Scared (Patrick Stump Imagine Short Story)

Part 3

You wake up around eight o'clock and your mom has made breakfast for you and Gabby. You eat the breakfast and go and get some answers from Patrick.

As you're leaving, you notice your mom following you with your daughter in her arms.

"What are you doing?" You question, slipping into your jacket.

"I'm coming with you," Your mom replies, "Honey, I don't want you to go there and have him hit you again."

"Mom, he won't hit me again," You try to convince her, opening the front door, "Please, just stay here with Gabby. I don't want you or her around for whatever's going to happen."

"But (Y/N)..."

"No, Mom, stay here," You tell her sternly.

Your mom rolls her eyes before turning around and walking into the living room.

You walk out and get in your car, driving back to yours and Patrick's house. His car is in the driveway, so you only hope that that means he's still home. You make your way up the sidewalk leading to the house and use your keys to get inside. You enter the house and close the door quietly behind you.

You take off your jacket and hang it up on the coat rack by the door. You cautiously make your way farther into the house and find Patrick in the kitchen, sitting at the island with a cup of steaming coffee in his hands.

"Hi," You greet shyly.

He glances over at you briefly before returning his attention to the wall he was looking at before. "Hey."

"Can I sit down next to you?" You ask.

"Be my guest," He retorts bitterly. As you sit down beside him, he inquires, "What are you here for anyways? To get the rest of your things? Gabby's things too?" He takes a sip of the coffee in his mug. "Fine with me. Go ahead. You know where it all is. Because, you know, I'm totally cool with you erasing yourself and our daughter out of my life completely. Totally cool with it."

"I'm not here to get my things, Patrick, I'm here to talk about what happened," He takes another sip of his coffee. "What happened that made you so angry? I just want to know."

He sets his mug down on the granite countertop and sighs, "I really don't want to talk about it, (Y/N)."

"Well you don't really have a choice," You tell him with utmost seriousness, "Because if you justify yourself for hitting me...though there's no way to make what you did right...at least if I know why, I-I might be able to forgive you."

"Just get your things," He mutters, standing up and putting his mug in the sink, "I don't want you to be around anyways."

"What? Why?" You rise to your feet.

"Because I'm not going to be around for much longer and I-I'd rather you not be here when I...go." He says, facing away from you and holding onto the sides of the sink with his head hanging low. "You or Gabby."

"What are you talking about? What do you mean you're 'not going to be around for much longer'?"

"I'm sick, (Y/N)," He replies, his voice almost inaudible.

His back begins to shake as he tries to hold back the tears he doesn't want to shed in front of you. You slowly walk up to him and wrap your arms around his front from behind, resting your head on his upper back.

"(Y/N), please just go. I don't want you here. Please!" He tries to glance over his shoulder at you.

"No. This is my house too and I'll stay here if I want to," You retort. Patrick heaves a sigh and returns his gaze forward. "How sick are you?" You ask innocently.

He swallows hard before saying, "Sick. Really sick."

"Sick like you're going to throw up or sick like you need to lay in bed all day and have me brings you bowls of chicken noodle soup?"

He chuckles sadly, "Neither."

"Then what is it?"

He bites his lip before answering, "My doctor...well, I-I went to see him because I've had this sore throat for a while and it's been getting harder and harder for me to breathe. So he...he tested me for...for throat cancer."

"Throat cancer?" You take a step away from him, your eyes wide.

He nods his head.

"Patrick, I-"

"Can I just get this all out at once, babe? I really don't want your interruptions. It's just going to make it harder for me," He cuts you off. You hang your head, allowing him to continue. "So he tested me and...and the test..." He bites his lip and closes his eyes, tears forming in his eyes, "...the test came up positive."

"Patrick-"

"Let me finish!" He screams, his voice cracking. You turn away from him and shake your head, not really wanting to hear what he had to say. "The test came up positive and he said the cancer was Stage II. A-And if I don't do something now...he...he's afraid the cancer will spread - quickly - and I-I could die."

He glances over his shoulder when you don't say anything in response to that and sees you're turned away from him. Your arms are crossed over your chest, your head is low, and tears flood your eyes and stream down your cheeks.

He walks up behind you and hugs you, kissing you on the head and going on to explain, "So I was angry, (Y/N). I was told I was going to die, who wouldn't be angry? I'm not ready to die. I've got you and I've got Gabby...and let's not forget about the band. You guys are everything to me."

You don't respond.

"I never meant to hurt you that night. I really didn't. If I could go back in time and take it all back, I would."

"What are you going to do?" You finally say, your voice cracking as you look up at him. "There's treatment, right?"

"Yeah, but...treatment's not guaranteed to make the cancer go away," He turns you around and grips your upper arms gently. "(Y/N), I don't want to die, but...I don't want to spend what little life I have left wasting it on endless treatment. I want to spend it with you and Gabby and my friends."

"What? No! Patrick, you can't spend time with us if you're dying." You rip yourself out of his hold, "Goddammit, why didn't you tell me this sooner?" You shout at him, anger rapidly replacing your sadness.

"(Y/N), I wanted to! I was going to yesterday when I came home from telling the guys, but we fought and you left!"

The two of you are yelling at each other again.

"Oh, so you told your fucking friends before you told your own fucking wife?"

"I've known them longer than you! And I didn't know how to tell you! I was afraid about how you would react! I was afraid of...of this!"

You scoff and shake your head, "Patrick, sometimes I swear you're so fucking inconsiderate about the other people in your life. It's like the only person you care about is you!"

"Excuse me?"

"What about Gabby, huh?" You meet his gaze for a quick second before beginning to pace, "She's only four years old, Patrick. She needs you. I need you. And you basically just told me that you're choosing to not do anything to make yourself better. What do you think that says about you?" Before he can get a word in, you continue, answering your own question, "It says that you don't care about us. It says that you're giving up. On you, on us, on everything." Your cheeks are burning and your heart is pounding against your chest. "Is that what you're doing Patrick? Giving up?"

"No, I just-"

"You're just what?" You snap at him.

"I'm scared," He confesses.