---Patrick---

Everything. Hurts. Please. Stop. Please.

"Kevin, Kevin, stop please!" I cry out, tears lining my eyes as I struggle against his grip. My world is slipping from my fingertips. It's straining against me. I'm losing all control. I've lost all control. I'm stuck. Trapped. Useless. I can't do anything anymore, "Please, it hurts, please, stop."

"You're a fucking whore, I know you fucking like it." Kevin growls into my ear, "Come on, scream for me, slut."

I don't want to. I don't want to give him what he wants.

But I have to.

It hurts so badly, and I can't stop the earsplitting sound from leaving my throat. The screech of agony. Of hate. Of guilt. Of devastation.

Kevin hoists my legs up farther unrestraining my hands for just a split second, but I use it to cover my face with the sleeves of my hoodie, still sobbing and yelling and begging and crying. I've never felt so scared or miserable or embarrassed in my life.

He yanks my hair back, forcing my head back and he bites into my neck, leaving marks I know won't go away for a long while.

I scream again. My whole body is on fire. I would do anything for it to just go away but all I can do it cry and beg for it to end.

"Patrick,"

Stop, stop, stop.

"Patrick,"

Please just go away!

"Patrick! Hey, wake up, Honey."

My eyes dart open. I'm still screaming, and I see Allie beside me, worried and trying her best to calm me down. Her brown hair covering parts of her eyes. Her brown eyes gazing worriedly into mine. I look around, expecting to see Kevin. Expecting him to be hovering over me. Expecting another dagger of pain.

There's nothing.

As I look around, I realize I'm in reality. Kevin is in jail. Dad is there with him. Megan is... gone.

"You had a nightmare, you were screaming, and I was worried-"

Funny joke.

"You're paid to worry about me," I snap, "Go away, please."

She clenches her jaw, frustrated, but leaves, standing up and turning, slamming the door shut on her way out which only makes me jump.

The image of Kevin is still burning in my mind, and I need a distraction. Now.

I pull my phone from my bedside table, shoving my earbuds in my ears and turning the volume up, the music already playing.

As my eyes rest on my screen, I see Pete's texts that I missed during the flashback earlier.

Pete: I need you to go to the bridge tomorrow.

Pete: I have some really good news.

Pete: Okay?

I frown, confused as to what he might want. And why the bridge? It's not really the place I'd usually meet up with a friend... only with Gerard.

Gerard's gone, though. He's not coming back. It's just me now and whoever doesn't bully me in my new school.

Patrick: What about Allie and Mark? What if they don't want me to go? How am I supposed to get there?

My eyes wander my room while I wait for him to reply. I guess I could take the bus... and Allie and Mark aren't super overprotective of me...

Pete: If they give you trouble, just sneak out and take the bus there. I promise we'll be there, you can make it at like... 4PM, right?

Patrick: Yeah, if they let me. I'll text you if they don't...

Pete: Sweet! See you there :)

Patrick: Goodnight lol

Pete: Night

I shut my eyes and lean back in bed. Why does Pete want to talk? Is it important? Or does he just want to talk? Can't he just text about that kind of stuff?

I'm not sure...

I'm sure as hell excited, though.

I open my eyes again and look around the room and... I don't know why the thought crosses my mind. Maybe it's because I'm craving it, but I can't help but wonder where my razor is. I know it was at the old house when I still lived there, but I wonder if the cops found it or something. Maybe it's in a lab somewhere. Maybe someone pocketed it to remember The Incident. To keep in mind that I slit my wrists deep. To remember that this actually happened and it won't be forgotten over time. To remember the way Dad beat us.

Or maybe I should just go back to sleep.

"I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the border line
Of the edge and where I walk alone

"Read between the lines
Of what's fucked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

"I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a..."

***

"Hey, Mark?" I ask, biting my lip nervously and gripping the sleeves of my hoodie.

"Hmm?" He hums curiously, not looking up from his work on something. I'm not sure what he does for a living or anything like that. All I know about him is that he is good to me and he lets me do things Allie wouldn't normally let me do.

"Do you mind if I go out for a bit? I have my phone and bus pass, I just need some... uh... fresh air..." I lie. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Yeah, of course, be back by seven?" He agrees. Agrees. How? Dad would have never agreed.

Then again, Dad's not here anymore.

