embrace. We lay there for a moment together; Patrick keeping me locked securely in his arms while I soak up each ticking second before we have to part ways.

"Let's go," Patrick murmurs tiredly, reluctantly letting go of me and pushing himself up into a seated position. The blanket uncovers his black t-shirt, and a sliver of skin shows when he leans over to the nightstand to grab his glasses. He fumbles with them for a second before he slides them on his face. He smiles quickly at me before he's getting out of bed, heading for the bedroom door just as Maya begins her morning routine of waking up in tears.

"Mama! Baba!" She screams from the other room as Patrick shuffles his way down the hallways and to her bedroom. That's what she calls us through her drooling mouth and originally bare gums that are now producing baby teeth. I roll out of bed and stumble over my feet as I head for the bathroom in the master bedroom. I open the door and begin my morning routine of showering, washing my hair, blow drying it, brushing(or combing it- I got some of my mom's hair genetics, so my hair gets very tangled when I sleep on it)it, straightening my hair, and changing. I lazily strip down from the shorts and tank top I slept in and get a slightly hot shower running. I step inside and sigh as the water pellets attack my skin.

The little paragraph that I repeat to myself every morning comes to me, and I stand there in the misty shower as I whisper under my breath.

My name is Cole Wentz.
I am 23 years old.
I am a rāpe victim.
I have been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
My home is Chicago, Illinois.
My home is Patrick Stump and our daughter, Maya.

It's silly, really; standing there and reminding myself of the things that I could in no way forget. But the therapist I see, Doctor Katherine, tells me that facing everything and reminding myself of my strength will help me get better. It's obvious that they believe I won't get better, considering my parents and my fiancé believe that visiting a therapist, the same type of people I currently work for, will benefit me in burning the bridges I just can't seem to destroy.

I shake my head and let out a gasp for air, sucking in a misty, humid breath.

I have work today, and Patrick is going to the studio, so Maya is going over to my Mom's house today. Patrick's parents and my own parents are excited to be grandparents to Maya, and we have this system organized to make sure that both sets of grandmas and grandpas get equal bonding time with the toddler. As of now, she's about nineteen months old, and she recognizes familiar faces very well.

When I finish with the bathroom, I get dressed in black skinny jeans, a nice button up, and I tie my hair up into a high ponytail. I sigh tiredly as I rummage through my makeup bag on the dresser. I pull out my eye makeup; mascara and eyeliner. I head back over to the bathroom so I can apply my eyeliner and make myself look less like I want to shoot myself.

"Cole!" Patrick shouts from down the hall while I finish up. My head shoots up in worry but I quickly calm myself down. Nothing is wrong.

"Yeah?" I call back. Before I know it, Patrick is pushing open the bedroom door with one hand, his other holding Maya on his hip. My eyes shift from the boy that I am helplessly in love with to the girl I give my all too. Maya has a mixture of our genetics, as most babies do. She's been gifted with wavy curls(courtesy of my genes) that are an adorable shade of dirty blonde that matches Patrick's hair. She has these really cute big cheeks, and I'm not sure if they came from Patrick or my family's side. But her eyes are obviously Patrick's.

"Should I give her the rice cereal or should I feed her the other one?" Patrick asks me. Maya looks up from toying with Patrick's t-shirt to me, and a cute grin spreads across her face as she says Mama.

"Give her the rice cereal." I smile, and Patrick nods before turning back and heading down the hallway with the drooling one year old hanging onto him.

I sigh and run a hand over the top of my hair, smoothing the dark locks down. I grab my bag off of the counter, knowing that everything is in there.

"Hey," I say as I head down to the kitchen where Patrick has sat Maya down in her highchair. "Could you put her in the gray sweater when you're taking her to my Mom's? She's overprotective of Maya and she gave it to me last time we didn't bring her in a sweater."

"Actually, I was going to drive you to work today. It's raining outside." Patrick says, gesturing his head back to the TV in the living room. My hands touch the painted cement wall as I peer around the corner, my eyes locking onto the News channel broadcasting something about bad weather or something. It's about fifty degrees which is slightly colder than usual.

"You sure?" I ask him, and he nods, handing me a mug of tea that he's made for me. I have this issue that if I don't eat breakfast, which I very rarely do because it's too much work, I get extremely dizzy.

"Yeah-"

"Breaking News," the reporter is saying as they play the tacky intro screen. "An emergency evacuation at the Metropolitan Correctional Centre has lead to the estimated escape of eight convicts. More will be released as we cover this story."

I bring the mug to my mouth, inhaling the sweet scent of the Raspberry Passion Fruit tea that I like.

"What prison?" Patrick asks me, wiping Maya's mouth and giving her the small juice bottle.

"Metropolitan Correctional Centre." I reply.

"Isn't that the facility Derek is in?

-/::\-
First chapter of this gorgeous piece of shit. I assure you this book will be anything but cliché.
Thanks!

-Stay Classy, Young Volcanoes

•LeaveNoWordsUnspoken