I Want To Stop Hurting

Entry 3: There's Nothing Wrong With Hurting

Pete's POV.

I had been up for a few minutes when I heard Patrick fussing and stressing in his sleep, his eyebrows furrowed and his body curled into a ball under the covers. He pulled the covers over his head, like he usually does when he's having a bad dream or nightmare. Concerned, I went over to his bed and crouched beside him, reaching out and gently shaking his shoulder. Patrick shot up, throwing the blanket to the side with a small yelp. He buried his face in his hands, beginning to cry, seemingly terrified of what ever he may have been dreaming about.

"Hey, Patrick, Patrick, it's okay," I told him, pulling him to my side as I sat on his bed.

He didn't respond, just basically tackling me as he wrapped his arms around my neck as tight as he was physically capable, burying his face in my collarbone and taking uneven breaths, struggling for air in between his body-wracking sobs. Whatever he had dreamt about, it was terrifying and it wrecked his emotions. And that wrecked my emotions. Never, have I witnessed, experienced, or wished this kind of torture on anyone. I would never think of it. But that fact Patrick is going through it now and has been for so long, it kills me. I didn't know what to do... It was hell. I just wanted to make him stop hurting...

Patrick's POV. (In The Dream)

"No! No, please!" I screamed, hoping and praying someone would hear my cries for help. But there was no one. I was helpless. I was all on my own.

I kept screaming, kept calling out, and I kept being attacked, I kept being beaten. My head throbbed, my entire body bled from the newly created wounds and ached in excruciating agony. I tried to get away, but every time I tried running, they pulled me back, shoving me into the brick wall, hitting my head with a thud. I held my arms in front of my face, trying to block their hits and the punches they threw, but to no avail. They all kept finding a way. It was three on one, and I stood zero chance.

They laughed, they spat in my face, they pushed me around, broke my glasses, ruined my clothes from making me fall into the dirt and shoved my face in the muddy gravel trail that lead to the football field. I wanted nothing more than to die right then and there. I wanted it to end already. I wanted it to stop...

Next I remembered, my assailants were gone and I was laying on my stomach in the gravel, numb, my body screeching in pain, my head pounding, my ears ringing slightly, having nothing left in me to gain enough strength to stand and walk away. The contents of my backpack were strewn about on the pathway, papers thrown around and destroyed by the puddles of dirty water. I felt a drop of water hit the left side of my face as I stayed on the ground, then a few more. It started gradually leading to a downpour, and I was getting nowhere fast to evade it. I was going nowhere at all, actually. My eyes became heavy and I struggled to keep them open, a few seconds later, they closed, and everything went black.

That was the first time I never made it home for the night.

That was the first time I stayed the night at school...

(End Of Dream)

I shot up out of my bed, covered in cold sweat, feeling something touching my arm, trying to wake me up. I caught sight of Pete next to me, realizing he must've noticed I wasn't sleeping well, and I broke down. I buried my face in my hands and cried, wishing I didn't have to be acting like this. I was being a baby, and it was hellish.

Peter pulled me into a hug, practically encouraging me to collapse into his shoulder. And I did. Oh, I did. My dreams, nightmares, were never fictional, they were memories, experiences. I stayed the night at the school just a week ago, and I never told anyone what'd happened. Out of fear. Out of the knowledge that they'd kill me if somebody found out, if I told somebody what they did to me... Mikey Way, Dallon Weekes, and Frank Iero.