"Thanks!" I smile, immediately heading to the front door.

"No problem," He replies with his own smirk.

I leave, shutting the door behind myself and immediately heading to the bus stop. I pull out my phone and check the time: Sunday, October 16th, 3:28 PM

Perfect.

The bus arrives in about 12 minutes, it'll head down to the school and then towards my house-my... old house-where I'll walk to the bridge and meet up with Pete. And talk about whatever he wants to talk about. If he's pulling me away from my house just for a talk, it has to be somewhat important, or just something he doesn't want Allie and Mark to hear...

Leaves scatter the solid ground, reds, browns, yellows, oranges on gray. It's breathtaking but... it's not as breathtaking as Gerard.

I'm so pathetic, thinking he'll ever come back. Tricking myself into thinking he ever loved me. It was just a stupid one-week relationship. Why am I overreacting?

I guess it's because he healed me in that one week. He made me feel so much better than I had felt in 3 years...

During that one week, whenever I was around him, my anxiety faded from a scream to a soft whisper. I only cut once in that entire week. I haven't cut since I made the promise to him. I mean it's not like I have much of a choice since there's nothing to cut with but I find myself trying not to cut for him. I had fewer flashbacks in that week alone than most weeks before. I felt... happy. I really was.

It's over, though. He's dead to me now.

I get on the bus, flashing my pass to the driver who nods to me and lets me go ahead. My knees are shaky as I walk through the aisle, my confidence beginning to melt to complete anxiety and I have to take a few deep breaths to stop myself from panicking.

Everyone is staring. Don't make a fool of yourself, Patrick.

I'm trying, dammit.

Try harder you pathetic shit. You're such a fucking waste of space. No wonder Gerard left you. I fucking told you it would happen and you know what's about to happen now? Pete's gonna say his last goodbye now. You'll never see any of your friends again, you're such a goddamn loser for fuck's sake why haven't you just killed yourself yet? Oh yeah, because Gerard just happened to send that text to an attention whore like you.

I'm so sorry.

Damn, right you should be, die in hell, Cunt.

I sit in the first empty seat and gaze out the window, wishing the voice would just go away. It never goes away, though. It stays, taunting me. Telling me the truth...

You'll be downtown anyway, why not just jump off of the skyscraper that you were on last time? It would be less painful than having to deal with this shit.

But what if... what if he still loves me...?

That's all it takes before it explodes on me.

You seriously think he could still love you? Or even, loved you at all? You're pathetic. Who could love a mess like you? You're ugly. Your hair is too messy, and you should get a new fedora because, honestly, nobody wants to see it. Your eyes, they're too... green. You would look halfway decent if you had brown eyes or something like that, but even with a different color, the rest of your face is way too misshapen. You're too fat. You barely have any jawline, it's all just... flab... then there's your chest. Just... ew. Your arms are fucking littered with scars, it's disgusting, Patrick. Do you really think anyone can love you when you don't even love yourself? You deserve each of those scars because you are such a goddamn fuck up. Not to mention your stomach...

I pinch one of the many cuts in my arms, desperate to make the voice go away but it only starts talking more.

Ha! You think you can get rid of me that easily? Stupid. I'm always here. I'll never leave you no matter how much you want me to. I'm always here telling you the truth, and you can't even handle that. You're fucking weak and pathetic. Unlovable. Broken. You're what's left over of a boy who actually might have had a chance at life. You fucked it all up when you killed your own mom, didn't you? And now you keep having nightmares of her dead body on the side of the road. That cold, dead body. You were too weak to save her.

Shut up! Shut up, shut up, shut up!

So weak. It's fucking pathetic. No wonder Ashley hates you so much. We both know she was going to break up with you anyways. Remember the parking lot? When she laughed at how stupid you were? Yeah, that's just another example of how much of a fuckup you are. Tonight, you'd better be home on time because we're going to have some fun.

I promised Gerard. No.

But Gerard isn't in your life anymore, is he? You just had to call him up, not to mention that you shouldn't have been dating him in the first place. You really are a faggot. Isn't it funny how you thought I'd just completely forget about that? Nope, not even Gerard can change me. I'm going to be in your head until you finally decide to take your life. It will happen. You do deserve it.

