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

Chapter Twenty Four: And If I Ever Let You Down, I'm Sorry

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

It's been a day. It's been a full day and night since I've been condemned to this room until Friday. The television set works, but you can't get connection to any channels because of how old it is. I spent majority of my time formulating escape routes and trying my best to properly clean the wound in my thigh, wrapping a towel around my leg to cover it from too much bacteria. Pete attempted to call the phone multiple times, but I turned the ringer off and opted to text and text only because it was too dangerous to actually speak on the phone. A full day also means that the battery on this particular smart phone has dropped down to a terrifying 32%. I wasn't necessarily using it for anything because it's not my phone so there's nothing for me to do on it, but it just has a battery drain issue. That makes life the slightest bit more difficult.

"I'm going to do it." I mouth to myself, my eyes locked onto the window once again. For the past nearly thirty hours of my life, the thought keeps returning to me. I could do it, I really could. Why would I be a sitting duck? Why would I actually sit here and wait for Friday to come? Why should I sit here and wait for Derek Skinner and co. to drag me away from the life I formed in Chicago? Why should I, why should I, why should I?
I have nothing with me. Other than that stupid pen and the cell phone I took from Derek, I have nothing but the clothes on my back. But I don't necessarily need anything else but my own two feet, and waiting almost two days is enough for me.

I stand at the window, running my fingers along the underside of the window pane, feeling a latch that seems to have not been used for quite a long time. I try my best to push it and yank the window up, but it doesn't budge just the slightest bit. I lean back in shock, annoyed with the latch, before pressing my fingers from both of my two hands before I start to pull it in my direction. It doesn't move. "Fûck."

I stand there for like five minutes, yanking the latch to no avail. Then my finger slips to the side and it moves. I grin widely and push my fingers against the latches, push them inwards together, them moving. Keeping them in that position, I'm able to push the window up and above the height of my head. Almost instantaneously, the wind from outside rushes into my room along with all the noise coming from outside. Judging from the way the sky is darkening, I'm guessing that it's nearing sunset, maybe about 5 o'clock PM. I throw a leg over the ledge of the window, looking for something to grab onto while bringing my other leg out before the door is swinging open.

"I got you dinner, Cole. Just a sandwich and water, but-" I twist my head and see Derek standing there with a brown bag in his hands, his face screwed up into confusion, realization, then fury. "What are you doing?"

I turn and throw my other leg over the ledge, about to slide off to the balconies below before Derek is grabbing the back of my shirt and sharply pulling me into the room. He throws my body to the ground, and I am so close to actually standing up again and springing for the front door if it wasn't for his boot stomping hard on my chest, pinning me to the carpeted ground. "Oomph," I groan in pain as the air escapes my lungs, making me grunt.

"What did I say, Cole?" Derek says, pulling his foot back before he's kicking me in the side hard. I roll over in pain, clutching my chest in my arms. "WHAT THE FÛCK DID I SAY?"

I take in a shuddering breath, gasping for oxygen in this thick aired room. My lungs shrivel up in pain as I pant for breath. "I needed air."

"THAT'S BULL," Derek screams at me, grabbing a fistful of hair and yanking me up to my feet. He looks straight into my eyes, the rage evident and terrifying. I should have been faster. I should have jumped faster or at least waited for a better time. This is my fault, and oh my God, no one is going to be able to save me now because nothing right happens anymore. "YOU DON'T LIKE LISTENING, RIGHT?"

"Stop it, please," I beg, my hands wrapping around his wrist as I claw at him to let go of my hair, but that doesn't do anything but make things worse as he wraps his hands around my throat and smashes me to the wall.
"De-de-"

"You promised me that you would make this easy." Derek glares hard at me, his grip never ceasing around my neck. "Hayley is going to die knowing that this is your fault."

"No," I choke out, shaking my head as much as I could possibly shake it, slapping at his wrist and trying my best to get him to let go. Please, no, Hayley will not die. I can't let her. The room is spinning and it's getting harder to breathe in the air, my lungs constricting and my chest experiencing a stabbing pain. I claw again and again at his arm, making squeaky noises in an attempt to get him to stop. He pulls me back from the wall and throws me to the ground.

"I'll tell Miss Williams that you said sorry," he glares angrily at me, "if I'm feeling it." He adds.

"N-no," I croak in pain as Derek heads for the door, the brown bag discarded in a mess on the carpeted floor. I watch him wring his wrists as he carefully steps over the mess, walking through to the door and slamming it shut behind him. I almost sit there for a moment, trying to catch my breath, when I realize that I can't let this happen. This is my fault and it's also my problem. I caused it and now, I have to stop it myself.

-/::\-

Short yeah but two updates right?!

-Stay Classy, Young Volcanoes

•LeaveNoWordsUnspoken