If You Ever Come Back ~Peterick Fanfic~

3 - Two Weeks After

Trigger warning again.

(A/N) Warning: this chapter is going to be FRIGGING SAD. I almost cried writing the last part so eh... prepare

~Panda

Dear Patrick,

Alcohol. Not the solution. But God damn, it's such a good painkiller. It can make me feel so much better for a few moments. It makes me feel like I'm flying, Patrick. It's amazing. Until I am sober again... Then everything becomes clear. Then I remember everything. Then that burning pain is back again, and it knocks me out that you are not here to help me.

Sometimes when I came home drunk again, and you were still here, you would sit next to me while I was having a terrible headache and while I was shouting at myself about how stupid I was.

I remember that one time when I promised you that I would never drink again. It was after a horrible night and I had fallen down the stairs. I woke up on the floor and the first thing I saw were your beautiful eyes from which I still don't know the exact color yet. There were tears on your cheeks and you looked scared as hell. I felt guiltier than ever.

At that moment, I knew I would never make you look like that again. I would never make you cry again. So I stopped drinking. For you. But now you're gone and you probably don't care. So why should I stay sober?

I begin to think Vodka is my kind of drink after all. It doesn't taste like anything but it burns straight through my stomach like a sword. It makes me feel powerful. For a short time, it makes me feel like I don't have anything to worry about. Like that hole in my heart doesn't matter.

I know where to get it. I know where they won't ask questions because I'm underage. It is so easy. I never knew it could be so easy to get things to kill yourself with. And yes, I know you can kill yourself with this stuff.

Remember when I told you I had a sister? Remember when I never wanted to talk about her or why I never wanted to say anything about how she died?

One day, I came home and it confused me that she didn't say hi to me.

Normally, she would shout my name from her room and ask me how it was at school. Now she didn't. I walked to her room where she usually was and opened the door.

That was when I found her. I found her. Why did I have to be the one to find her? Her eyes wide open and an empty bottle of wine next to her. There was a note in her pocket. As soon as I saw it, I knew what it was. A suicide note.

I immediately ran towards her. My knees stopped working when I was close and I just crashed to the ground. There I was; eleven years old, tears streaming down my face and struggling to open the envelope and read the words. You couldn't expect me to cope with all the things that I saw at once, and I didn't.

I started screaming. I was sure everyone could hear me but I didn't care. I needed help, right now.

The sobs started to get louder and I held her lifeless body in my arms. I was shaking with fear, and such an immense sadness that it felt like my whole body would implode.

It was half an hour later when my mother discovered me and my sister's body. She was already getting cold and I had buried my face against her shoulder. She didn't smell like herself. The only thing I could smell was that disgusting liquid that took her life away.

God, her face still haunts me. It always chases me in my nightmares, shouting that I should have noticed how she felt. That I should have told her to stay. But how could I know, I was only a kid.

My mother sent me to a psychologist. They thought might wanted to talk about what happened. I didn't. I just wanted that face to go away, to stop haunting me, to stop saying that it was my fault.

I am laying in my bed, on my back with my head facing the ceiling. The only light is coming from my phone. It is 10 pm. Normally, I would be at your house now, or you would be at mine. I can hear my parents talking downstairs. They're probably saying that it is weird for me to go to sleep early.

I wish I could look out of the window to see the sunset, but the curtains are closed to give people the idea that I'm sleeping instead of writing useless letters to you. Those drawings that you and the others made are hanging on the wall to my left.

That one with the pictures of our road trip gets me every time. I keep wishing to go back to those moments. To go back to when everything was all right.

Look, here I am, crying again. I am a mess since you left, Patrick.

You are my drug. Addictive but deadly. I thought I could function without you. Apparently I was wrong.

These are the moments when I realize that I have the most loyal friends in the world. They never even thought about leaving me, even though I am am a waste of space. They are here for me, now you aren't. Especially Gerard is trying to help. He has been writing a load of songs for me. This is one of them:

So long to all my friends

Every one of them met tragic ends.

With every passing day

I'd be lying if I didn't say

That I miss them all tonight

But if they only knew what I would say

If I could be with you tonight

I would sing you to sleep

Never let them take the light behind your eyes

One day I'll lose this fight

As we fade in the dark

Just remember you will always burn as bright...

I am sorry, Patrick. I didn't listen to him. I let you take the light behind my eyes. And this is how I burn out. This is how I disappear. This is how I fade away. Without you. Alone. In the dark. Where I'm supposed to be.

This is goodbye, Patrick. Thank you for the memories, even though the last ones weren't so great. Now you don't have to worry about me anymore. Now I don't have to worry about myself anymore. I will die with your name on your lips. I promise. Goodbye. I love you. I'm sorry.

Pete