"You are a monster! You know that, right? You can't do this. He's eighteen for fuck's sake. He has his whole life ahead of him," Pete yells at Patrick's mom, Patricia. The bitch is trying to have him taken off of his feeding tube.

If that happens, he won't live for longer than two weeks unless, by some miraculous chance, he awakens. Pete has no hope left in him.

But he does know that if Patrick dies, he won't be able to go on with his own life knowing what he did to Patrick. It's his fucking fault, and he knows it.

Oh they better fucking find the guy that did this, so Pete can kill him and then himself. But somewhere in the back of Pete's mind is a smiling Patrick, telling him it isn't his fault and that if he kills himself, Patrick will be so disappointed in him.

Pete doesn't think he can purposely disappoint Patrick. He loves Patrick. He can admit it now.

A month too late.

"I can and will do what I want with my son. And what I want is for him to stop suffering. I want him taken off of that fucking feeding tube at this moment," Patrica shoots back. Pete lets out a strangled noise as the doctor gives a hesitant nod, scribbling down something.

Pete walks back to Patrick's room with the doctor. "There's a chance he can still wake up, you know. It might be slim, but someone had to have waken up from it to be that small percent. Maybe Patrick can add to it," The doctor nudges Pete's arm just as they reach Patrick's room.

Pete appreciates what the doctor is trying to do. He's trying to help. But it's not helping Pete.

He's pretty much accepted the fact that Patrick's going to die in this room. Room 1738. [bad time for a fetty wap ref? kinda..]

Patrick's going to die before he can graduate. Before he can get married and have kids of his own. Before he can grow old and retire and die peacefully in his sleep or something.

But his fucking mother would rather him starve to death in unconsciousness than stay on the earth a little longer.

Fucking asshole.