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

Chapter Twenty Five: Stand Through The Pain, You Won't Drown

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

I sit there.

My heart is thudding at an irregularly fast pace, the organ pumping exceptionally fast to the point that I have to rest my trembling palm over my chest in an attempt to calm down. My eyes are wide and frantic, searching for an answer to what's happening in the next few moments. Hayley couldn't die, she wouldn't. Not after everything I went through. not after getting attacked and beat up and physically abused. I am not going to have done all of this and have nothing to show for it. Hayley Williams was going to live, but I don't know where we are and I don't know how to get to Pete's house from this little town outside of Chicago.

Warn them.

I pull out Derek's phone, my quaking fingers sliding across the screen as I dial Pete's cell phone number. Pete had Hayley over at his house, and if Derek was heading over there, he needed to know.

"Come on," I mumble under my breath repetitively, the words flying out as I try my best to calm my nerves down. It's a futile effort though, because everything is happening so quickly to the point that I don't have time for that kind of thing. "Pete, you little bitc.h, answer the fu.cking phone."

"Hey, this is, uh, Pete Wentz, and I'm probably busy if I didn't pick up so leave your name and I'll call you back as soon as possible. Alright, peace." Voicemail. Oh shit.

I jump up to my feet, well, it's a slower movement than that. I push myself to my shaking feet, my balance off from the pain I'm enduring. But regardless,
I head for the door, my leg dragging behind me as I limp my way to the exit. My hands wrap around the doorknob and I twist it, the door not opening. "Shit," I grunt, but then the door is opening and that guy that is instilled in the crevices of my memory is standing there.

"When was the last time I kissed those lips?" Derek whispers, and then he laughs like he told a funny joke. He was the only one who found it funny, especially when he turns my head to face him sharply and tries to smash his mouth onto mine. Last second, I dip my head and let his nose crash into my forehead. He leans back in pain, banging his head into the window. He gasps in pain, and I take that moment to run. I dive out of my seat, hitting the floor on my stinging wrist. I try to get up, but Derek makes a coughing noise, and almost immediately, a young guy sitting diagonal up from us stands up. I look up and behind me, but all I can take note of is shaggy brown hair, a beanie, and a shit ton of tattoos spread out across his tan skin before he puts his Aldo laced foot on my Vans bearing ankle, about to stomp on it. This was obviously Derek's friend, considering Derek couldn't break his cover on a train with my family. Almost instantly, I hear Pete.

"I see that you're still a shit ton of trouble," Luke-whatever-his-last-name-is begins, taking a step towards me, in which I reply with a stagger backwards. He reaches out for me, grabbing Derek's phone out of my hands before he's whipping it over my head, slamming into the wall. That right there was my last hope for letting the others know of Derek and his plans. I watch the little black portable device fly away from me, landing somewhere just near the window. I twist on my heel, about to run and dive for it, the out the window, but he stops me. Luke grabs for me, his hand bunching a fistful of hair. I claw at his hand, smacking his wrist in an attempt to get him to stop. "How's Patrick?" He asks, referring to when Patrick beat him up on the train because he attacked me. I narrow my eyes and glare at him through my lashes, trying to steady my legs in an attempt to break free.

"He's doing well," I grit my teeth angrily, digging my fingernails into his wrist. He doesn't seem the least bit fazed by the pain I'm attempting to inflict on him.

"Great," he smiles before that fist is swinging and smacking straight into my jaw. He lets go of my hair as I twist away from him, cupping my face in my hands before he's grabbing me and punching me a second time. I grunt in pain, trying to see through my blurring eyes as I hold my face. The next thing I know, something large and heavy is striking my back, sending me down to the ground. I'm crying in pain, my body convulsing from the wooden chair that he slammed into my body. From my peripherals, He's raising the chair for a second blow, and as he propels the weapon down to my body again, I stretch my arms out and brace myself as I capture the wooden legs in my hands. I try to wrestle it away from him, but he shoves it down and one of the legs pushes down against my gut. I heave in pain, trying to push the chair off of my stomach.

"Stop," I choke out, my eyes pleading with him, but he slams the chair down further, making just the slightest bit of blood peek out of my mouth.

"I'm going easy on you," Luke crouches next to my head. "I'm not supposed to kill you just yet."

"Exactly." I croak out, swiping my weak elbow into his nose. The blow sends him off balance, and I'm immediately pushing the chair off of my weakened body. I start dragging myself to the door, coughing heavily in an attempt to calm the pain. I'm just crawling pass the bathroom when Luke is back again, kicking me right in the ribs. I drop like a ton of lead, hitting the floor as he lifts me up by my shirt and pushes me towards the bathtub. I fall over the ledge and right into the white tub, almost giving up.

"You know," Luke pulls the tap up, twisting it to the red side. Hot. "I'm not allowed to kill you, but I can bring you pretty close to the edge."

"Oh yeah?" I say around a mouthful of blood. Luke laughs lightly.

"Yeah," he grins, yanking the shower head off of the wall before turning it on. The jets of hot water burn their way out of the metal head and spray directly into my face. I gasp for air, the water hot, so hot. This is torture. I could feel the liquid burning my skin, leaving a throbbing, red hue to my complexion. I let out a muffled scream.

"Stah-" I can't speak, and that makes Luke aim the shower head away from my face.

"Pardon?"

"Please," I beg, and he rolls his eyes, reaching for a towel on the rack before he's pushing it to my face, pressing it tightly and compactly against my mouth and nose and everything. And then he's aiming the water to the towel again, and it's impossible to find the right words to explain what that feels like.

"Waterboarding-" Luke begins casually, holding the nozzle to the cloth while I gasp like a fish out of water, "-is a form of torture, more specifically a type of water torture, in which water is poured over a cloth covering the face and breathing passages of an immobilized captive, causing the individual to experience the sensation of drowning."

My hands struggle against the white bathtub, the smooth surface of it. Marble?...

Porcelain.

The word makes something catch in my throat, whether it be the water simulating drowning or what. It makes me gasp and suddenly, my hands are clawing at the cloth.

"I-" I said stop. But I can't speak, so I shove my fingers in the general direction of Luke's face and dog my nails into what I come in contact to. I hear him scream as the shower head clangs down to the porcelain bathtub, and I rip the cloth off of my face, gasping for air, "I said stop." I pant.

-/::\-

Ayyeee

-Stay Classy, Young Volcanoes

•LeaveNoWordsUnspoken