We Are: Hearts, Lies And Friends

Troubled Thoughts And The Self Esteem To Match

*Petes POV* *Trigger Warning, cutting and things of that nature*

Until I heard the lock turn and saw two figures walk in. An employee, and my husband.

The moment the door swung open, I heard three gasps. The first one came from The employee whom had opened the door. The second came from Ella, whom had climbed off of me the moment the door opened. The third, and loudest, most heart breaking one had come from Patrick.

I keep my eyes closed and covered. I cant breathe. I refuse to breathe. I slowly uncover my eyes, but I'm not ready to look yet. I'm not ready to see the reaction on Patricks face. Oh God. I can't. I feel like death would be a better option than having to see the reaction on Patricks face. Actually,I know death would be a better option than having to see the reaction on his face. This will utterly destroy him. It's destroyed me, too. Let's not forget that this wasn't willing participation.

"P...P...Pe..." His voice was cracking. He could barley utter a word, let alone a syllable. It sounded wobbly, shaky, as if it was standing on it's final leg. I finally removed my sweaty palms from my face, and the first thing my eyes trailed to was Patrick. His face was a tomato red mixed with a soft pink. He looked like he was going to faint. He looked like a toddler whose favorite toy had just been smashed right in front of them. I pray that I never have to see this look on his face again.

I blinked and just as soon as I had saw him, Patrick was gone. The only sound in the room came from the clicking of Patricks footsteps as he ran down the hallway.

Now I'm mad. I'm fucking hot. Pissed can't even describe what I'm feeling. It's taking all I have not to slap the shit out of Ella, trash this room, and storm out.

"FUCK!" I scream as I shoot up off the floor. I scramble to find my things. Boxers, Pants, undershirt, button down. Right as I'm about to rush out of the room, I grab the employee who had let Patrick in by his collar.

"DON'T LET HER LEAVE THIS ROOM. I NEED YOU TO CALL THE COPS"

"What?"

"You heard me! DO NOT let Ella leave this room!" I let go of him, but right as I'm about to exit, he blocks my way."

"You can't leave"

"MOVE!"

"No. What was going on"

"YOUR EMPLOYEE HERE IS THE ONE WHO RELEASED A PRIVATE TAPE OF ME AND MY HUSBAND! She blackmailed me to sleep with her for the tape, THAT'S WHAT'S GOING ON. Now, MOVE!"

ShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShitShit

I frantically press the button on the elevator several times, but it seems to take forever. I glance to the side and see the stairs. I use all my speed to climb them as quickly as possible. I almost break my neck, skipping over steps, stumbling. There's a loud boom and I burst through the door for our floor. I race down the hallway, using every ounce of speed within me. All I can think of is what the fuck am I going to say to Patrick. All I can think of is how we even got in this situation.

I literally cheated on Patrick, FOR Patrick. Or at least I was Practically forced. But the fact of the matter is, that I did what I did, because I didn't want the world to see us naked. I mean of course, it's a little late for me. But Patrick. That doesn't have to happen to him. Not that he really has anything he should want to hide because DAMN. Have you seen dat ass?! Dat ass is FINE. But it's beside the point.

I just don't know exactly how to say it. How do you break that news to someone? "Hey Patrick I had sex with a women on our honeymoon, but it was so your ass wouldn't be all over the internet, you're welcome!" No.

But I do know that as I pull out the key card out of my pocket, frantically swiping it, tears streaming down my face, I find our hotel room surprisingly quiet. I mean he's here right? Where else would he go?

"P... Patrick!? Babe! Are... Are you in here?" I make my way through the kitchen not seeing any sign of him. I move forward to the living room. Nope. And thenI enter the bedroom.

The room is dark. Quiet. Ominous. The only light is a single trial, coming from the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door. I rush forward, knocking hysterically, pounding with all my might.

"PATRICK!!" Silence.

"PATRICK PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE!" Nothing.

I jiggle the knob, discovering that it is unlocked. I crack the door open slightly, listening to see if he would protest. Quietness. Nothing but pure silence from a situation which would surely stir emotion. This can't be good.

The first thing I see when I open the door is the Shattered glass, and The cracked Iphone that is surrounded by it. The second thing Is the trail of blood. The third thing. Is the body. Patricks body.

"OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD PATRICK!" I grab his collar, shaking him, slapping him, anything I can do to get some type of reaction from him but nothing seems to be working and I can't breathe because my husband might not be breathing and I need to call the police.

I pull of my phone dialing 911 as quickly as possible, the whole time, trying to get a reaction, trying to get Patrick to wake up, to speak to me, to say something. I slap him, and then he lets out a small stutter. He said my name.

"Hello 911 what is your emergency?"

"HELP PLEASE MY HUSBAND, HE'S HE'S ON THE BATHROOM FLOOR HE'S BLEEDING OH GOD PLEASE!!"

"Sir, I'm gonna need you to calm down."

"CALM DOWN!? MY HUSBAND MAY BE DEAD AND YOU WANT ME TO CALM DOWN!!?"

"Sir, emergency services have been dispatched to your location."

*3 Hours later*

I stare down at the lovely angel that is my husband. He's pale. All of the color from his cheeks and flown through his wrist, and on the the bathroom floor. Even in this state he looked sad. He looked broken. And he looked this way because of me. He had clear tubes pierced into his body because of me. All of this is my fault. I can't bare to live with the thought of it. I can't stand to look at myself. He lost so much blood, the gash on his arm, a long bloody mess. And it's all my fault. I could see the headlines everywhere.

"Patrick Wentz in hospital after attempted suicide"