When the Day met the Night

............

This one is a lot to take in.

TW: Talk of self-harm, blood mentions, self-hatred, mentions of bullying, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of alcoholism, mentions of abuse, mentions of manslaughter/murder

Pete's hand shook as he dropped the phone. There's no way he knows. He had his sleeves on, he had tissue around the cuts. Maybe he was talking about something else...maybe he didn't even see the cuts. 

Play it cool, Pete. Play it cool.

Pete: what tf do u mean

That wasn't very cool, in fact, it only made him sound angrier. There's something about Patrick that makes him uneasy, makes his heart and mind race against one another. The emotions bubble in his chest like water on a hot stove.

Patrick: Your wrists...

Fuck. He's dead-on.

Pete: what about them

Patrick: You had tissue on them.

Pete: no. the white was the inside of my jacket and the blood was from spencer's lip

Patrick: I never said anything about blood.

Fuck. 

Pete curses himself, nearly throwing his phone. He was doing great at hiding it until he fucking slipped. He never slips. Why did he slip? Why the hell is he so nervous? Why does talking to Patrick make him like this.

Pete: i fucking cut myself okay? is that what u fucking wanted to hear

Patrick's heart sinks as he reads this. He wasn't trying to get Pete upset. Patrick already knew Pete cut but hearing the words coming from him made the realization ten times worse. Patrick can feel a tingling in his eyes.

Patrick: Why? Why would you do that, Pete?

Pete laughs. It's not a funny laugh but instead cold and disheartening.

Pete: bc it makes the pain go away

Patrick: But it would hurt....you're replacing it with more pain.

Pete: the pain of a cut doesn't hurt as much as words, patrick.

The first tear slips from Patrick's eyes. He doesn't deserve this. Pete doesn't deserve any of it. 

Incoming call from Patrick. . .

Pete ignores it. He doesn't want anything to do with Patrick. He doesn't want the monologue about how self-harm is bad. He doesn't want the same attempted comforting phrases. He doesn't want to be told to stop.

If he stops nothing can relieve the pain.

                                                               Incoming call from Patrick. . .  

The ringing of his phone digs into his ears. His fingers twitch to answer it, the ringing would be replaced with a warm voice with the honey accent. The voice melts his mind and soothes the flames in his soul. It's the ice to his fire. It's the sugar to his spice. It's the day to his night.

                                                               Incoming call from Patrick. . .  

Fuck it.

"What?" Pete snaps.

"I-I know you don't want to hear it," Patrick starts.

His voice sounds shaken and cracks on every vowel. Is he crying? Pete feels an ache in his chest, did he cause this?