Adrenaline Sisters// fall out boy & my chemical romance

Epilogue Two: Cue All The Love to Leave My Heart

|| First Person || Bomb Sunshine ||

Emptiness. That's all I've ever felt after Patrick vanished. I can't sleep; I've lost my appetite for anything. The most I have done in these two weeks is cry and take care of Joan. Party has helped with the baby and I am very grateful for that. He has also tried to help me recover, urging me to eat or, at least, sit up from my bed. Neither the former or the ladder occurred well, much to his dismay.

A light tap sounds from my door. My throat feels raw from last night's episode. My door opens and footsteps sound from it before the door clicks to a close. Patrick's fading footsteps sound in my mind. I screw my eyes shut at the sore memory.

"Bomb?" Party Poison's voice sounds. He's hesitant. "I know you're not asleep. How're you feeling?"
"I really don't want to talk, Gerard," I rasp. I sniffle and focus my attention to the wall in front of me. The Defender's smile invades my mind again and I can't do much about it other than wish it away. I shudder the slightest under the duvets and pull them closer to me. I need something to cling onto— something to replace Patrick. I decide my pillow will do for the time being.

"You're going to have to talk about this sooner or later. It's much better if you do it sooner," Party says. He sits down in the space beside me. I don't turn to him. I'm busy wishing away the memories of Patrick Stump.

"He left. What more can I say?" I try to seethe. My voice is still strained, cracking every now and then. The words don't sound venomous, but they do sound betrayed. Maybe even troubled.
"How it makes you feel? I'm sure you feel something about it, Bomb," he tries to suggest.
"No shit," I huff. I gather energy and courage to turn to Gerard Way. My body feels hallow when I make the sudden movement to lie on my back rather than my side. I look up at Gerard with puffy, brown eyes. I can't seem to read the emotion in his hazel-green ones.

"Patrick left. He didn't even bother to explain why he did it," I say bitterly. His name sounds strange to me; his name has a foreign texture in my mouth, but I will through it. "What if someone did that to you, Party? They mean the world to you, and everything is going well until suddenly, they throw you out!"
"I'm sure Patrick didn't throw you out," he tries to reassure. "He's not that kind of guy."

I don't believe him. If Patrick weren't the type, he wouldn't have done it. My hand slips under the pillow beside me, my fingers brushing against the fraying notebook that once belonged to Patrick. My heart aches for a moment when I remember the contents that are etched in ink on the pages.

"You made it so far without him, Bomb," Gerard says. "At least try to pick yourself up a little. Start by getting out of this room. Get some fresh air, go on a few runs with us?"
"He left," I mumble. Tears well in my eyes again as the flashback plays in my mind again. My voice breaks as the weak dam lets my hot tears flow into the pillow under me.

"He's gone," I rasp. "Why did he leave?"
"I don't know, sweetie," Gerard huffs sadly. "I'm sure he had a reason."
"I don't want to talk about this anymore," I croak. I swipe at the warm tears that roll down my face, mentally demanding myself to stop crying. "I don't want to talk about him and what he did and how fucked up he is for—"
"I get it," Gerard sighs. The small puff of air has a tinge of sadness attached to it. I hate the sympathy he is giving me and I hate how pathetic Patrick has left me to be.

"I just need time, Gerard," I mumble. "He actually meant something to me."
"I know," he says with a nod. "If you need anything, you can always come to any of us."
"Thank you," I huff.

Party Poison stands from the bed and exits the room, closing the door behind him. I sit up and take Patrick's notebook out. I open the spiral-bound book and leaf through the pages claimed by his handwriting. Some of the words are written in different colors other than black and blue ink. Beside some of the paragraphs are small doodles of arrows pointing to branching ideas or drawings of rocket ships.