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

Chapter Nine: The Weight Of The World's Getting Harder To Hold Up

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

Patrick's trembling fingers jam the car key into the car door's lock, frantically twisting it in there before pulling it out. He takes hold of the door handle and yanks the door open, hitting the unlock button so I can get inside. I grab hold of the handle and open the door, sliding in carefully before setting my bag down on the floor of the car, shutting the door as softly as I can. Patrick gets in and rams his key into the ignition, starting the car with a spurt of life erupting from the engine. The panic and hysteria is clearly evident in his eyes, and his pink lips are forming a thin and straight line. I reach out for his hand that's switching the gears, but he flinches and pulls away, his hands gripping the steering wheel tighter and tighter until his knuckles are paling, whitening, and it looks painful. We don't speak the entire drive home, and it's because of the funeral. What Mrs. Yao said to the both of us. The look of disgust. Her anger. Her sorrow. Her disappointment.

"I thought you were a good man, Patrick." Mrs. Yao had said. "My daughter loved you, she gave you everything. But you left her for Colby, and yet her last dying words were that she still loved you."

"Mrs. Yao, I mean no disrespect," Patrick tried to begin.

"There's no point. You and Colby are the reason my daughter is being buried today. I pray to God that that sick bastard kills you both, because you deserve it." Mrs. Yao cries.

"Let's go." I whispered harshly, my fingers gripping the sleeve to Patrick's jacket. I felt like puking, and the guilt pricking at my conscience was getting stronger.

"That's harsh," Patrick whispered, looking down shyly at his feet.

"Get out of here." Mrs. Yao demanded, and we wasted no time leaving.

She blames the both of us.

Patrick parks the car in the lot of our apartment building, quickly pulling the gear shift into Park and killing the engine. The car rumbles as the engine shuts off, and Patrick's grip on the steering wheel ceases slowly. "I'm sorry." He whispers, unlocking the door quickly before pushing his door open and getting out, waiting for me to get out before he's taking the key out and locking the doors again. I have to jog after him to keep up, surprised that someone with such short legs can even move that quickly. But before I know it, I'm slipping into the elevator as the doors are closing, trying to keep track of him. He's upset, and I have enough mind to know that it's not the best feeling to be alone when you're emotional.

The elevator finally stops on our floor, the doors parting open for us, and I'm groaning inwardly as Patrick speeds out of it, heading for our apartment door. He unlocks it in no time, pushing the door open before disappearing into our apartment. I slide in after him, bumping the door closed with my hip. I twist the lock before crouching down to unlace my combat boots. I pull them off and stand back up, moving them into the corner before I venture further into our apartment.

"Patrick," I call out. He ignores me, of course, but he's in the bedroom, so I carefully hop over the gate and trudge up the stairs, making a turn before opening the door to our room. Patrick was sitting on the bed at the foot, his jacket off and spread out haphazardly on the mattress while his sleeves are rolled up at the elbows and his tie is undone, hanging loosely around his neck. His face is being cupped with his hands, and I can see that he's close to crying, so I cross the room and sit down next to him. "Patrick,"

"I don't know what to think about this anymore." He sighs. "Everything is so... everything is just so fucked up."

"I know the world's a broken bone." I say slowly, trying to think of something to say. "And I know that nothing is okay right now, but eventually..." I trail off, terrified beyond belief that I'll make a promise that I can't fulfill.