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

Chapter Eight: When You Try To Speak But You Make No Sound

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

"Maya," I sigh in exasperation, dropping the small, green plastic spoon into the little rice cereal bowl. The baby's utensil lands with a splat into the thick substance, a combination of the cereal formula and 3% milk because she's a baby and she needs to gain the weight she burns while running around. The girl raises her eyebrows at me, giving me all too much sass before she's shouting.

"BANEY." She demands. Baney, which is the equivalent to Barney in her eyes, can go shit himself. I narrow my eyes playfully at her, making an annoyed face that sends a laugh tumbling from her pink lips and a grin that is all too adorable and innocent for this world.

"You'll watch Barney at Daddy's Mommy's house." I tell her. Until she's old enough to understand the difference between her grandma on my side of the family and the grandma on Patrick's side, we've resulted in explaining these kinds of things to her. I know it confuses her more, but it's easier than her getting unsure of which Grandma we're discussing.

I glance back at the television set in the living room, the news channel playing reruns of the award shows last night and all of that jazz. The date and time is perched conveniently in the corner of the screen, which I have to squint to make out, and sigh.

It's Monday morning, eight o'clock in the morning, and it's Elisa's funeral today. When I say this, trust me; I wouldn't want to be within five feet of the service because I feel guilty enough without having to watch her parents cry about how their daughter was bright and had a future ahead of her. I didn't want to go, but that would make me look like a heartless person, so I'm taking off of work for the second time in the past few weeks and going to the service. Maya isn't going to come, instead going to Patrick's parents, so she's dressed in her usual sweater and leggings.

"Hey, I'll take over." Patrick offers from the kitchen, setting his mainly empty tea mug on the marble island countertop. Patrick wasn't a coffee drinker. "Go get dressed."

"Okay," I agree, passing him the little bowl before standing up, pressing a kiss to Maya's forehead. Patrick puts a hand on my shoulder, pausing my movements, before looking straight into my brown eyes.

"Are you feeling anxious?" Patrick asks me seriously, and I guess I look pale and sick enough. I turn away from his gaze.

"Something would be wrong if I wasn't." I respond, slipping into the living room and heading for the hallway. I have to hop over the gate we put to block off the staircase to make sure Maya doesn't somehow try climbing up the stairs. I can hear the little girl pleading with her father in her little voice to let her out of the highchair and let her run as I jog up the steps and turn into the master bedroom. My dress was already ironed and splayed out neatly on the bed (black, long sleeved, and up to mid thigh). I was wearing a pair of black, slightly transparent leggings along with it and probably just combat boots because of the bad weather. It takes me ten minutes to get in the ensemble and brush out my hair, leaving it like that before tugging on the boots and lacing them up. I grab my bag, and sling the strap over my shoulder, heading back downstairs where Maya was cleaned up and in her coat and boots.

After we eventually drop Maya off at the Stumph's, we follow the annoying drone of the GPS until we arrive at the church the service was at. People stood outside in clumps, tissues pressed to their faces, and news vans littered the streets. Inside was even more chaotic, and I literally hid into Patrick majority of the time until we reach the front. Patrick allows me to slide into the booth before sliding in next to me.

"Closed casket." I whisper, glancing at the coffin at the front of the church. The lid was closed and a red blanket was draped over it, bouquets sitting comfortably atop the wood. "What did he do to her?"