Patrick P.O.V.
I. Am. Death.
Every since I woke up a couple days ago, I've been miserable. It's like the flu, but amplified. My every waking moment is dizziness and puking. And when ever I sleep, I relive the fire.
The screams of our driver. The charred flesh on his legs. The horrible, awful burning sensation on my arm. Pete's eyes looking at me like I was a dead man.
I don't remember the fire very well. The doctors say it's because of the concussion and it'll come back to be soon. But it's coming back to me in nightmares.
So yeah, life is great!
The only good thing about life right now is that everyone is here with me. Elisa comes with Declan every so often. Joe, Pete, and Andy have officially been checked out of the hospital but are reluctant to leave my side. And Brendon, god, I can't get him to leave my side. He's constantly asking if I'm okay.
Right now was a rare occasion when it was just me and Pete alone in the room. I was staring at the ceiling, trying to fight back dizziness and the urge to sleep, because when I sleep, that's when the nightmares come.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that Pete kept glancing at me. I ignored it, until it became kind of annoying.
"God, what is it Pete? Why do you keep glancing at me?" I asked.
His blond head whipped in my direction. "Nothing," he muttered.
I scoffed. "Nothing, my ass, Pete."
He jumped up. "Patrick! You really want to know what's bothering me? 'Trick, do you see what you did to yourself for us? Here, look."
He grabbed a silver sheet of the table and put it in front of my face. He was right. I looked awful. My skin was a light grey color, and the dark purple bags under my eyes only made it more noticeable.
"You're miserable. I can tell. You haven't slept for two days, god knows why. You can't walk without me fucking carrying you. You can't use your arm. Patrick, you probably won't be able to play guitar ever again. And you did all this because you saved our lives. Patrick, we would be dead if it wasn't for you. And you're so, so sick." Pete had tears on his cheeks. "I just can't bare to see you like his.
I knew Pete got angry like this sometimes. And the only way to calm him down was to sing to him. I outstretched my arm. "Come here, Pete."
Pete glanced at me again, then laid down next to me. I started singing Pete's favorite song. I felt his angry breaths even out and his eyes closed. He was asleep. Good, he needed it.
I soon felt myself begin to drift off. No, I can't fall asleep.
I can't handle the nightmares. I forced my eyes open.
I started to feel dizzy again. My vision went blurry. The horrible nausea came back. The headaches returned. My arm was throbbing, as was my head.
I tried not to move. I couldn't wake Pete up, he needed the sleep.
I let out a whimper. I needed help. I pressed the button to call the nurse.
A short blond woman came into my room. She glanced at Pete in my arms, then looked back at me.
"I need some more meds, could you please help?" I said, having trouble talking since my head was swimming so much.
She nodded and went to the IV taped to my hand. She turned some knobs and my head and arm instantly felt a little better. "Let me know if you need anything else, Patrick," she said as she exited the room.
My eyes started to close again.
God, no. Please don't let me fall asleep.
But I couldn't fight back my heavy eyelids anymore. My eyes closed and the flames returned.
