Face Down ✓ | Patrick Stump

Chapter Five

"What a shame we all became, such fragile broken things."

Oh, what a shame indeed.

What a shame that after promising myself to never tell anyone about what happened to me over the past two years, I was now pouring out my heart, while crying into a stranger's shoulder.

What a shame that I was so scared of anything and everything. I feared that I wouldn't be able to take care of my siblings. They were already living on the streets, but I couldn't bear the thought of anyone hurting them, as they had already been hurt enough, at such a young age. I feared that someone would find me, and take me back to my mother. Oh, how she would kill me. Not figuratively, but she might literally kill me. I feared that this Patrick guy was going to hurt me.

I instantly pulled away from the hug I so desperately wanted just a few seconds ago.

He sighed and looked up at me. "Skye, we need to go."

"No." I replied instantly.

"Please Skye." He pleaded. "We need to take you to the police station. I don't want-"

"You don't want me staying here. You want me to go back to my mother. You don't want to be seen with me. That's okay; I wouldn't want to be seen with me, either." I cut him off.

"What would give you that idea?" He looked hurt. "Skye, please we need to-"

"Patrick-"

"No, Skye." He raised his voice, making me instinctively take a step back. He realized how I reacted, and softened his voice. "Skye, I would never let anyone hurt you, and I would never send you back to your mother. We have to go to the police. Someone as awful as her should get what she deserves. If she's behind bars, there won't be a single chance that she can get to you. Please, I don't want you hurt, or scared."

I sighed. "Patrick, I can't."

"Why?" His eyes looked sad, like he actually meant what he said before.

"I-I-" I stuttered, trying to think of the words to say. I buried my face in my hands before quickly looking up. "What would happen to my brother and sister?" I said, my voice barely a whisper.

"Well, wouldn't they stay with you? You aren't a minor are you?" He asked.

"I'm only nineteen; I have no idea if I'm old enough to be their legal guardian. And if I was, I'm not exactly in the best financial state. Heck, I'm living off the goddamn streets of Chicago! Either way, there's no doubt that they'd be sent to a foster home. I know there are nice ones out there, but I've heard stories about the others! Patrick, I can't send them there, after all that they've been through, hey don't need any more shit in their lives! And they're the only thing that's keeping me from just ending it all!" By the end of my mini rant, I was almost full-out screaming. There were tears streaming down my face. After two years of doing nothing but pathetically crying, I didn't know that I still had any more tears left in me. I collapsed back onto the couch, pulling my knees into my chest, and burying my face.

Patrick was at a loss for words at my outburst. I heard a door open and close, followed by a pair of footsteps.

"Patrick! I'm home- woah, what happened?" I looked up. Patrick had taken a seat next to me on the couch, his hand on my shoulder. I hadn't even noticed he was there. I flinched away from his touch.

"Who's this?" I heard the voice again. I turned my head to see a guy with black hair, around Patrick's age, standing in the doorframe, holding a couple of grocery bags.

Patrick cleared his throat. "Pete, this is Skye. Skye, this is my roommate and bandmate, Pete." He said, gesturing between the two of us.

Pete dropped his bags and walked over to the couch, sitting on the other side of me. He reached out to put his hand on my shoulder, and I tensed up and slightly leaned away.