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

Chapter Nineteen-Can't Be on My Own Without You

"What do you mean by 'she's not okay', exactly?" I ask a few minutes later, finally getting my voice to work.

"S-surgery," Andy stutters, "they gave her something in the ambulance, and she just passed out, in, like, two minutes. She-she said she was sorry."

"Why-why would she do this?" Tyler asks, fingering the collar of his baggy shirt.

"She...she didn't tell you?" Pete asks, and Tyler shakes his head no.

"She and Andy's parents are abusive," I explain, voice quiet and eyes trained on the sterile, white tile floor. "Her...her dad raped her. That's why she's so fucked up."

Everyone is silent for a moment, letting it sink in. Then I hear Dallon mutter "Holy shit."

"The thing that I'm trying to figure out is-why?" I say, running my fingers through my hair. "Did anyone grab her phone?"

"I did, Josh says, and he hands it to me. I open her messages, and take a sharp intake of air.

"So that's why," I mutter, the messages almost burning my eyes as I look at them. Then, I see one from a few days ago that hits me hard.

Fucking emo bitch, why don't you just go slit your throat? You'd be doing everyone a favor, fag.

'Fag?' I wonder, but shake it off, for there are far more pressing matters in that message.

"They...they told her to slit her throat, and...it must have gotten into her head, or something like that, and...holy shit, I'm going to kill them." I say.

"Who told her to slit her throat?" Brendon asks, highly confused.

"Her parents," I say, exhasperated. "We don't know how they got her number, but they did, and they've been sending her messages for a month now."

"Oh," he says, and we fall into an uncomfortable silence.

                  ----€CORALINE'S POV€----

"Hey, Cor? It's Andy," I hear, his voice muffled and distant.

I try to open my eyes, but I can't. I can't move, either.

"You're going into surgery when we get there, okay? You're going to make it, you have to. I love you," he continues, and I want to cry so bad, I want to just hug him, and Patrick, and everyone, and just tell them that I love them and that this isn't their fault.

"We're here," he sighs, and I hear doors opening.

I slip back into the blackness, and when I come to again, I hear a different voice talking. A woman.

"Scalpel," she orders, and with a jolt, I realize I'm in surgery. Something else perks my interest, though-something happening in the background.

I'm a stitch away from making it

And a scar away from falling apart

I just want to smile, but, obviously, I can't. Patrick's voice, Andy's drumming, and Joe's guitar just feel like...like home.

Throughout the clinking of tools, I just focus on  the album plying, Infinity on High. A small smile must have made it's way onto my lips, because I hear the surgeon chuckle.

"Well, look at that," she says, and I can almost see a smile on their face. "I guess she can hear, after all."

I go black, again, and when I next (somewhat) come to, I don't hear Patrick's voice anymore, which makes me slightly sad. I enjoyed the comfort it was bringing me.

Assuming I'm in a hospital room, the entire space is silent, besides footsteps passing every now and then. I can faintly hear cars every so often, and every once in a while, a siren. It's actually pretty peaceful, if you think about it.

Suddenly, I hear a faint snore, and I really wish I could roll my eyes. Seems like Patrick's fallen asleep somewhere beside me.

He wakes up a few minutes later, when the doctor walks in.

"When do you think the medicine will wear off?" he asks, his voice still slightly sleepy.

"She should be waking up any day now," she says, and I recognize the surgeon's voice. "I wouldn't be surprised if she woke up this afternoon, in fact."

But I don't, because, of course, that's how life works-it always finds a way to screw you over.

So I just lie here, conscious but unconscious, listening to people come and go, Patrick updating me on what's happening, telling me he loves me...and I wonder why I ever wanted to die.

Why would I leave this amazing boy? Why would I leave my friends? Why would I leave Andy? I have such a bright future...why couldn't I see it?

Oh yeah, that slight road bump.

The fact that I have fucking PSTD and anxiety from my parents, the people who were supposed to love, nurture, and protect me.

The entire time I've been lying here, the events of that night (which was only two days ago, if my guesstimate is right) keep replaying over and over in my head.

The text message.

The razor.

The blood.

My last breath.

I don't want to remember at all

the promises I made, if you'll just hold on

hold on, hold on, hold on...

hold on.