Patrick Stump Imagines

Some Nights I Wish...

He was at the edge of the bed, his tie was barely arranged, his bleached blonde hair was messier than a bird's nest, and his former-white shirt was now almost the color of his soul. His wife, however, was sleeping soundly on the opposite side of the bed. He took another sip from the beverage on his hands, the alcohol running down his throat. His mind was full of regrets that he could build a castle out of them if they were bricks. What she was going to say about it was the first thing that was on his mind amidst the infestation in his mind's imagination.

The bed slowly moved as he sighed. The woman sat up from the bed, and looked around her. Her husband was still mindlessly on the side of the bed, sulking at the floor. His emotion was obvious, so she inquired.

"What's wrong?" Her reaction was about to grow but her husband stood and covered his face in humiliation. A look of confusion drew on her face as she tried to decipher whatever her husband was doing and why he was staring at the floor, all messed up at 1AM.

He was ready to confess. It was either he'd face the truth now or face it later when they thought their fairytale was quiet and peaceful. He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. "I love you, (Y/N). I love you so much."

What came out of his mouth quite wasn't what the both of them were looking for, causing (Y/N) to go skeptical. "You did something wrong, didn't you?"

"I-I guess I did."

"Well then, why won't you admit it?"

He gave into the dare, forcing the words to come out of his mouth.

"I killed someone."

A shocked expression played on her face as she felt the whole world collapse around her. "What?"

"I did. I'm a criminal, (Y/N)."

"So what are you planning to do about it then? Just confess as if your words could magically vanish your sin?" Her mouth wasn't ashamed to spit out venom, since she was talking to someone who did something worse.

"I'm sorry."

"You're sorry? Wow. Sorry is definitely going to fix it, huh, Stump? That's it?" she sarcastically said as she crossed her arms. "Who was it?"

"Who was what?"

"Who forced you to do this? I mean, you're too fucking innocent for this shit, who made you do it?"

His breath was heavy. "I did. I killed Pete."

"Of all the people, you killed your friend?!" She was ready to collapse now, Pete was her best friend and hearing that her own husband her best friend wasn't nice to hear. "Most of all, my best friend? You deserve to be behind bars. I'm calling the cops." She pulled out her phone, dialing 911 even if Patrick was yelling at her to not to. "What I hate about this situation is how dull you're acting as if you just didn't kill someone."

-

The authority arrived shortly, taking the boy away shortly with (Y/N) in the police car, wanting to know Patrick's side of the story.

He took a seat on the chair in front of the desk, a chair that was probably used by thousands of other criminals like him, trying to explain their sides of the story that they made up. Patrick, however, was ready to confess his side from the start to the end. There was no hiding from his sin.

"So, according to our records, your name is Patrick Martin Stumph, professionally known as Patrick Vaughn Stump, lead vocalist of the world-famous band Fall Out Boy," the police guy said as he busily scanned through piles of papers. "Must be a shame, huh?"

"It is." He bowed his head down, fiddling with the handcuffs behind him holding his hands down.

"I guess you'll have to explain your part of the story before we lock you up. Go ahead, take your time."

"It was last night, Pete, Joe and I were getting drunk as part of our boys night while Andy was on the corner, talking to some lady he met earlier. Joe and I were making weird pick-up lines to each other, until Pete showed up carrying a pill that he guaranteed was going to give us a good time. I took the pill, and five minutes later, I found myself shit-faced on the bar stool, trying to get up. I don't know how the hell I turned out like that, but I did.

"Next thing I knew, I was already locking up the bedroom door with Pete on the bed, taking his belt off along with the rest of his clothes. I was doing the same thing until we were both naked and fucking on the bed.

"I snapped back to reality when I found myself next to him on the bed, breathless. I regretted my decision because not only did I cheat on my wife, but made Pete fuck me, making him cheat on his wife, made me take drugs. I was so angry at him that I took the lamp on the bedside table and smashed it on his head, causing a shard of porcelain to dig deep into his neck and make him bleed to death. I was so guilty that I ran away to my house and hid from my crime."

-

It was his third year in prison, and three years that he hasn't seen her and never got to see his little boy grow up. Wondering why she has a kid? It's simple. Before he committed the crime, the both of them had it and when he was finally in jail, she figured out that she were pregnant.

She was putting him to sleep, closing the storybook as the little boy's eyelids fluttered into sleep. She sighed and kissed his forehead before she went out of the room and into her bedroom, locking it and dozing off to sleep.

But she didn't. She couldn't get sleep for some reason. She stood up and washed her face in the sink, and looked up at the mirror.

A girl who got impregnated by a criminal who doesn't know he's a father.

She sighed and tried to sleep for the second time, and it was successful.

-

"Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck," he sang as he threw the ball he's been playing with to the wall, the ball coming back onto him. "Some nights I call it a draw."

The rest of his cellmates went in, resting in their respective places and shutting off the light. Patrick was still throwing the ball against the wall, not minding the noise it made.

He stood and walked to the small window on top of the room and looked out at the moon that was greeting him. "Some nights I wish that this all would end, 'cause I could use some friends for a change."

He woke up in a different room, surrounded by countless of knives and weapons. He knew very well what the room was and never expected that he would be meeting it anytime soon.

The hanging room.

Today was the promised day of his death sentence, and he wasn't ready.

"Ready to go, Mr. Stump?" a lady about in her 30s asked as she went inside the room, glancing up from her checkboard.

Patrick knew that he wasn't going to escape. He was going to face the product of his grave sin.

-

He was in deep sleep, or if you could even call that sleep. He was dead. His head was stitched back to his body and his coffin and his mind was at peace.

The black-wearing woman walked inside the room, casually looking inside the coffin like he wasn't her husband, but inside she wanted to collapse. Her three-year-old was wondering who the guy was, and all she could stutter out was a response that was close to inadible.

"Mommy, who is he? Tell me!" the little boy pulled his mother's dress, annoying the lady. She pulled the dress and cried, letting tears of both anger and regret come through.

If only she was there for him, if only...