What A Catch, Pete. // l.l

Part 6

Hey guys!

Over 200 reads? Thank you so much! I'm going to try and work out an update schedule so I don't get too lazy and uninspired.

I believe I have an even better idea of where this story is going to go, so I'm really excited!

Anyways, enjoy this chapter!

************************

Patrick's POV

It was hard to peel my eyelids open at first, but with the sudden rush of panic and pain washing over me, they snapped open on their own. Taking in my surroundings, I noticed I was slumped against the wall in an uncomfortable position, my own blood surrounding me in a small pool.

"Ow, fuck." I muttered, attempting to pull myself off of the floor, but only falling back down again. Pushing on my hands, I could feel something painfully sharp poke through them, which caused me to pull away and let out a pained hiss. Once I looked down, I noticed blood seeping through the little slits in my hands, and the broken beer bottle scattered across the floor.

Once hearing my dad grumble in the other room, something like, "Are you awake, boy?" I knew I had to get out before he came back in for more, and I knew exactly where I was going to go. Pete's. Even in my current situation, the thought of him made a small smile spread on my face, he just had that effect on me.

With a deep breath, I managed to pull/push myself off of the floor, using the wall as my support, my converse-clad feet crunching the glass as I did so, causing me to curse under my breath. I felt dizzy, almost like I was going to throw up, but I just ignored it, quietly (and slowly) making my way to the front door. Pushing open the door, I could hear my father shouting obscenities at me from the living room, causing panic to rise in my throat, making me slam the door quickly behind me, and start limping (and cursing) as fast as I could to get away from home, and to arrive at Pete's house as early as possible.

I picked up my pace as much as I could once I got on his street, practically collapsing on his deck, knocking on the door. I was still bleeding, goddamn.

Who opened the door was a tired-eyed Pete. "Patrick? Oh my god.." He said, immediately bending down, picking me up bridal style, leading me into his bathroom, setting me down on his counter to lean my back against the mirror.

"Your dad did this?"

I could only let out a nod, unable to find the energy to speak.

Shaking his head in anger, Pete lifted up my shirt, covering his mouth in shock at the different lacerations that littered my chest, few traveling down to my stomach.

"'Trick, I gotta get you to a hospital. This..this is bad." Pete stated, not quite being able to tear his eyes away. Once again, my panic set it, and I shook my head. "No no no, please no, no hospital. What am I supposed to say when they see this? 'Hi, yeah, my dad beat me with a beer bottle this lovely evening, and I could really use some help'? I can't go, Pete. Please don't make me." I muttered, licking over my now split lip, holding in a small whimper. Pete looked at me warily, before crouching down and opening up his cabinet doors, pulling out a heavy-duty first aid kit, one I had never seen before.

"There are six levels of first aid, Patrick. You're damn lucky I've completed all of them." Pete stated, lifting my shirt over my head. If I wasn't in a state of near unconsciousness, I'd probably really be enjoying this right now.

"Alrighty, 'Trick. This'll hurt. A lot." God, I guess I could say I loved his honesty, but I wish it wasn't true, because the disinfectant he was using did in fact hurt like a bitch.

Pete did my hands quickly, saving the worst for last, wrapping them in light gauze, a look of concentration on his face, which I'll admit was quite cute.

Once he was done with that, he moved onto stitching up the deepest cuts, causing me to grip onto the counter, my knuckles turning white as I did so. I cannot count how many times I probably squealed like a girl during that ordeal.

Quickly, Pete gave me one last wipe-down with the pain in the ass disinfectant, and threw his rubber gloves and bloody gauze strips in the garbage, wiping his face with his blood stained t-shirt.

"Done. Now, you're sleeping in my bed tonight, and I'm not going to let you go back tomorrow. I'll be getting your stuff, too. I won't let you go back there. No way." And with that I nodded as Pete took me back in his arms, carrying me back to his bedroom, for once in my life being able to not fear what comes tomorrow.

**********************

Extremely short, I'm sorry. But I have plans for the next chapter! Vote, comment, follow? I'll try and return c:

You can find me on Instagram:

- laurenlamberton

And twitter:

- laurenlamberton

Till next time. Xx