Friend, Please (Peterick)

(4)

Patrick's POV

"I understand, Patrick. But you have to go home at some point. You can't come here and just randomly stay for 2 days without telling them" Pete sighs. "They don't care if I go somewhere, Pete. Hell, they wouldn't even care if I died on the freaking road!" I say, frustration building up

"Please, Patrick. Look from my point of view." Pete said. Okay, I felt bad. And unwanted. Okay. He looked pretty tired. Not his fault, I bug him loads. I nod and got my bags, feeling kind of hurt that he doesn't exactly want me here. Whatever.

"Thanks," I smile fakely at him. He nods and closes the door when I go out.

I have to go home. I'm scared shitless. What if my dad is drinking? He'd be way more angry.

For.
No.
Reason.

I started to have random lyric thoughts while walking to my house. I wrote music. Music, besides Pete, calms me down. I have written a lot of music which probably I could make about 2 albums but hey, its Patrick Stump. I suck and I cant do shit.

And with the black banners raised as the crooked smiles fade, former heroes who quit too late. Who just wanna fill up the trophy case again.

I thought it was pretty good. I guess, I don't know. I kept thinking of it, hoping to not forget about that.

I looked down, trying to make up a tune and someone bumps into me. "Wh- im so sorry!" Sounded like a man voice. I looked up, someone that looks like a tiny..seed.

He had big eyes, a fringe, pretty lips and he was quite tall. He wasnt a tiny seed. Not. At. All.

He was pretty cute though. But he doesn't look my type

"I-its fine, really." I smile at him. "Well, you look kind of.. sad. What's wrong?" He asks, holding my shoulders up. "I mean- My name's Brendon." He looks at me. I nod, signalling im fine. "Im Patrick."

"Nice, where you headin'?" Brendon asks, wiggling an eyebrow. Okaaaay he's probably gonna kidnap me if I tell him where I'm going..

"My house." I accidentally blurted out. Wow way to go, Patrick. You mess up loads.

"Alright well, I'll see you around." He smiled and walked off saying Bye.

I only nod, saying Bye back and walked rather slowly to my house.

Soon enough I arrived infront of my house. Home. Home is meant to be where the heart is. You're meant to crave it. But, I don't. I call this place hell.

I walked in the house, quickly going upstairs. I tried to not make any noise or things won't go down too well. I got there safely, which is great. I closed my door quietly and locked it.

I looked at everything in my room. My bed sheet was torn. My mirror is broken, my acoustic guitar was smashed on the floor while my bass was still okay. This is fucking shit.

What the hell?!

I looked at my vandalised room. It was my fucking dad obviously. You know what, he isn't even my fucking dad hes fucking satan.

I had only one person that cares about me, Pete.

I was so angry I couldn't even cry. I was just overly angry.

I harshly called Pete while I feel my chest tightening. "Pete. Fuck, I'm so fucking angry." I growl in the phone. I ended up crying anyway after that. "Why?" He asks worriedly through the phone.

"He fucking vandalised my fucking room!" I cried, "I- what did he do?" Pete probably was cooking since I could hear whatever was sizzling on the other end.

"Broke my fucking guitar, ripped up my bed sheet and smashed my mirror." I say, taking deep breaths. Pete started yelling and I did too. He told me about how much of an idiot he is and that everything's gonna be okay.

Patrick soon hung up after that and he heard door banging. "Hey, do you like your new room?" He chuckles. Patrick only shut up completely and he sighed

"Idiot." He bangs one more time on the door. He eventually left and I was still so angry. I picked up the broken guitar and sighed. I looked at the broken strings and everything.

Horrible.

I looked at my bed, wiping my tears. The bed sheet that my grandma made before she passed. Honestly, the only nice person in this family to me was my grandma. She was the one who prevented me from getting hit at an early age. Once she was gone, I got hit.

I never liked the fucking mirror anyway. I have one in my bathroom.

I grabbed a piece of the broken glass. Using glass is quite dangerous but it's all I had since Pete took all of my stuff.

I made lines across my wrists. It looks red. That's it. But soon enough little bit of blood came out. I didnt make it deep which was fine since I didnt want any of the glass inside my arm at all.

But then, the glass can easily cut my vein and die. And I can escape from this hell hole called earth. But Pete. I cant leave him.

I washed my arm and sat on the floor, thinking about everything which includes Pete, his dad, his future and past.
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900 words. Literally. ^

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