Delusional

Chapter Ten

We were both quickly shoved into the concealment of the house although I don't think anyone would have seen us anyhow. I stood with my back to the wall reaching out to grab Patrick's hand. I was here now, and I wouldn't let anything happen to him.

I turned to look at him, perhaps to offer some line of reassuring words that was sure to fail to come out, but it didn't matter anyway because he just kept staring ahead blankly, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was even there. 

I turned back to his father. "What do you want?" I questioned with a hard edge to my voice. But all I got was something resembling shut up as he lit a cigarette and sat on the arm of the couch watching us with tired eyes.

I rubbed Patrick's hand in small circles with my thumb waiting for what would happen next, but I could never be prepared.

Several more men walked in, more than Patrick had ever mentioned and I could see the shift in him as soon as they entered.

I tugged him closer to me although he was hard to move, watching them stand in front of us. I still didn't feel frightened, just angry.

One stepped forward and grabbed Patrick's arm and I shoved him away immediately. "Don't fucking touch him." I spat wrapping my arms around Patrick and silently begging him to come to.

I winced when the man slapped me sharply but didn't release my grip. "Do all you want to me but you are not going to touch him."

"You don't have a fucking say." He punched me this time and I faltered swinging back blindly but I didn't connect with anything. Another hit landed near the same spot and the pain was nearly blinding, I lost my grip on Patrick, and I would regret that forever.

I briefly heard his screams growing fainter as a door slammed and I was knocked onto the floor and kicked. I gasped holding my stomach as my eyes searched around for where they took him, but I couldn't see all that great and couldn't hear him anymore. "You bastards." I murmured, my voice muffled to my own ears, before being kicked again, this time my eyes closed and I couldn't open them anymore.

I don't know how long I was out, but when I woke up Patrick was beside me. His eyes were bruised and swollen and his skin was pale. I don't know how, but when I saw him I knew he was gone. They say that love is blind, and I assume it's because of the way nothing else really matters or sticks to your memory besides that one person. I guess death is blind too because time seemed to stand still as I struggled to scramble over to him. I rested my hand on his cheek. My heart sank when the skin under my palm had no warmth. He was cold and his skin was tight around his cheekbones. I shook my head as tears streamed over my cheeks and shook him begging him to open his eyes but it was useless, and I knew that. 

I stood picking up the home phone. No one else was around and I assumed they thought I was dead too. My head pounder as I dialed 911, but on second thought I set the phone down and walked into the kitchen solemnly. My hand moved over knives before picking one up running my finger along the blade.

I went back into the living looking down at Patrick again. I hated how still he laid there. I hated the way his lips were purple and the veins around his eyes were busted because how he died became evident. I wasn't there. I didn't stop it, and I knew that kind of death was equivalent to hell. I wiped my face on my sleeves before draping a blanket over him. I wanted to sit beside him forever but I knew nothing I did could bring him back.

I walked down the hall silently with the knife gripped in my fist. I heard the TV on in the room at the end of the hall, but it was foggy and sounded like it was under water to me.

Nothing else came in clear or with any conscious thought. I walked into the room and slid the knife to the front of his father's throat before pulling it to the left quickly, as blood squirted out and drenched his clothes I turned to the woman screaming beside him and quickly ended the noise. I dropped the knife between watching the blood continue to stream down the front of their chests.

I felt nothing as I stepped out of the room and stood leaning against the wall. My eyes drifted down to my clothes which were as soaked as theirs were. I suddenly felt overwhelmed with disgust as I pulled my shirt and jeans off and left them in a pile in the hall.

I went back into the living room briefly pausing beside Patrick and murmuring an apology to the sheet until I heard sirens. I looked over to the phone realizing I had pressed call and stood quickly in a panic. I left through the front door and ran through the forest panting. Colors flew by without much recognition as I frantically looked around trying to remember where I was and where I needed to go. I stopped short when I cleared the forest and dropped to my knees holding my head. My hands were coated in blood as I moved them to my face and sobbed. I was caught up to quickly and hauled to my feet.

They gave me 20 years in prison for three charges of murder and one charge of breaking and entering. I couldn't tell them I wasn't the one who did that to Patrick. There was no telling them that. They needed someone to blame and I'm a mentally unstable teenager from a broken home.

I'll spend the next 20 years not only in prison, but one for the criminally insane. I've made friends.