This May Take Some Time and Effort. [Fall Out Boy/Patrick Stump fanfiction]

Chapter Eighteen-Get Me Out of My Mind

//TRIGGER WARNING. IF YOU ARE TRIGGERED BY BLOOD/VIOLENCE OF ANY KIND, DO NOT READ THIS CHAPTER.//

Stupid.

Pathetic.

Easy.

Crazy.

Just go to that balcony and fucking jump.

You'd be doing everyone a great service.

The voices just keep coming. I can't get them to stop. Somebody, just make them stop...

There are these horrible voices in my head, and my ears are ringing, and there's this awful sobbing coming from somewhere...

Oh wait, it's me sobbing.

"Fucking stop!" I shout, crying my heart out. "What did I do? I just want to live! I...I can't."

I lie on the bed, close my eyes, and dissolve into a memory.

Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God, I'm going to die," I pant, shooting up in my bunk and almost hitting my head. I can barely breathe, and oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm going to die, I'm going to fucking die-

"Cor? Cor, listen to me," Patrick says, sitting up and enveloping me in his warm embrace. "You're okay. You're not going to die."

"I'm so scared," I cry, still struggling to breathe.

"Listen to me. You're okay, alright?" he says, and I nod, looking straight into his eyes.  "Just breathe. There's nothing chasing you. There won't be a face in the window. Nothing is under your bed. You can throw your legs over, let your arm hang down. Nothing is going to get you, babe. I promise. I'm here to protect you. I'll kick its ass if anything or anyone even tries to hurt you, okay? You're safe with me. You're safe with all of us." He presses his lips to mine, but this time, the dark thoughts invading my mind just don't seem to go away completely like they did before. I still want to die.

"I want to die, Patrick," I cry, burying my face in his shirt.

"No, no you don't, Cor, you can't," he says, his voice shaky. "You-you've got so many beautiful ideas and so much inspiration and...and you've just got so much beauty to share with the world, ok? You've got so much up in that pretty little brain of yours that needs to be told and drawn, and-and sung, and danced, and written, and you-you're so insanely perfect, but you don't even realize it. And I know this sounds cheesy, but...you're the one I want to spend the rest of my life with, I just know it. I...I love you so much, ok? All of this talk about dying, I...I just can't stand the thought of being without you, Cor."

"Patrick..." I say softly, and he smiles apologetically.

"Sorry, got a bit carried away," he admits. "But every word of that was true, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear," I say, smiling softly, and he laughs quietly.

"Good," he smiles, and he kisses my forehead.

That was a complete lie.

That was then, and this is now. The me I am now is not the me I was a few days ago.

Day 1 I talked about getting out, but not forgetting about how all my worst fears are letting out.

I walk into the bathroom, and grab Patrick's shaving razor. I pop it out of the package, and drag it across my skin. One time, three times, eleven.