Happy Miserable Mess (FOB/Patrick Stump FanFic)

Chapter 15

"Your mom was always looking on the brighter side of things," I muttered under my breath as Parker and I stood in front of the abandoned shop, Parker in my arms, "Even in the worst of times."

The place was in horrible shape. The storefront window had been shattered and the sign that hung above the door was barely even readable, the weather having destroyed the etching. Rust corroded one of the two chains that kept it suspended, making it so that the sign was left dangling by a single chain, allowing it to be thrown in the frigid breeze that cut through, chilling me and Parker to the bone. Luckily it wasn't snowing, though, it was just cold.

Parker, whose face was buried in the scarf I had wrapped around my neck, mumbled, "Can we go inside, Daddy? I'm cooooold."

I heaved a sigh, looking to make sure that no one was around. "Okay," I told him, walking forward and tearing down the two planks of wood that had been poorly nailed over the door to prevent anyone from entering. I discarded them to the side and grabbed the icy doorknob, my skin sticking to the metal as I turned it to the right, pushing the door in.

Inside was even worse than the outside. The walls that used to be covered in countless paintings were now barren, charred, a fire having ravaged the small shop about six years ago - killing her father who asleep in the apartment upstairs. He didn't die from the fire itself, but from smoke inhalation. He didn't wake up because the fire alarms he had weren't functioning, the batteries dead.

I can picture the day it happened vividly, even after all these years. When she lost her dad, she totally lost it. That facade she put up, disappeared. The mask I mentioned earlier, fell off. She just couldn't take it anymore. She was at her weakest, and she never came back from that.

I remember I was with the guys when she called me. I could barely understand a word she was saying, she was so distraught, completely in tears, gasping for air, failing to put her thoughts together to explain to me what had happened. Regardless, I immediately rushed home and the second I stepped through the door, she clung to me and sobbed.

That was the first time I ever saw her cry. The second - and last - time being when Parker was born (but those tears were different).

I had no other choice than to comfort her that day, hugging her back and telling her that everything was going to be okay.  But everything wasn't going to be okay. Because after that day, things were never the same and she started spiraling out of control. The facade was stronger than ever. The mask never came off. She faked everything and let her emotions eat her alive, ultimately killing her.

The shop was dark, the farthest wall where the stairwell was was entirely consumed by a black shadow. The only source of light for the small shop was from the reflection of the snow on the ground shining through the storefront window, and even then it didn't do much justice.

I set Parker down on the ground covered in dried leaves and bits and pieces of ceiling that had fallen. My son clung onto my leg.

"Park, it's okay, I'm right here. You don't need to be scared," I reassured him, detaching him gently from my leg so that I could walk over to one of the few paintings I'd spotted that had been left behind and hadn't been destroyed or stolen.

I squatted down and picked it up, taking a look at it. It was a portrait of her, her head turned away and her hair cascading over her shoulder, the sun flowing through the window in the background creating a angel-like glow around her. I smirked.

Parker stumbled over to me and sat down on the dirty floor, looking at the painting as well. "Who's that?" He asked curiously, pointing to the girl in picture.

"Your mom," I answered.

"Mom?" He repeated.

I nodded my head, holding back the tears that were beginning to well in my eyes. I blinked them away and sniffled, the cold not helping.

"What's Mommy doing in a picture?" He inquired innocently.

I chuckled, "She's not really in the picture, Park. It's just a picture of her. Your grandpa painted it."

"Grandpa?"

"Yeah, but not the grandpa we're staying with. Your other grandpa. Mommy's dad. You never got to meet him because he passed away before you were born," I explained, standing up. I looked down at the portrait in my hands, contemplating whether or not I should take it with me.

Parker looked up at me, "Passed away?"

I glanced down at him, "I meant that he's asleep like Mommy." My son nodded his head in understanding before looking around nervously, his small body shaking. He was still scared. Or just cold. I don't blame him for either.

I heaved a sigh and set the picture back down on the floor, leaning it up against the wall. I couldn't take it. I needed to move on. "Hey, are you ready?"

"Weady for what?" He asked, tilting his head back so he could look up at me.

"Our next adventure."

"Is it cold like this one?"

"It shouldn't be."

A smile stretched across his small face, his cheeks cherry red from the cold, "Okie-dokie, artichokey."

I rolled my eyes, failing to hide the smile that crept up on my face, and swooped him up back in my arms, leaving the abandoned shop and closing the door behind me before I started heading back towards my car (which was luckily in the direction the bitter wind was blowing in).

*****

"Daddy?" Parker mumbled as I fixed him into his car seat, my fingers slipping as I tried to buckle him in from the numbness.

"Yeah?"

"Are we going to see Mommy soon?" He glanced up at me, a sparkle in his eyes.

I bit my chapped lip before nodding my head and replying, "Yeah. Soon."

I began to close the door when he blurted out, "How soon?"

"Soon, Park, soon," I patted him on the leg, "I just want to take you to a few places first, okay?" I once again started to close the car door, but he wasn't done.

"But I want to see Mommy," He complained, pouting.

"We will, don't worry." Tears glistened in his eyes and he began taking in sharp breaths. "Parker, don't cry now," I begged, "You've been so good so far! What changed?"

"I miss her, Daddy," He confessed, covering his face with his little hands and beginning to sob.

I frowned, I hated to see him cry. I really did. "Park, look at me." He screamed and continued to cry. "Hey." I grabbed his hands and took them away from his face. He met my gaze and I gave him a slight smile, "We're going to see Mommy, I promise. But right now, she's still sleeping and we need to give her a little more time before we go and wake her up, okay?"

He sniffled a few times, "W-W-Why?"

"Because she's exhausted, buddy," I fed him the lie I'd been feeding him ever since her funeral, "But by the time we're done going to all these places, she'll feel better and we can see her. Okay?"

He rubbed his red and puffy eyes and nodded his head yes.

I leaned in and pressed my lips against his forehead, "I love you, Park. Don't you ever forget that." I slipped back out and closed the car door, opening the driver's side door and getting in.