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

Chapter Four: You Read Me Like A Book, But The Pages All Are Torn And Frayed

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

The very next morning, I wake up to the sound of someone pounding their fist on the front door downstairs. It was steady yet impending at the same time, the timing erratic and all around spewing out that something was wrong. It couldn't be the superintendent of the building, because we didn't call for repairs and we weren't being noisy. The sudden loud bang erupting from the first floor of the apartment sends me reeling and swatting Patrick's chest.

"What time is it?" I mumble groggily when Patrick bolts up in bed. His chest rises and falls with each intake of breath before he looks at me. If looks could kill, Patrick would be back to sleep. "Someone is at the door."

"It's-" Patrick grabs his black framed sight enhancers and fumbles with them for a moment, his slow and groggy fingers unfolding it and slipping it over his face. He reaches for the nightstand and grabs his iPhone off of the mahogany coloured desk. He presses the lock screen button and the screen illuminates our dark bedroom, waiting for his drowsy eyes to adjust to the sudden intrusion of light and interruption of his sleep. "-Six AM."

"Who the hell is knocking this early in the morning?" I whisper, shoving Patrick forward lightly in indication that I am so not going to get up and open the door at this hour. I already had to make a milk run in the middle of the night because Maya woke up at like 3 AM crying. "Can you get it?"

"You are so coming with." Patrick decides tiredly, wrapping his hand gently around my wrist. I sit there fir a moment, not wanting to make any sudden effort to get out of the warm bed I was sharing with Patrick. But then the person is knocking harder on the door, impatient and frantic, making me throw the covers off of my skinny sweat pants and t-shirt clad body. I groan and follow behind Patrick, making our way down the tiled corridor, down the wooden steps, and over to the front door. Patrick peeks through the peep hole just as the knocking starts up again. "It's Pete... and Bronx and Saint."

"Open the door." I say hurriedly as Patrick unhooks the chains locking the door and twists the lock, grasping the golden coloured doorknob and pulling the door open. Pete gently pushes Bronx in through the threshold, who has a backpack, and carries Saint into the house. Pete has this frazzled expression on his face and doesn't even say a greeting to us as he sends Bronx into the living room.

"Pete," I yawn out, rubbing my eyes tiredly. "What's up with you?"

"Patrick's theory of laying low seems to have been horse shit." Pete growls venomously.

"Which theory?" Patrick inquires curiously. Patrick has many theories.

"'Derek wouldn't risk his first taste of freedom in nearly four years.'" Pete quotes Patrick.

I freeze in place. I've made it my personal mission since court to not think, not speak, not mention him at all because this is supposed to be my chance at a new life. This is supposed to be my chance to be happy and safe, and how many times does he have to ruin everything? But yesterday morning or two nights ago, eight convicted criminals that should be locked up escaped during an emergency evacuation at the Metropolitan Correctional Centre and are on the loose. You would think they would have half the mind to get the f uck out of Chicago, but no.

"Excuse me? What happened, are the kids hurt?" I ask Pete, referring to Saint and Bronx. I look at Saint's cute face, seeing the little boy fast asleep on his father's chest. Nothing seemed wrong, and Bronx seemed perfectly fine when he escaped to the lounge.

"Not us." Pete says. He looks over at Patrick, bites his lip for a moment, before deciding that it wasn't the exact ideal location to discuss whatever it is he wants to. "Can we first put Bronx and Saint in Maya's room? Bronx is super tired." Maya has a giant room with another spare crib that we got at the Baby shower and an extra bed for Bronx whenever he sleeps over. Patrick agrees to help Pete get the boys upstairs, while I decide to go ahead and turn on the heat and all of the lights in the downstairs portion of the apartment. I yawn as I lazily stride through the halls, putting my pointer finger under the light switches and flicking it on. We don't pay for electricity directly since it is part of the rent, so I don't do much damage when I jack the heat up and try my bests to make this place all warm and fluffy. I sit on the couch and rest my tired head on the armrest, waiting for the two boys to finally come downstairs. But instead, I hear Patrick shouting.