The bus is almost to the stop, I'm struggling not to break down as I gaze out the window but no matter how hard I try, a tear still escapes my eye, and I have to wipe it away before anyone can notice. They're all staring at me. They're watching.

I just need to be strong.

Chestnut and oak trees are passing by the window of the bus as I try to hold back my tears. The buildings on the edge of the center of the city also flash by, only streaks of gray. It's bland. It's very bland, but that's okay, I hate this place all the same. This city only makes me think of Mom and Dad and Kevin and Megan. All the people I've lost.

If there's anywhere I'd love to live, it would be Chicago. We went there on vacation before The Incident, it was wonderful. Not to mention Mom always talked about it. There were so many shops and places to go and things to see it was just amazing. My favorite part was going downtown at night when you can see all the city lights. Neon blues and yellow and oranges and pinks. They make your eyes light up, and a smile go to your lips. It's just beautiful. Everything about it. Everything about... him...

The bus stops, my old school coming into view through my window as I'm thrown forward in a jerk. I straighten myself up as I keep gazing at the school. The red bricks, the doors leading inside, the oak and maple trees lining the sidewalk.

This is probably the last time I'll ever see this sight.

The school, the trees... everything... Hell, that was probably the only time I'll ever see The Black Parade. The day that I told Gerard about my scars, Dad, Kevin... The Incident... the day we lied in the grass under the new moon next to the mausoleum. The day I met Elisa, Lindsay, and Sarah Thurman. The day I learned about their tradition. That night when we sat together on that bridge. That evening when I kissed him and ran into the rainy night.

That night when Kevin raped me.

It'll be the last time I'll ever see the school, the walk downtown, the corner where we sat and watched The Black Parade. This will be the last time I'll ever pass by the Thurman Flower Shop. This might not be the last time I'll ever see Mom's grave but it sure as hell is a possibility. Then there's the café... and the bridge.

I stand up, my shaky knees becoming slightly stronger and able to hold my weight. My feet drag under me when I walk down the aisle and down the two black steps of the bus which immediately takes off. It just wants to get away from me.

Bzzt.

I'm hesitant to take out my phone. I'm deep in thought about... this...

Pete: You almost here?

I look to the time. 3:40 PM, twenty more minutes.

Patrick: Just got off of the bus, I'll be there in a little bit. Sorry.

He's waiting for me. I should go.

I start walking, crossing the cracked street. Not nearly as cracked or faded as the street by my house but still pretty bad.

The walk is a blur. I'm lost in my thoughts, the same thoughts over and over and over again. Kevin, Dad, Pete, the Thurman Flower Shop, Gerard, the bridge, the mausoleum, Gerard, the suicide attempt, Gerard, Brendon, Gerard. He's like a song stuck in my head, like my favorite record and he can't be replaced with any other tune. When will he ever leave my thoughts? Can I heal?

I don't know. I don't know, and it scares me. What if I'm damaged forever? Therapy can't fix everything, and my mind is still a fucking mess. My thoughts, my body, my anxiety, my PTSD, everything is just... messed up...

The corner is passing by. The corner Gerard and I sat at. The first time I listened to 21 Guns and I had to give him my earbuds, we sat at that corner. I remember how helpless I felt when I watched him cry about his Dad, and I had no idea why he was sad. We stood at that corner while we watched The Black Parade. The white girl and the black boy, the line of soldiers holding portraits and guns, the brass players and the percussion. The giant bass drum with the clock. The girl with my mother's eyes riding down the street on a silky white horse with proud hooves and high heads. The black woodwinds close behind and finally, Mikey on that jet black bass.

The way I remembered him just as he was in the drawing. Dark hair, beanie, snowy white glasses, that dark, dark parade jacket with those silver buttons.

I continue to walk, I'm far past the corner by now as Shinedown blasts in my ears, "They don't know, where we've been
We got that concrete street skin
The only way I'm leavin' is dead
That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head,"

I see the corner where Gerard and Mikey fought. The nasty words they said to each other and I can't help but wonder if they've always been like that... I remember a little bit of what they said, and now I know just how horrible those insults were...

"Mikey, I've tried everything, she just won't stop!" Gerard had yelled. It was about how their mom wouldn't quit smoking, Mikey was mad at Gerard for not trying hard enough to get her to stop.

"Well if you don't make her stop she'll end up just like Dad!" Mikey said that those words were the ones that confirmed my suspicions about their Dad.

