Full Of Love

I have no idea what to name this

I'm not dead (surprisingly) :)

//

The flowers died on Monday. I had gotten them for Patrick on his birthday, and ever since he disappeared I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them. They reminded me of him, but now they were dead and looking at them didn't give me hope. Hope that the cops would find him. Hope that I would see him again. I had Joe, Andy, Gerard, Frank, Ray, Mikey, Tyler, and Josh to help me, but even with them I still felt alone. I couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. It was terrible. I don't know if he just left, or if he got kidnapped. There was no trace of anyone in our apartment, so it made it seem like he left. But he wouldn't just leave me without saying anything. Right?

*6 months later*

"How are we, Petey boy?" Joe's voice broke me away from my thoughts. I was still struggling even though Patrick left 7 months ago. 

He pulled me up from my bed and dragged me out into the living room, where all my friends were. I gasped, not expecting it, but for some reason, it made me mad. I wanted to be alone, I wanted to stay inside my thoughts. They were all sitting facing me, it almost looked suspicious. 

"We have a surprise for you! And I'll think you'll like it..." Gerard exclaimed, standing up. 

"Hey, Petey." I heard a familiar voice whisper, and then everyone got up. Patrick was sitting on the floor behind where everyone else had been sitting. I didn't even make a sound, I just ran to my room, tears threatening to spill out.

I face planted onto my bed, letting the tears fall. I couldn't care less. How was he alive? He must've left me. If he was kidnapped he couldn't have gotten away that easily. But why did he come back? Was he guilty that he didn't say anything and just wanted to explain before running away again?

There was a knock on the door and I groaned. I didn't want to talk to anyone, especially Patrick. But I didn't have much of a choice, so I got up and opened the door, the tears still flowing down my face. It was Patrick, looking sad. And seeing him there clicked something in me.

"Why did you leave? Am I really that awful?" I whispered, afraid to scream. Even with all the rage contained inside of me, I still couldn't yell at him.

"Pete." He said simply. Not even explaining anything, or reassuring me that I wasn't awful. 

"What." I spit, falling back on the bed. Now that he was here, I wish he never would've come back.

"I-I have a lot of explaining to do. But first I want you to yell at me, hit me, kick me, whatever you need to do to get the anger out of you. When I explain this, I want you to be able to understand it, not be blinded by the anger." He told me, standing up.

"You do have a lot of explaining to do, but if hitting you is what it's going to take to get you to tell me, then I have some news for you. I would never hit you, ever. I would never kick you, spit in your face, or yell at you. I could never do that. Yes, I am mad, but even with rage boiling my blood I would never even think about yelling at you." I said, finally sitting up and looking at him. He had tears covering his face, like me. 

"Well, if you promise you can understand what I'm going to tell you, I'll tell you." He replied, sitting again. 

"I promise I'll try and understand why you left me." My voice cracked, but I didn't care, I was on the brink of crying again so it was suspected. 

"Pete. I left because I was in a bad place. My mind wasn't in the right place. I couldn't take it anymore. So I went to a hotel to clear my head. I told everyone what happened, but I told them not to tell you. I knew you would've come after me and I didn't want that. I wanted to be alone." He explained, losing eye contact and staring at the wall behind me.

"Patrick. I could've helped you, you know I've been through that before! I could've helped you figure it out! Why didn't you tell me, I was miserable! You probably put me in the same position you were in! I didn't eat much, I wouldn't sleep. Seven months I probably slept about 20 hours. Seven. Months. Everyone pushed me to do stuff, making me even more uncomfortable. If you had told me, we could've fixed it and we both would've been better." I cried, tears flowing again. I wasn't even mad anymore, I was disappointed. As cliche as it sounds, I know he could've done something else. 

"Pete, I didn't want your help, I wanted to fix everything myself. I wanted to figure out why I had been feeling like this. I wanted to help myself. And, I'm sorry I hurt you, but I really needed to do that. It pains me to see you like this, but I couldn't help it. I really did need that." He tried to make me feel better, but I just sank into the bed. I wasn't trustworthy enough to help my own boyfriend. I must really suck. 

I began sobbing silently, My tears created rivers on my face, which was glistening in the moonlight. He tried to help, trying to hug me, trying to cheer me up, but nothing worked. I had fallen into a hole and it seemed impossible to get out of. 

After what was probably an hour, I finally stopped crying and sat up, making Patrick jump. 

"You feel any better sweetie?" He cooed, rubbing my shoulders. 

"A little, I guess I just needed to let it sink in? I'll probably be down for a few days, but if you're here to stay I should be fine." I said, realizing he never said if he was staying or going.

"Of course I'm staying, forever and always baby. Forever and always." He reassured me, picking me up somehow easily. I laughed a little, surprised that he could carry me. "You're light as a feather Petey." 

"Sure, whatever." I rolled my eyes, teasing. He walked us out of my room and into the living room, where the boys still were all sitting.

"Better?" They all asked, looking at me worriedly, especially seeing the tear streaks on my face. I nodded as Patrick sat me down, in his lap. I leaned into his chest, taking in the scent that I missed so dearly. The scent of cinnamon and cherries. The scent of Patrick. My Patrick. Who had finally come back.