Reign of the Rejected Rosary (Ryden/Peterick)

Chapter Sixteen

I didn't want to tell Pete that I had found Patrick's key. Not in the slightest. But when I left my room that morning, key burning a hole in my pocket, I was prepared to just have breakfast and leave.

Pete was sitting at the table, hands wrapped around a mug of coffee. He just stared at the wooden floor, looking entirely lost. I didn't think he had slept at all that night. And there was no sign of Patrick.

"He won't answer his phone," Pete said to the ground. "It rings and rings and fucking rings again but he won't just pick it up. Now there's this insane ringing in my ears and only his voice can make it go away. I can't bear to listen to that incessant ringing of him ignoring me."

I didn't know what to say. Pete pressed a hand to his left ear and squeezed his hazel eyes shut.

"It happened twice before," he continued without any prompting from me. "The first time was only a few hours. I didn't think much of it, and he seemed okay. But the second time? Oh God, he was petrified. I don't know what happened, but he came home cake-faced. He cried as I wiped the foundation from his cheeks and... and... he had the most awful bruises, Brendon. I'd never seen anything so atrocious. The was one on his hip, too, and it looked like he got kicked in the back of his knee. He wouldn't talk for days, Bren, days. I thought I was going to lose him. But that faded with his bruises, and then it was like he was never gone. He wouldn't tell me what happened, and I was to afraid to push it. I should've. The same fucking thing is probably happening right now and it's all my fault."

He looked up at me, and his eyes had the essence of sadness and death.

I dug into my pocket, cutting my thumb again, and pulled out the key. I just slid it across the table, sharp side jutting up.

Pete stared at it, like he had no idea what it was. He ran his finger down it, and didn't even flinch when the metal sunk into his skin.

"How'd you get this?" he asked, pulling it towards him, causing the grip of the metal to loosen on his finger.

"It was in my bed," I whispered, too anxious to admit it any louder.

Pete just nodded and took it off the table. He held it in his hand, letting the blood run down his palm. He stood, abandoning the full mug of coffee, and I noticed the tears streaming down his face.

"Sometimes that man's too sentimental for his own good."

He went to his room and slammed the door shut. I left without having the breakfast I originally wanted. I couldn't stay any longer knowing  Pete was in the next room, breaking down slowly but surely, and he didn't need me there to listen.

*****

The workday was slow, and I didn't see or hear from Patrick. Pete didn't come running in, a smile on his face, dragging an agitated and embarrassed Patrick behind him.

I walked up to Spencer's house, trying to push any awful thoughts of what could be happening to Patrick out of my head. I knocked on the door with my foot, hands too full.

The door opened almost immediately, revealing Spencer, looking distraught.

"Hey, thanks," he said. He pulled the door open a little more. "Come in."

I went inside and set the pizza boxes down on the dining room table.

"I know who you really are, Brendon."

I froze. "W-What?"

"I know all about what happened. Ryan's my best friend, and I don't want him getting hurt."

"That whole story was flipped around. She hurt me. I would never do anything like that."

"I believe you," Spencer said. "But Ryan's a little fragile. And I will not let anyone take advantage of him."