I remember after he said sorry, Gerard only snapped, saying something along the lines of, "at least I'm doing something Dad would have wanted."

Mikey replying with, "Dad wanted us to go to The Black Parade."

That was the second strike, they were even, but that didn't mean Gerard would give up. They left with a bitter thought of each other. Gerard fuming and squeezing my wrist as he dragged me away from the corner. I remember crying out of fear. I thought he'd hurt me just like Dad does... just like Dad did, I mean...

I'm at the flower shop now, across the street from the cemetery. My eyes rest on the faded sign, I've read those words before, Thurman Floral Arrangements and Decor. I can imagine Elisa with her dark chestnut hair working away next to the black haired, cherry-lipped Lindsey. Lindsey's cousin and Elisa's sister: Sarah working in the back, watering the roses and tulips and lilies. I imagine the pictures on the walls, remembering how all those mothers and daughters gazed into the camera expressionlessly. The only picture that's different from the rest is the one with the current sisters.

I nearly trip over a crack in the sidewalk but avoid it. Barely. The sun is already beginning to lower above the horizon, and I can't help but wonder what time it is, I know I'm going to be a little late since the walk to the bridge is at least 30 minutes long if it's uninterrupted. I think I'm making okay time, though...

The cemetery is next. Each gravestone sparkling just slightly in the bright sun, each grave littered with dried leaves. It's honestly a little depressing looking at the graves. I know exactly where Mom's is... that means I also know exactly where Gerard and Mikey's Dad's is, too.

The mausoleum looks beautiful. The white marble smooth, each pillar looks perfectly round... the wall that Gerard and I leaned on when we sat and we both kind of cried...

In the end... I'd do it all again... I think he was my best friend...

My feet are taking me inside the cemetery gates. I don't know why... but I do. I know exactly why and for some reason I don't want to stop myself. At the same time, I want to run away. I want to get out of here but... I can't. My feet are determined. Therefore I am determined.

Each headstone looks so familiar but so alien. I know them, but I don't know them, you know? Hell, how could I know when I barely understand it myself?

The graves continue, going on and on for what seems like forever... and then I come across Donald's grave. The black marble headstone, engraved in a lighter color with the parade's symbol and the words:

Here lies Donald Way
Son, husband, father, veteran
Thank you for your service and Rest in Peace

Gerard cried at this grave. He was on his knees, begging his dad to come back. That broke my heart. Of course, my heart's more broken now than it ever was before.

I lean down and shut my eyes, feeling goosebumps run up my arms and past my neck. The same reaction I would have if I could hear Donald whisper words into my ear.

"Hey there..." I whisper, "I know... I'm probably not welcome here after... how much Gerard hates me right now... I... I just wanted to say sorry for being such trouble to him... If I could, I'd say sorry to him but... he's gone...

"I... I wish I could have known you. I'm sure you were a great dad and... this is probably the last time I'll ever get to speak to you but... I love your son... I know, you can't do anything, and I'm probably just wasting my breath but... if there's any way to get him back, I would die for it-no-I would live for it.

"Thank you for being such a great Dad to him. B-but... sleep well...

"So long and goodnight."

I stand up. My knees are shaky as tears flood from my eyes. When did I start crying? How long have I been here? I feel like that took an hour but at the same time, only a minute.

I continue down the next two graves, stopping at the person I came to talk to. Her name hurts to read, it's a tear in my heart just like Gerard and Ashley and Pete. I wish I could just boycott love but...

Guess I was just made to be broken.

Rest in Peace, Patricia Stumph
Daughter, wife, mother
You will be missed

"Hey, Mom," I say, my voice is now just barely above a whisper, and it takes all my will not to scream.

And then I'm taken from reality.

She's motionless. Her blonde hair stained with dark red blood, a blank, glassy look in her green eyes. My heart stops. Time stops. I'm completely frozen, and I can't move. This can't be happening. This just can't be happening. No. No. No.

I unbuckle the seatbelt and drag her out, setting her on the gravel and falling to my knees by her side.

No. No. No.

I lean over her, hovering my ear just over her mouth, there's nothing. Not a breath. Not a word. Not a whisper. No warmth at all.

No. No. No.

My hands immediately take place on her chest, one on top of the other, right on top of left, hoping I'm doing it right.

