Scared (Patrick Stump Imagine Short Story)

Part 13

You're standing on a chair, trying to attach the other end of a line of streamers to the opposite corner of the room. You bite your lip, standing on your toes which are dangerously close to the edge of the chair as you stretch to reach the corner.

"Come on, come on..." You mutter under your breath.

"(Y/N)!" Someone screams your name.

You look over your shoulder to see Patrick standing in the center of the room whose floor is covered in pink and purple and white balloons. He looks a lot better than he did months ago. His skin is no longer gray and his signature smile is back on his face.

"What?" You ask him, failing to hide your annoyance with him.

"What are you doing?" He approaches you.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm trying to put up these streamers for Gabby's party." You look back at the corner of the room, trying once again to tape the streamer into the corner of the room.

"(Y/N), let me do it," Patrick begs you.

"You're shorter than me, Patrick. If I can't get it, you won't be able to either."

He sighs, disregarding your insult, "I just don't you getting hurt."

"I won't get hurt, Patrick," You mumble, putting all your strength into reaching out the farthest you can and attaching the streamer to the wall. You smile at your accomplishment and safely get down from the chair, turning around to face Patrick. "See? Not hurt."

He rolls his eyes and grabs the chair, taking it back into the dining room and placing back at the table covered with snacks and drinks - chips, pretzels, dips, soda, punch, the works.

"You know," You follow him in there, "Just because I'm pregnant, doesn't mean I can't do things, Patrick."

"I'm just looking out for you," He murmurs, leaning on one of the chairs and looking over at you, "I don't want you getting hurt. I don't want anyone getting hurt. This family's gone through enough hurt." You frown. He heaves a sigh and brushes past you, "Did you get Gabby's dress out from the basement?"

"Yeah," You respond, walking into the kitchen he disappeared into, opening the fridge and pulling out a bottle of vodka. "She's getting dressed right now."

Just then, your daughter races down the stairs and into the kitchen, dressed in her favorite Disney princess dress with her hairbrush in hand.

"Mommy, can you put my hair into a ponytail?" She asks sweetly as Patrick turns away, grabbing himself a glass and uncapping the bottle.

"Sure thing, birthday girl," You reply, taking your daughter's brush and ushering her over to the nook. You sit down at the table and your daughter stands in between your legs as you brush her thin blonde hair back.

Patrick sets the bottle down and picks up his glass, putting it to his lips and drinking the clear, strong liquid. You stare at him as you continue to brush your daughter's hair.

It's true that Patrick's gotten better since the surgery, but he's picked up a bad habit of drinking whenever he thinks about what had happened. You know it's bad, but you're hoping that the habit is just a habit and he'll grow out of it.

He finishes the glass and sets it down in the sink, walking out of the kitchen.

"Mommy, when are people going to start showing up?" Your daughter asks.

"Soon, Gabby, very soon," You tell her before asking for a hair tie. Your daughter holds up a pink hair tie and you take it into your possession, pulling her hair through it. You turn her around and brush her bangs out of her face and to the side, smirking. "There you go. You look like a true princess."