"Pete!" You called, running up the stairs. "Where are you?"
You had just received a frantic call from his mother. Apparently, Pete had called her, telling her about how much everything hurt and just how much he wanted the pain to end.
It was a well-known fact that whenever Pete had one of these episodes, you were the only one who could calm him down.
But he hadn't been answering any of your texts and he ignored every single one of your calls.
The house smelled like weed, you noted as you pushed open the door to Pete's bedroom. You were hit with another overwhelming wave, making your eyes water.
Pete laid on his back, staring up at the ceiling, a rolled piece of paper held between his lips. He looked over at you lazily with red rimmed eyes. "Hey."
"Hey?" You said in disbelief. "That's all you have to say is hey!"
Your boyfriend shrugged and inhaled from the joint. "Yeah, hey."
You rolled your eyes and stomped over to him. You pulled the joint from between his lips, dropped it on the ground and crushed it under your heel.
"Hey!" He protested, sitting up quickly. "Why'd you do that?"
"Your mom called me, scared to death, because you said you were going to kill yourself." You crossed your arms over chest.
Pete shook his head. "I never said that, only said the pain was too much and I wanted it to end."
"So what? You make everyone worry about you, and the only thing you're doing is smoking weed?" You yelled.
"I just want to feel better." Pete yelled back. "I need to feel better."
You picked up the crushed joint. "This, is not going to make you feel better." You threw it at him. "This is going to kill you."
"And what if I don't care?" Pete stood. "What if I want to die?"
You shook your head. "No, I'm not letting that happen."
"Why not?" Pete asked, a cynical smile on his face.
"Because I care about you." You answered stoically.
Pete rolled his eyes. "Bullshit."
"It's true. Why else would I be here, why else would I put up with this shit, your shit, every day?" You leaned against the wall. "Because I actually care about you."
He sat down on the bed again, his head in his hands. "Don't pity me."
"I don't." You knelt in front of him. "So I'm making you choose, pills, or taking a chance and letting me help you."
Pete looked up at you brokenly. "I don't know what to do." Silent tears ran down his face.
You held his face gently in your hands and wiped his tears with your thumbs. "Let me try."
"Ok." Pete whispered, pulling you close and resting his head on your shoulder. "Ok." He agreed.
You ran your hands over his back as he cried into your shoulder. "It's okay Pete, I've got you. I won't give up on you."
Heyyy, sorry the last two imagines were sad. I'm working on a preference for Father's Day that'll be posted tomorrow, so hang tight. Thanks for all the constant support.
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