How to Not Fall For Patrick Stump For Dummies #Wattys2015

Chapter 1

I'm Emerald Cruz and I am a failure.

I'm 23 years old and still living in my parents house. I've never held a job for over a week. The last time I ever had a boyfriend was back in high school and boy was that a slap in the face. I'm not ready for anything, rather it be living on my own in the real world or attempting to fall in love. If I tried, I'd probably fall on my face.

My parents have allowed me to stay with them for all of these years, but that doesn't mean that they're supportive. They would love to kick me out the first chance I get, but for now, they're stuck with me.

One thing they like to do is add to the pile of shit that I have to deal with already. If I somehow get any time to myself, it would be soaked up by chores. If everything else was done, they'd find something to get mad at me for and punish me for that reason, which was usually nothing.

I had friends, or people I liked to call my "friends". They would talk to me, but only if no one was around and I was their only option. I wasn't invited to any parties or showers. It's been years since I've ever hung out with someone.

The only real friend I had took his life before I could tell him how I really felt. It was almost as if no one wanted me.

There was no escape, no outlet, not one person I could talk to about my feelings.

I often drank away my feelings, alone at a bar. The bittersweet taste of the drink down my throat reminded me of my troubles. I have no self-esteem whatsoever. I've never thought myself to be pretty or good-looking ever in my life. Sure, I could make myself look more appealing, but what's the use if there's no one to impress or please?

Guys would hit on me at the bar, but that would only mean that they were drunk out of their minds. Even then, it was clear that they were only there to harass me and use me.

One day, I'd had it up to my neck. My "friends" had all paired up together and went to a concert without asking me to join. People had been leaving nasty comments on my social media. My day wasn't even halfway over and it had already been one of the worst I'd ever had. I ran up the stairs and locked my bedroom door, busying myself with something that I liked to do, listen to music.

Music was one of the only things I could use to help me. Music was my anti-venom, my antidote for the poison that wracked my body on a constant basis. When things got hectic, I always made sure to have a headphone to plug in.

For a moment, I would be at peace. I would forget everything that was stressing me out before and lose myself in lyrics.

No one did lyrics quite like Fall Out Boy did. It was like they completely understood my life and wrote it into a song. I related so well to each one of them in little ways.

I was like Joe Trohman because telling jokes and being sarcastic made me feel better.

I was like Andy Hurley because I was shy and only said something if I thought it was good enough for people to hear. I was insecure and self-conscious.

I was basically the female version of Pete Wentz. I could never write like he does, but I very well relate to and admire him. His feelings and emotions are somewhat like mine, but less trapped. He can write his feelings out in song or book. I can't even do that. That must be why he's so amazing.

But then there was Patrick Stump.
I was nothing like him. Not a cell in my body compared or matched Patrick's. Typically, lead singers are cocky and arrogant liars who spend too much time in the spotlight. Patrick, on the other hand, is the complete opposite.

This sweetie is almost as shy as Andy. His voice is the equivalent to an angel's and it's very unfair. He can bend it to sound growly, making my heart burst.

The band had broken up, though, and long since. It's been two years into their hiatus and Patrick's lost a ton of weight, bleached his hair, and started his solo career.

I was just sitting up in my room, listening to Folie á Deux and minding my own business when the stock pile of chores showed up.

"Don't forget to do the dishes, Em!"
"You didn't do the laundry yet, Em!"
"I'd better see that charger off of the floor when I come up there!"

I growled and slammed my laptop screen shut. I grabbed a purse and shoved anything I might need in it. Frustration built up inside me as I skipped stairs to the door.

They tried to stop me too. I wasn't very secretive about shutting the behind me and starting up my car. I had no plans on coming back here, and maybe not even making it through the night.

I don't know where I was going, but it doesn't matter anymore.

Slamming on the gas, I wiped stray tears off of my cheeks. I've never felt so low in my life. The long, familiar curves in the road quickly turned unfamiliar. The light of the sun faded away and the moon desperately tried to light my way in the purple sky.

I just drove straight ahead, no destination set in my mind. I didn't need one.

My mind flashed scenes in my head. After Nathan died, I started my downfall. There was no purpose to my life and there never was since then.

There was one thing he said to do if I ever felt like I might hurt myself, and I was seriously thinking about it at the moment.

I hadn't thought of it much before. Nathan and I were driving downtown one day and he stopped at a gas station to buy a coke. He came out with a grin and a small piece of paper.

"What's that?" I ask and peek over to see.

He folded it up in his hand and tossed it into my glovebox, "Nope. Not yet. When you feel that all else fails, then you can see what's inside."

I reached into my glovebox and yanked it out. The paper was over five years old by now and had lost its reflective quality. With my eyes on the road, I unfolded the paper hurriedly in my fingers.

Quickly, I looked down at the paper.

It was blank.

My heart dropped, but not because of the empty note. I didn't have time to react over that. I didn't even have time to shield my face.

The airbag collided with my cheek and knocked the wind out of me. The car tipped on its side and fell with a loud slam. The glass from the windows shattered and found my skin, penetrating it like knives of fire.

There was a car door slam and a man ran out. I knew the bleach blonde twig that was struggling to hold himself together. I wanted to run to his arms, hold him, and say that everything was okay, but I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't.

I felt my eyes roll back into my head and lost myself into a tunnel without light.

Patrick Stump had just rammed his way into my heart.

~ Jenna