No. No. No.

I press down hard, over and over again, pumping her heart, hoping it'll start. Praying for it to start. I can't let this happen.

No. No. No.

My heart sinks. There's nothing. I try over and over again. It's no use nothing is happening.

No. No. No.

"Please, please, please." I beg as I continue pumping her chest, "Wake up."

No. No. No.

"Wake up, wake up, wake up." I plead with each pump. Then I scream. I scream with all my emotion because I'm scared. Because I'm sad. Becuase I'm fucking pissed. Because I'm disappointed in myself. Because I can't save her. Becuase she's going to die. I scream as loud as I can. I scream so loud I hope the world hears my anger, I hope universe hears my sorrow, and I hope God himself understands my pain. And I want everyone to know this new tear in my heart. And I want each and every person to know how much this hurts. That one wish to the universe. That one demand to my mother.

"Wake up!"

It's long. Too long. I'm on the ground, how did I get here? There are also tears streaming down my face. I hate that one. I hate it so much. It makes me want to vomit and scream and just cut myself out from the world. I push my arms out behind me in an attempt to pull myself up from the dirt and leaves to see the sun on the horizon now. Too much time passed.

I take out my phone from my pocket in a hurry, knowing Pete is probably pissed. 13 new messages from Pete Wentz, 4 missed calls from Pete Wentz.

4 new messages from Gerard Way.

My breathing hitches as my eyes travel to the time: 4:48 PM

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I don't want to leave. I want to sit and cry and just forget, but I know Pete wanted to talk.

I look through the messages, my heart sinking a little more at each one.

Pete: Hello?
Pete: Hey where are you?
Pete: We were supposed to meet up 10 minutes ago, are you okay?
Pete: Patrick?
Pete: Patrick? Are you okay?
Pete: We're looking for you, it's been 30 minutes
Pete: Where the hell are you?
Pete: Goddammit Patrick I'm crying rn where the fuck are you?
Pete: Patrick???
Pete: We still haven't found you.
Pete: Oh god
Pete: Gerard is here. Will you please come? We're at the café rn...
Pete: Dammit Patrick. I'm leaving.

Why the hell am I such a fuck up?

Patrick: I'm so sorry omg I was at the cemetery because I wanted to talk to Mom really quick and I had a flashback. I'm such a fuckup I'm so so sorry omg.

I'm sobbing now. I want to die. I let my own friend down. What is wrong with me?

Yep, we're definitely breaking that promise you made to Gerard tonight.

No. No. No. I know I deserve it but I promised him, and I can't break my promise.

Speaking of Gerard... what did he have to say? Why was he with Pete...? I thought he hated me...

Gerard: Patrick, hey
Gerard: i'm guessing pete already texted you
Gerard: I'm staying at this café all night if I have to
Gerard: I really need to talk to you so when you're ready, just meet me, alright?

Patrick: coming

I pull myself to my feet but as soon as I'm standing up, my knees buckle under me, and I'm leaning down on my hands and knees. Tears still streaming down my cheeks. I let out a choky sob.

Pathetic. Get up.

I do. My knees still weak but as I begin to walk, I find them growing a little stronger.

Hurry the fuck up.

I walk faster, sniffling.

Oh, my god, Gerard is waiting.

I run. Past all the graves. Through the gates and to the right, heading directly towards the café. What does he want? What could Gerard possibly want? My heart is a mess as it is, does he want to break it more?

My breathing is a little unsteady as I stop at the entrance to the café, but before I can open the door, I feel a vibration in my pocket, and I take it out again.

Gerard: I'm at the bridge, sorry haha

Uggghhh

On the other hand, Pete texted me, too.

Pete: I'm so sorry. Meet you at the bridge?

Patrick: K

I shove my phone back in my pocket and try to hold back my tears as I begin to jog the few blocks to the bridge. I remember just what Gerard and I were talking about when we walked past here. Hobbies, Tyler and Josh, hobbies, sexuality, how our days were...

I can only think about my mom now...

The bridge is in sight. I see Pete, but it's not Pete who I focus on. Rather, the black haired boy sitting with his sketchbook. Just the way I saw him on the day I nearly committed suicide...

It's been two weeks but goddamn it hurts to see him again, his brown eyes sparkling as he gazes across his sketch. They're so dark but so beautiful. