Scared (Patrick Stump Imagine Short Story)

Part 4

You walk through the front door of your mom's house and close it behind you. You fall against the door, sliding down it until you're sitting on the floor.

"(Y/N)?" Your mother's voice sounds from another part of the house. She emerges from the kitchen, your daughter in her arms, and a worried expression crosses her face. "Oh my god. Did he hurt you again?"

Instead of giving her a verbal response, you just break down in tears.

She sets your daughter down on the ground and rushes up to you, grabbing your face and checking for bruises. "It doesn't look like he hurt you..."

"Mom..." You look into her eyes sadly, "H-He didn't hit me."

"Then how'd he hurt you?"

"He didn't physically hurt me..."

"What'd he do, (Y/N)?" Your mom inquires, frustrated with your bluntness.

You sigh, "He's sick, Mom."

"Sick?"

"He's dying."

Her eyes double in size, "H-He's dying?"

You nod your head, "Throat cancer." You take a quick glance at your daughter who's standing patiently a few feet behind you and your mom, trying to comprehend what you're saying but failing. You return your gaze to your mom, continuing, "He's got Stage II. And he refuses to get help, even though his doctor told him that if he doesn't do something now, it's going to spread quickly and kill him."

"Why the hell won't he get help?"

"He said he doesn't want to 'waste what little time he has left on endless treatment'."

"That bastard!" Your mom stands up.

"Mom, don't call him that. Not in front of her. Please." You motion to Gabby who's confused beyond belief.

"I don't care, (Y/N). Your husband and Gabby's dad is dying and he isn't doing anything to stop it!"

"Daddy is dying?" Your daughter repeats. The word is foreign to her, she's never had to experience a death of someone close to her, not yet. Her grandfather, your father, died before she was born.

"Come here," You command, extending your hands out to her. She rushes up to you and falls into your arms. You hold her close and try to explain it to her in a way she'd understand, "Daddy is very sick, Gabby, and we need to go home and make him feel better, b-before he gets worse and has to go away."

"Where's he going? On tour again?"

You wish. "No, not on tour again. When he goes on tour, he always comes back. This time...This time he might not come back."

"Why?"

You look into her brownish-green eyes that resemble her father's greatly. The tears that subsided in your eyes return. You glance up at your mom for assistance but she can't help you this time. You look back at your daughter and reply, "I'll tell you later, honey. But right now you and I need to go back home. I want you to go get our things and come back down here when you're done, okay?"

"Okay, Mommy," She kisses you on the cheek and leaps out of your arms, racing upstairs. You rise to your feet and brush the back of your pants off.

"You're going back home?" Your mom asks you, a little disappointed you're not staying longer and that you're going back to the man who dare hit you.

"He needs us, Mom. Plus, I'm kind of hoping that Gabby might be able to change his mind about getting treatment. Because if I can't get through to him, I know she will. He's going to have to tell her what's going on himself sooner or later and I'm not going to do it for him. It's not the same coming from me. And I'm almost one hundred percent sure that he'll have a change of heart because he can't stand seeing her cry - it breaks his heart. So when he sees how-"

"I'm done, Mommy!" Gabby exclaims, stumbling down the stairs, dragging your heavy bag behind her, the bag hitting every step and making a loud clunking sound as it tumbled to the bottom. She lugs the bag over to you and drops it by your feet, glancing up at you with a wide smile on her face.

"Thanks, Gabby," You bend down and kiss her on the head. You return your attention to your mom and say, "Hey, I'll call you soon, okay?"

"Okay. Hope it all works out, sweetheart," Your mom gives you a quick hug. "Love you."

"Love you too, Mom."

*****

You stand outside of your daughter's bedroom. Inside are Patrick and Gabby, sitting on her bed.

When you got home, Gabby immediately threw herself at Patrick and pulled him into a tight hug. However, their reunion was short-lived because you told him that you wanted to talk to him. Alone. He kissed Gabby on the head and told her to go play with her toys upstairs. She scurried away, leaving you and Patrick to talk in private. You told him that you wanted him to tell her what's wrong, prefacing that you already told her he was sick and that he might be leaving the two of you and he might not be coming back. But you feel like she needs to hear it from him because you don't think she really understood when you told her. He reluctantly agreed and right now he's trying to explain it all to her.

"Honey, you and I...we need to talk," Patrick starts off by saying very sweetly and innocently.

"I know what you're going to tell me. I overheard you and Mommy."

"Y-You did?"

"She told me that you're sick," Gabby replies, playing with the teddy bear in her lap and avoiding your husband's gaze.

"I am."

"She said you were very sick."

"I-I am." He tilts his head down and twiddles his thumbs.

"How can I make you feel better, Daddy?" She sets the teddy bear aside and crawls across the bed, sitting in his lap.

Patrick chuckles, "There's nothing you can do, baby. The kind of sick I am...it can't be cured with Mommy's kisses or your hugs or chicken noodle soup."

"Then what will make you feel better?"

He exhales softly and looks out the door into the hallway, hoping you would be there to take this over. But you're standing next to the door, so he doesn't see you. He glances back down at Gabby and answers, "Well there's these things called treatments. But they're not...they don't...it's not one hundred percent sure that they can make the sickness go away."

She cocks her head back so she's looking up at him, "Will they help you feel better?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then why don't you get the treemints?"

He smirks at her inability to say the word before shaking his head and responding, "Because I'd rather spend my last days here with you and Mommy than in a hospital all alone."

"Daddy, I want you to feel better."

"I do too, Gabby."

"Then you should get the treemints."

"Gabby, I...I would, but-"