Cemetery Drive (FOB Imagine Story)

Part 4

It's later that night, the sky a vertical blue gradient - going from dark to light - as the sun slowly begins its rise. Everyone in the Hoppus House is asleep, as far as you're concerned. Meanwhile, you're standing over the bathroom sink, viciously scrubbing the red that won't seem to go away off your hands.

"For Pete's sake," You grumble under your breath, "This is never going to come off."

"(Y/N)."

You panic and drop the bar of soap into the sink, looking back over your shoulder and seeing your brother standing in the doorway, his hands shoved into his pants pockets and his body leaned up against the threshold separating the bathroom from the upstairs hallway. "Jesus, Patrick, you scared me."

"Sorry," He apologizes, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him, "Where were you?"

The corner of your lip perks upward into a smirk. "Oh you know, just out and about, taking care of things. What about you? Where did you and Prince Emo go?"

Patrick's cheeks grow a deep shade of red as he replies bashfully, "He has a name, you know. It's Pete. And what does it matter to you where we went?"

"Did you kiss him?"

"(Y/N)!"

"Fuck him?"

"What? No!" Patrick almost immediately defends himself and your victim, "God, (Y/N), I just met the guy. I know you want us to keep things moving, but not that fast."

"Patrick, we don't have time for you to take things slow," You tell him, turning your back to him and returning to trying to rid yourself of the evidence of your crime, "We need him. If we don't have him, we're going to lose the house. We'll be separated. You don't want to be separated, do you?"

He heaves a sigh and shortens the distance between you and him, wrapping his arms around your lower torso and resting his chin on your shoulder, looking at you through the mirror. "Of course not."

"Me either...that's why I killed him," You confess quietly, keeping your eyes locked on your hands as you rub them together under the running water.

The singer swallows the lump in your throat. "What?"

"He's dead," You mutter, meeting your brother's gaze in the reflective surface before looking back over your shoulder at him, your lips inches apart - like his and Pete's were hours ago, "Pete's dad. I killed him."

"You did?" He asks, his eyes widening ever so slightly.

"I had to," You try to justify your actions, "I didn't know when else I would get the chance. Pete was out of the house; you were distracting him...I couldn't pass up the opportunity."

"What'd you do?" He asks you curiously.

A grin appears on your face.

You make your way up the Wentz's walkway, your dagger strapped to your thigh and a gun attached to your hip, hidden by the jacket you wore. You step up onto the porch and raise your hand, knocking on the door. You take a step back and cross your arms over your chest, gazing around as you patiently wait for the door to be answered.

Shortly after, the door swings in to reveal a very tired and irritated Mr. Wentz. His eyes are narrowed and his gray, almost hair is disheveled. "What are you doing here?" He inquires groggily, recognizing you from the trial.

Without saying a word to him, you shoot your leg outward - your foot making contact with his chest - and send him flying backwards, a few of his ribs breaking. He slams into the ground, air being ripped from his lungs as you enter the residence, closing the door behind you and approaching the struggling man on the ground. You walk up beside him and kneel down, grabbing the knife from your leg and holding it up in the air, admiring the weapon.

"W-W-What do you want from me?" He stammers helplessly, tears building in his eyes and his heart beat picking up to an almost unhealthy rate.

You refuse to his question, a smile appearing on your face as you lean over and straddle him, sitting on top of his stomach.

"Money?" He guesses, his labored breathing rapid and uneven, "I-I can pay off your brother's fine, if that's what you want. Just please, please don't kill me."

Your fingers adjust themselves around the blade's handle as you bring your other hand up, holding the dagger over poor Mr. Wentz.

"Please," He begs one final time before you drive the knife into his chest, yanking it out and watching as his blood begins to stain his shirt and bubble from his mouth as he chokes on the bitter, salty, red substance. You stand up and look down at him, watching as he curls up, coughing and gasping for air all at the same time. He tries to crawl away from you, pulling himself forward by only his hands and arms. He doesn't get far before you grab him by the ankles and tug him back, pulling him up by the hair and slitting his throat.

"I had the hardest time cleaning up," You comment after depicting the scene for him, "He was such a messy bleeder."

Patrick shakes his head. "I can't believe you killed him."

"How else were we going to get his money?" You question, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion as you turn around to face the singer, baffled as to why he's responding this way to the news, "Patrick, we weren't going to get his money if he was alive."

"Does everything have to be about money with you?" He inquires angrily, failing to keep his quiet. You immediately clamp your hand over his mouth and look at him with wide eyes.

"Maybe it's because we have none, Patrick. Have you ever thought about that?" You reply with just as indignation as your brother did. You don't give a chance to answer because you answer him yourself. "No, you haven't, because all you think about is you, Patrick. You would be dead if it weren't for me, okay? You need me and you don't even realize it because you're too selfish and conceited. I'm always thinking about you, when's the last time you thought about me?"

Guilt washes over Patrick, feeling bad for snapping at you like that. He raises his hand and wraps it around yours, removing it from over his mouth and murmuring, "I'm sorry, (Y/N). I just...it's been hard, you know? This money situation we're in...it never seems to get better."

"It will, Patrick," You assure him, tucking a longer piece of his blonde hair behind his ear and smirking, "You just have to be patient...and charming. Two things you're very good at."

Patrick grins, resting his forehead against yours. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

You giggle and gently push him away from you. "I already told you - you'd die. Now get out of here and back to Mr. Guyliner. I've got to clean this blood from my hands and you've got to make him think you love him."

"He has a name you know."

"And I'll learn it when I feel like it. Now go!"