A Handful Of Moments You Wish You Could Change (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Make Up Your Mind

"Well...good news is your nose isn't broken, Mr. Stump," The doctor tells your husband, finishing his examination, "Bad news is that you're going to have a pretty nasty bruise for the next couple of weeks. Maybe even months."

"Months?" Patrick repeats.

"Hey, it's better than your nose being broken," The doctor reminds him.

Patrick rolls his eyes and looks over at you. You tilt your head down, avoiding his gaze.

"Thanks, Doctor," Your husband mumbles appreciatively. The doctor nods his head and leaves the room, telling you to pay on your way out.

You heave a sigh and stand up from the chair you're sitting in, making your way over to the door. "(Y/N), wait," Patrick says before you can leave. You stop in your tracks.

He gets down from the examination table and walks over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder and turning you around so you're facing him, "I didn't mean what I said tonight. I just-"

"Patrick, don't even talk to me right now, okay?" You murmur, tears in your eyes as his hurtful words ring in your ears.

Reality check, (Y/N), I'm not happy with you anymore.

I haven't been for a really long time and it was only a matter of time before it boiled down to this.

I don't want to be a husband anymore.

I don't want to be a father either.

I just want some time to myself.

You guys aren't my top priority. My music is. It always has been and it always will be.

"But-"

"I said don't talk to me," You mutter under your breath, walking out of the room with tears blurring your vision the farther and farther away you get.

You dart right past the counter where you're supposed to pay and push open the door to a bathroom, shutting the door behind you and locking it.

Once you know no one can come in, you break down. Tears begin to stream down your cheek as your knees buckle, causing you to fall against the door and slide down to the floor. You cover your face with your hands and sob, letting go of all the emotions you've kept pent up for days, months, years even.

*****

It's a little after midnight and the kids are both in bed, or at least they're both in their rooms. You're not sure if they're actually asleep, but you don't think anyone's going to get any sleep tonight anyways.

As for you, you're lying in bed, hugging your pillow tightly and staring at the wall across from you. Patrick's across the room, changing into his pajamas. He glances back at you and frowns, feeling horrible for everything that's happened.

He slips his shirt on over his head and walks over to the bed, crawling in next to you. He exhales loudly and looks over at you, you haven't moved. He turns on his side and rests his head in his hand, "(Y/N), please talk to me. You haven't talked to me since the hospital."

You remain silent, keeping your eyes locked on the wall.

He moves closer to you, your bodies inches away from one another. "(Y/N), come on. You can't ignore me forever."

You break your gaze with the wall and glance back over your shoulder. "You told me you didn't want to be married to me anymore. You told me you didn't want to be a father to our children either. So, I'm sorry if I'm coming off a little upset," You say, sarcasm dripping from your mouth. You elbow him away from you and sit up, getting out of the bed.

Patrick sighs and sits up, "Hon, I told you I didn't mean it."

"You can't say something like that and then say you didn't mean it!" You snap, the anger you've kept to yourself for so long being released, "Patrick, do you know how much that hurt? To hear that my husband - the man I've dedicated more than twenty years of my life to - doesn't want to be with me or our kids because he just wants some time to be by himself? Not to mention that you also told me that we've never been a priority of yours, that your fucking music means more to you that your own family."

He hangs his head guiltily, muttering, "I can only imagine how much it hurts."

"You deserve what happened to you tonight," You growl at him, tears resurfacing in your eyes, but this time because you're furious. "You really do."

Patrick remains silent.

"You're a horrible person," You continue to vent, "And you know what? Yeah, I do like Pete better than you, because he cares. Because he loves his family, truly loves them. Because he doesn't lie, keep me thinking that you're happy and that after everything, we actually worked out. I mean, you don't see his kids punching him in the face. You don't see his kids not wanting to spend time with him."

Your husband says nothing.

Your lip quivers and you hang your head, "Patrick, I don't want this to happen. I really don't - but you've just made things so much worse, and all in one night!"

"(Y/N), I'm sorry."

"You're sorry?" You chuckle in disbelief, "You're sorry. You really think that saying 'you're sorry' is going to make this all better?"

"It's worked before..."

"Well that was fourteen years ago, Patrick. Things have changed. Your pathetic, meaningless sorry isn't going to cut it this time."

"I-I don't know what you want me to do."

"I want you to make up your goddamn mind. Are you gonna stay or are you gonna go?" His eyes double in size. "Because I don't want to you to be unhappy, Patrick. That's one thing you and I both can agree on - that we want the best for each other, and that we want them to be happy. So choose. Pick your poison. Because I'm sick and tired of all this fighting, all this constant tension. And if me signing divorce papers is going to make you happy and end this madness, then so be it. I just want this to stop, because I don't think I can handle another day of this, "You run a hand through your hair, "I really don't think I can."

Your surrender strikes Patrick speechless.

"So what is it going to be?" You ask bitterly, crossing your arms, "Are you going to stay or are you going to go?"