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

Chapter Five: Nobody Dreams When They Blink

Look at me i did an art thing

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

I jam the stupid car key into the lock, twisting the security seal open and yanking the door to the Honda Civic open. I throw the flimsy plastic bag into the passenger's seat, not even caring when the single bottle of Coca Cola I bought for really no actual reason is slipping out of the bag and rolling off of the seat and onto the floor with a thud. The liquid begins to fizz up from the impact, but I don't even bother trying to pick it up, sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the car door shut. I squeeze the steering wheel tightly and focus on breathing, focus on making my heart beat normally. But it's right there next to me, and I bought it, and I know I tried so hard, but I need it.

I plug my phone back into the car, swiping the screen to unlock it before pounding my pointer finger on the shuffle option. I don't want to be in this silence because it'll just swallow me up whole. Kitchen Sink by twenty one pilots starts to immediately burst out of the speakers, and I rest my head on the wheel. The intro goes on and on until Tyler is rapping, "Nobody thinks what I think. Nobody dreams when they blink; think things on the brink of blasphemy, I'm my own shrink. Think things are after me on my catastrophe. I'm a kitchen sink. You don't know what that means, because a kitchen sink to you is not a kitchen sink to me, okay friend?" I bang my forehead against the steering wheel, not realizing that I'm crying heavily. The tears erupt from me and claw their way up my throat, my body convulsing with each shuddering gasp of air I inhale.

Elisa Yao is dead. Elisa Yao is dead.

And it's all my fault.

I shouldn't be here. This would be all over if I had just died that night when I attempted suicide. Elisa and Patrick would have been fine- Elisa alive and Patrick moving on because he doesn't and shouldn't need me. Elisa Yao was supposed to be Elisa Stump. It's not supposed to be Cole Stump, or Stumph. I'm supposed to be dead. Cole Wentz- deceased.

"Dead," I mumble venomously through my tears, leaning back and pounding my fist against the dashboard. "You're supposed to be dead."

I don't even realize that my hands are reaching into the bag, rummaging around and almost grabbing a mascara package, pulling the shaving package out and practically tearing the cardboard apart. Through my trembling fingers and the way I'm crying, it takes me twenty minutes at the very least to finally pop the sharp blade out of the now useless piece of crap. I toss the original object to the bag, frantically trying to yank up the sleeves to my leather jacket. I want to raise it higher, but I can't, and the only decent place that's uncovered is my wrist. I bite my lip hard, drawing metallic tasting blood into my mouth. My fingers tremble and quake above my arm as I focus on breathing.

One.

One mark for Elisa Yao. That was all I planned on doing- cutting once. But the pain is so relieving that I just can't control myself any longer.

Two marks for being stupid.

Three marks for being easy.

Four marks for being weak.

Five marks for being naive.

I want to continue. I want to count all of my mistakes and showcase them on my wrists, but the blood is oozing down my arm and soaking into my sleeves. That sends me out of my reverie and I find myself twisting the key in the ignition. I switch the gears and pull out of my parking spot, the red liquid slowly trickling down my arm. Droplets land on my jeans, bur they're black jeans so it doesn't matter. The song has switched again to Survive by Rise Against, and the beginning has just finished, leading into the first verse. "SOMEWHERE BETWEEN HAPPY AND TOTAL F UCKING WRECK! Feet sometimes on solid ground, sometimes at the edge. To spend your waking moments simply killing time is to give up on your hopes and dreams; to give up on your- Life for you has been less than kind. So take a number and stand in line. We've all been sorry, we've all been hurt. But how we survive is what makes us who we are!"

I can't focus. My vision keeps blurring up and tilting, and I'm sitting there tightening my grip on the steering wheel until my knuckles turn too white. It hurts in all the wrong ways. and the only way I think I can stop it is to take my mind off of it by inflicting my own kind of pain. At least I could control that. I gasp for air like a fish out of water. "An obvious disinterest, a barely managed smile..." I barely pay attention to the words until the end of the second verse comes. "I excel at quitting early and fu cking up my life!"

As that line drags on, I close my eyes, letting my pressure on the gas pedal increase. I can feel myself start to lose control before somebody honks their car horn at me continuously, and when I finally snap out of my daze, I realize I've just ran a red light. I squeal in terror, stomping on the breaks because the headlights are blinding me and coming closer and closer to me.

But then my foot hits the gas and I'm narrowly dodging the dangerous encounter with the minivan almost colliding right into me. At this point, I have the sense to pull the steering wheel and stop on the right lane. I switch Hazard on and sit there, the cars zooming by at top speed, ignoring me. I almost died.

I need to call Patrick.

I yank my phone out of the USB plug and shut off the music, quickly hitting Patrick's contact and dialing his number. I press my iPhone to my ear, listening to nothing for a moment before he picks up. "Hello? Cole?"

"Patrick," I say, my voice all choked up. "Patrick.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's the matter?" Patrick interrogates me, and I can imagine him moving his phone to the other ear.

"I can't do this anymore." I whisper, shaking my head. These big fat tears erupt from me.

"Cole, what are you talking about? What can't you do?" Patrick asks frantically, and I can imagine him up on his feet, nervously pacing.

"I'm not strong enough for the both of us." I whisper.

"Nobody ever asked you to be," Patrick says.

"Right now, I almost got into a car accident and there's five marks on my wrist with blood trailing from it." I say dryly, and I can hear his intake of breath. "And I'm so scared because there's nothing stopping me from making another one."

"Colby, Cole, where the hell are you?" Patrick demands.

"I don't know, but I'm kind of glad." I tell him, looking out the window. "There's lots of cars, and one pull of my wheel could send them barreling towards me. But there's also this razor in my hand and it's calling me, Patrick." I say, a sad smile lingering on my lips. "There's nothing stopping me."

"Listen to me right now, Cole." Patrick says firmly. "Turn your head and tell me what intersection you just passed. I'll come and get you."

"I'm so sorry, 'Trick. I love you so much." I whisper softly, pulling the phone away from my ear and hanging up. I can't help but burst out into another round of fresh tears.

This isn't right. What happened to when everything was easy? What happened to the happy times? Where did all the good go?

There's nothing stopping you.

Nothing.

I smile at the thought. There is nothing holding me back from doing this. I don't even realize or register that there are more than five lines on my wrists and suddenly, lines start appearing on my hips. The tears mix with the pain and the blood, and I can't believe how easy it could be to just sleep right there.

And then I see it.

Taped on the dashboard is a picture of Maya, leaning her head on Patrick while clutching onto him as tight as she could. The little toothless grin on her face wakes me up and pulls me out of my trance. It gives me a reason. Them.

I'm in charge of the voices.

I start the car again, flicking the left indicator on again as I switch lanes. My wrists burn, and my sweater is stained with my blood, but I don't feel any of it. I don't feel anything when I park the car, I don't feel anything when I bound the steps into the building, and I don't feel anything until I pound my fist on the apartment door and Pete is opening it, a hand raking through his hair.

"Cole," he breathes out, and all I can do is smile at him.

"Something stopped me." I whisper.

-/::\-

DONT JUdge iWROTE THIS IN LIKE AN HOUR OKAY

-Stay Classy, Young Volcanoes

•LeaveNoWordsUnspoken