Pete Wentz adopted me?!

Blood

*Quinn's P.O.V*

Oh my god, I'm about to go insane. Don't get me wrong, I really enjoy going on tour with Fall Out Boy, but God damn, it gets fucking noisy in this Damn little bus!

"Shut up! I'm trying to sleep!" Patrick shouts from the bunk above me.

"Yeah! Some of us need the sleep!" I called as I rolled over and zipped my bunk curtain closed. I rolled back over but not before my phone buzzed.

"Agh!" I moaned as I unlocked it to see the tweet.

'Goddamnit why would Pete adopt a girl like that? I would do him much better' the tweet brought tears to my eyes.

I tried to be the best daughter I could to Pete, but it was hard. I had this stupid ass fear of the word 'dad' and the fans hated me. I but down on my lip until I tasted blood. A silent sob racked my body as I thought about all the other tweets.

They were right. Pete deserved better than me. He deserved a daughter who could call him dad without going into a panic attack. Pete deserved a daughter who was clean. Who didn't have scars lacing her arms.  He didn't deserve a fat blob of a person. He deserved better than me.

Tears slid down my cheeks as I tried to keep them quiet. I wiped the tears away, and hopped out of my bunk. I went into the bathroom and locked the door. I pulled out a razor from my bag, and sighed. I know i had promised to stop cutting to both Carrie and Pete, but this was to much.

(TRIGGER WARNING)

"For how much the fans hate me." I whispered and slid the razor across my wrist. The crimson liquid slowly dripped out of the cut and ran down my arm.

"For how many scars I have." I bring the razor down again. More blood.

"For how fat I am." Blood drips out of the three identical cuts, gathing in a pool in my palm.

"For how much better Pete deserves." I'm crying by now, loud, ugly sobs, tears staining my face as I bring the razor down again and again. Blood. Blood seemed to be a steady part in my life. Since I was born, to where I am now. Tears mix with the red liquid, causing it to drip to the floor.

"Quinn, Quinn is that you in there?" Pete calls through the door.

I gasp and drop the razor to the floor.

"J-just a minite!" I call as I quickly wash away all the blood on the floor. Pete knocks on the door again. I've been in here too long. He knows.

I struggle to control my breathing as I hold the towel to my arm to wipe up the blood. Pete's banging on the door now. Just one more second, Pete! Please!

"Quinn! Open the door! Open the  door, or I will." He threatens. I panic and toss the razor into the trash and the towel too. Suddenly, from behind me, the door opens.

*Pete's P.O.V.*

I gasped as I opened the door to the bathroom. Quinn was standing next to the sink, tears mixing with the blood of six identical cuts on her right arm. Tears stream down her face. I couldn't do amything, just stand there. But then my mouth reconnected with my brain.

"Quinn, what's all this?" I ask. I'm so fucking angry at her for relapsing, but then again, i feel sympathetic. All the shit thats been done to her throughout her life is impossible.

"I-I'm sorry, Pete. I just, I don't know!" She sobs. She wipes her tears away, but just keeps standing there.

"It's okay, it's okay. Just, just try for me, okay? Just try is all I'm asking." I tell her as I walk over. I slowly take care of the bleeding, and wrap them. I slowly trace the scars with my thumb.

"Why?" I ask suddenly, "why'd you do it?"

"You just deserve better, Pete." She pulls her arm out of my grasp and walks out of the room. I don't try to follow. I just sigh, clean up the few drops of blood on the floor, then walk back out to the living area of the bus.

"I'm pathetic." I moan as I flop onto the couch. I hold my head in my hands, and rest my elbows on my knees. I couldn't keep my daughter from relapsing, let alone myself.

I thought about the new scars on my arms. Just two, but two is all it takes. I couldn't let the guys know. It would torture them. Especially Patrick. Damnit, that guy was like my brother!

I thought about the song I had written him, What A Catch, Donnie. It was basically my unspoken promise to him to not to kill myself. But I might have to retract that promise. Life is to damn critical. Critics where ruining my life. But, if I had made Quinn promise, I have to promise myself too.

"I've got troubled thoughts, and a self-esteem to match. What a catch, what a catch." I murmered softly as I got up and crawled into bed.

I fell asleep singing a promise I had made my best friend years ago. And, hopefully, I keep that promise.