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

Chapter Eighteen: I'm In The Business Of Misery

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

I sit on the edge of my dining chair in the kitchen, my fingers wrapped so tightly around the glass of ice water in my hands, my knuckles paled considerably. My mind is racing a million miles per minute, my heart pounding erratically in my chest as my anxiety levels left me a nail biting mess. I'm dressed up already, wearing a pair of leggings and a sweater. It was casual, allowing me to avoid Patrick asking why I was dressed up at this time. Maya fell asleep at nine, and it is now 9:14 PM on the dot. If I'm to not take the car, I would probably have to make a twenty minute walk. If I'm late, Hayley Williams will die.

Hayley Williams will not die.

I'm going to make sure of that. I'm going to make sure that nobody will ever touch Hayley, no one will touch my friends, no one will touch my nephews, no one will touch my daughter. If I get the chance, I will wring Derek Skinner's neck with my own two hands,

The TV in the living room is at a normal volume, Patrick curled up on the couch with the afghan draped on the side of the sofa. We avoided speaking to each other for the most part of the day, talking only when necessary and addressing each other by full names. 'Colby, could you pass me the baby powder?' 'Patrick, warm up Maya's bottle of milk.' I hate it, not talking to Patrick, I mean. Normally, we would have stopped fighting at this point, but what was the point of reconciling just to fight again inevitably because of my leaving?

I glance at the clock on the microwave again, sucking in a deep breath. 9:18. Now.

I reach into my pocket and pull out the crumpled up paper, unfolding it and laying it flat on the table. I stare at it- a printed out screen shot of the text messages shared with Derek. I stand up hesitantly, setting my glass on the counter lightly before I step away from the island, pushing the chair in and heading into the dining room, then out to the hallway. I head for the front door, crouching down before slipping on a pair of black Vans.

"Cole, what are you doing?" Patrick squints through his glasses sitting on his nose, pushing them up before slowly getting to his feet.

"Going out," I say, straightening up and grabbing the coat on the rack by the door. I shrug into my jacket and grab a beanie, sliding it on. "Don't wait up."

"Where are you going at this hour?" Patrick inquires worriedly. "If this is about this morning, I'm sorry for being rude."

"Patrick," I turn to him, putting my trembling(he notices) hands on his shoulders. "It isn't about this morning."

"Cole," Patrick continues, taking my hands off of his shoulders and holding them in his own palms. I will my hands to stop shaking but they sputter in jerks and jolts of panic. "You're scared of something."

"Only my shadow and the unknown." I try to say easily. "Really, I'm just going out for a walk."

"Last time you said that, it involved you relapsing." Patrick sighs tiredly, rubbing the crease in his forehead with his other hand. "Porcelain, talk to me." First time today he addressed me as that.

"There's nothing to talk about." I say, glancing at the clock mounted on the wall. 9:24. I have to go, now. "I'll be back, nothing dangerous, I swear."

"Nothing dangerous is what you promised me last time, Cole." Patrick says. "God, I'm so tired of this."

"Tired of what? Me?" I ask through a sharp voice. "Because if you are, just say it. I'm used to being let down by now."

"All I'm saying is that ever since Derek got out of jail-"

"You mean broke out," I cut in.

"Broke out-" Patrick narrows his eyes at me, making me feel small, "you've been acting-"