Scars And Stories

Chapter 4

A/N: Starting from now, the story will be updated only the fridays, to leave you guys some time to read and for me to write other chapters. Anyway, hope you'll like this chapter, and don't forget to vote!

Six months ago...

A loud noise echoed in the room and Patrick felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. He put his hand on it instinctively and backed up with the force of the shot. He hit the wall and slid down against it. He was breathing heavily and sweat had started to form on his forehead. He looked up at Brendon who was looking out of the room into the corridor.

The tall man brought his attention back to Patrick. "Fuck!" He exclaimed, "I missed." He aimed the gun at Patrick again.

Patrick closed his eyes tightly and turned his face, waiting for the next shot to finish him. But instead of another gun shot, he heard Pete's voice.

"What are you all doing here?" He yelled.

Patrick slowly opened his eyes as Pete made his way toward them.

"Well?" Pete asked angrily when he arrived in front of Brendon. The tallest of the two didn't answer and looked down, scared of what would happen to him if he did. Pete peeked his head inside the room and saw Patrick sitting against the wall, his hand under his shirt and on his wound. "Oh, look who's there." He walked closer to Patrick and knelt in front of him. "Glad to see you again."

Patrick glanced up at his old friend, almost not recognizing him at first.

"Aw, you're hurt?" He mocked, "Let me see." He reached for Patrick's shoulder.

Patrick shook his head frantically, his breathing heavy as he crawled away from him.

Pete grabbed his collar and glared at Patrick. He took his hand away from his wound and examined it, seeing the little bloody hole that the bullet made. "It's not that bad." He placed his finger next to the wound, bringing it closer. "But I'm sure we could have some fun with it," He said with almost no emotion in his voice as he stuck his finger in the wound, causing Patrick to hiss in pain and his muscle to tense. Pete took his finger out of the wound and stood up, grabbing Patrick's left arm and lifting him up. He dragged him out of the room and into the corridor. He started walking away from Brendon and the guards, Patrick tripping over his own feet next to him.

"What are we doing with him?" Brendon inquired, pointing at Andy who was kneeling in front of the guards.

Pete stopped in his tracks and answered, without looking at them, "A dose of Novocaine, and..." He thought for a moment, "...a chip."

Andy's eyes widened. "No, no, no." He turned around, still on the ground. "Please. I-I know I made a mistake, but-"

"Shut up," Brendon spat, cutting him short. He grabbed Andy's upper arm and started walking away.

Andy looked back over his shoulder at Patrick who was being dragged away by Pete, barely able to stand on his own feet.

Pete and Patrick arrived in a room like the one Patrick was kept in with Joe just a few days ago. A chair with arms was situated in the center of the room, a little table with a tray full of tools sat next to it. The black haired man sat Patrick on the chair and attached his wrists to the arms. He grabbed Patrick's shirt by the hole that the bullet made and tore it.

Patrick's eyes were starting to close and his head to fall, but Pete slapped him across his face. "Wake up. I need you to be conscious."

"Why are you doing that?" The dirty blonde croaked out.

Pete averted his gaze away from his old friend, biting his lip as a smirk appeared on his face. "Because I fucking love it."

"That's not true, Pete." He shook his head. "Novocaine got to you. You loved music, not...this."

"Yeah, loved." He returned his attention to Patrick. "Novocaine feels so good, Patrick. You should taste its feeling again."

"Never." He glared at his old friend.

"Too bad," Pete replied, taking a step closer to the chair, "You need to talk."

He grabbed something on the tray. It looked like some sort of chirurgical tool. He brought it closer to the wound, pressing it against Patrick's skin and making him shiver at the cold of the metal. Patrick gritted his teeth, his breathing growing heavier as Pete trailed the tool around the fresh wound.

"So, about the Blue Birds..." Pete started, putting the metal tool in the wound.

"I won't tell anything." Drops of sweat started rolling down Patrick's forehead.

"Oh yeah?" Pete retorted, sticking the tool deeper in the wound and twisting it.

Patrick started breathing faster and tried to not give in. He closed his eyes and tried to calm himself down, ignoring the pain as Pete moved the metal tool and opened the wound even more. Patrick cried out in pain, tears now streaming down his face.

"Still nothing?" Pete questioned as kept moving the tool in the wound, blood gushing out of it.

Patrick shook his head no violently. He struggled on the chair. "Stop. Please!"

Pete took the tool out sharply, some blood splattering onto his clothes and face. "So you're gonna talk then?" He said through gritted teeth.

"No!" Patrick screamed at his face, his eyes becoming yellow.

Pete looked down, disappointment written across his face. "You're lucky we need you alive." He muttered, putting his fingers in the wound and moving them around until the pain was unbearable for Patrick.

The dirty blonde slowly felt himself drifting off. His vision blurred and soon the sound of his old friend's voice was muffled.

*****

Patrick took his hand away and looked over his body one last time, now noticing the scars from the few torturing sessions he'd received over the few months he was kept in this prison. He put his clothes back and walked out of the showers, where a guard was waiting for him to lead him back to his cell.