We're Only Liars // Peterick

☆His Smile's Your Rope☆

*Hey Munchkins, Im sorry I took CENTURIES to update. I have a busy schedule now: im writing this, another story (thats not published yet), about to start co-writing with another Wattpadian AND I have school (ach! GSCE's). So yeah..updates are slower now, sorry*

Pete's POV

I woke up too darkness and the lack of presence in the room, no Patrick to be precise. The couch was uncomfortable and my back felt rigid, I cracked it as I sat up and scanned the living room. The bare darkness was overwhelming, the vague knowledge of the nothing gave me goosebumps, well, until I saw a stream of light that caught my eye. I followed the beam towards its source, my eyes reached the bathroom but the open door made me frown in confusion. No Patrick. He wasn't here or there, so where was he? Upstairs?

Pins and needles attacked my legs as I got up and walked to the stairs, they weren't any better when I reached the second floor either but I knew they would pass. I shrugged it off nevertheless. All the lights were on up here too, I frowned once more when I saw the bedroom light on too, the door stood ajar. That made me freeze, why would he be in there of all places?

I forced myself too walk up to the room, anxiety clawing at my mind as I took one step after another. My hair stood on end when I placed a hand on the cool wood of the door, I watched my fingers tremble. I didn't understand why I was so frightened, it was only a door. A simple door. Just a simple normal door. A door that held a not so simple room. The room.

I drew in a deep breath, my lungs burned as the air piled in. The handle slipped down under my grip. The light of the forbidden fruit of a room bounced through onto the landing and captured me in momentarious calm. The feeling of happiness thats last a seconds and fades into worry scares me: the knowing of the unknown.

As I step in, the scene is perfectly yet obstructively layed out as it was just a couple of nights ago. The beer bottles strewn, glass scattered, bed sheets dismantled, the ties thrown and a fragile man laying there with all hope lost. Like I said, the scene is the same. My Patrick, my bestfriend, my brother, my wildest dreams and my everything more. It was almost as if i've lost him.

I couldn't find him anymore. I couldn't find hisself anymore. I couldn't find his personality, his voice, his light, his love, his talent, his laugh; his laugh is possibly what I missed the most. So joyful and characteristic, so sinigmatic and entantalizing. Yet now so utterly lost. Silence or stutters, whimpers or cries, mumbles or whispers, no shine in his eyes. I wanted to shake the dark from him, I needed the be his light. I'm probably the last thing he wants, however he has no choice in that anymore. I'm what he needs.

Patrick was laying there, once more. I ran to him, I tried to comfort him, but no obvious avail was seen. He lay curled in a now clothed ball, crying silently. My sunshine was shaking under his skin though it wasnt cold up here. I sat beside him holding back my own tears, I just wanted my Patrick back. I let the salty cries slip as I searched my mind for a solution to all this mess.

In all my misery I failed to notice something. A very special something. A something a I havent seen for years. My heart swelled at the sight, is that what he's been doing? I smiled as I picked up that something, his something, my something, our something.

The small leather cover was cold in my grip, the inside paper was used and delicate. His writing was scrawled and scribbled on random pages with my unneat words beside in notes. The special memories, the lonesome heartbreaks, the good and the bad all spilled out into that one amazing something, his something, my something, our something, our lyric book.

What caught my attention most was the little string book mark, it was set on what I thought was a blank page, blank until I opened it:

Baby your were my picket fence,