Harmed (Peterick)*COMPLETED*

~3~

Saturday.

I fucking hate saturday. Apart from seeing my friends, there's nothing. There's no schoolwork to distract me, and my parents always leave for the weekend.

Let me just say, my parents weren't very good parents.

"Hey, Brendon. Hey Ryan." I walked into Brendon's house.

"Hi!" Ryan cheered.

"Fuck off. He's here for me. The fabolus one." Brendon smacked him in the shoulder, but quickly regretted it.

"Ow! Fuck, I gotta remeber that." Brendon laughed. I just sat down beside him.

"Did you talk to your soulmate anymore?" Ryan asked. I laughed, and pulled up my sleeves. Red words were scrawled across my skin.

"I guess you did! Learn anything?" Brendon asked, looking at my arms.

"Uh, yeah. Patrick Stump is eighteen, he loves fedoras, and he goes to our school. We're gonna meet at the science room window facing North." I told them.

"Damn, how long was the conversation? Looks like it fucking hurt!" Ryan handed me a slice of pizza.

"Um, about three hours. And yeah. It hurt." I smiled. Brendon smiled evilly, before whispering to Ryan.

My eyes grew wide, and I slowly inched away.

"Yo. Come here." Ryan said in a sickly sweet voice.

"Why?" I kept inching away.

"Because. We wanna give you this." Brendon then let forward, and smashed a pizza slice in my face.

"Holy shit! What the fuck? Wait, what kind is this?" I pulled the pizza slice away from my face and gasped, "Bitch! How dare you desacrate the eternal awesomeness of meat lovers?!"

"To make you laugh, I'll carry the shame!" I just shook my head.

This is why I love these assholes.

------------------------------------------------------†*†*†*†*†*time skip†*†*†*†*†*†*† ------------------------------------------------------

I leaned against my bed, resting my head on the mattress. A sharp pain shot through my hip. Patrick was cutting again.

I wish I could help him.

"Why?" I whispered to no one. It was midnight on a Saturday, and I was not watching Blair Witch like me and Frank planned. He was gonna be so fucking pissed at me. I sighed, and looked back at my notebook open in front if me.

I groaned, and ripped the paper from the spine, leaving a jagged line of paper.

I slowly traced the edge of paper left in the spine, and thought of the lines Patrick had drawn on our skin.

We were the same. So strong, until someone found a weak spot. Then we broke. We tore.

We could tape ourselves, but we never really healed.