Scared (Patrick Stump Imagine Short Story)

Part 5

You turn your head as Patrick steps out of Gabby's room and closes the door behind her. He glances over at you.

"Well?" You ask.

"You put her up to that," He accuses you, brushing past you and storming down the hallway.

"What? I didn't put her up to anything!" He disappears into your bedroom. "Patrick, what'd you expect me to do?" You follow him in there and find him taking off his shirt. "How long did you want me to keep it from her that her dad is dying? That he's not going to be around for much longer?"

"I wasn't even going to tell her, at least not for a while," He answers as he pulls open the closet and start looking for a more comfortable shirt to change into. "You could have talked with me about it first. You know, before you pressured me into explaining it to her myself. I feel like it's something we should've explained to her together, that's all."

"But it's not the same coming from me. I'm not the one dying here."

"I know. You don't need to remind me," He remarks sassily, picking out his black Twenty-One Pilots t-shirt and slamming the closet doors shut.

"Well someone has to if you keep acting like it's not even there!"

"Maybe I keep acting like it's not there because I don't want it to be there!" He snaps at you, quickly slipping the shirt on over his head and turning around to face you, "Do you know what it's like? Knowing that you're dying?"

You smack your forehead, "Patrick. It doesn't have to-"

"It's the worst feeling you will ever have," He cuts you off, sitting down at the foot of the bed the two of you share and putting his head in his hands, "Each second that ticks by...it...it's just another step closer to the second that isn't going to pass by. The second where it's all just going to stop. Where it's going to go dark. And I'm fucking terrified of that second. The second I'm going to lose everything I care about."

"But don't you get it, Patrick?" You exclaim in frustration, throwing your hands up in the air, "You don't have to wait for that second to come." You walk over and sit down beside him, "Get the treatment and that second won't come for a long time!"

"I don't want to get treatment! How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"Goddammit, Patrick, you're being so...so stupid right now!"

"I'm being stupid?" He repeats, "Am I stupid that I'd rather spend my last days with the people I love rather than with a bunch of stupid nurses and doctors who are shooting me up with drugs or blasting my body with radiation?"

"Yes! Yes you are!" You stand back up, "Those drugs they're going to shoot you up with or the radiation they're going to blast you with will make their cancer go away, at least for a little while! Sure, they might not cure it, but it's better than just letting the disease eat you alive!"

"You don't get it, (Y/N)..." He mumbles, rubbing the temples of his head.

"You're right. I don't. I don't get why you won't get the help and I don't know what will make you change your mind. Not even Gabby could do the trick, and I thought for sure she might've been able to make you change your mind. But even she couldn't seem to change your mind. And I don't know what will! I just don't want you to let this stupid cancer kill you, Patrick!"

"Can we not talk about this anymore?" He begs, not wanting to argue with you anymore, "Please...I want to talk about something else. Anything else. Like...how was your day?"

You cross your arms, replying sarcastically, "Oh it's been the best day of my life, Patrick. Everything's just going swell. My husband's dying and my daughter thinks the way to make him feel better is to give him 'treemints' which he refuses to get. So I'm just doing great. How about you? How was your day?"

His eyes narrow, "You're not going to drop this, are you?"

"Damn right I'm not. Patrick, babe, if you don't-"

"How about we make a deal?" He interrupts you for the second time during this conversation between you and him.

"What deal?"

He stands up and puts his hands out, "Now I want you to hear me out. Let me get this all out at once and then you can bitch me out all you want. Just let me say what I want to say."

You cross your arms and cock your eyebrow, "Go on."

"Okay, so...what if, you try to do it my way for a little while. And by that I mean...you act like it's not there. Like I don't have throat cancer and at any day I could wake up dead. I just want you to give it a try, okay? And if my way doesn't work, I'll do it your way and get the goddamn treatment. Sound fair enough?"

"Patrick, I can't just-"

"Nope. You're already failing."

"Patrick!"

"I don't have throat cancer, I'm not going to die," He tells you, almost like a mantra. But to you he just sounds crazy. He even looks crazy, his eyes a little wider than normal and his chest rising up and down rapidly. "There's nothing wrong with me. Everything's just like it was last week." You roll your eyes. "Right?"

"Right..." You mumble, playing along with him though you don't really want to. The corner of his lip perks upward into a smirk.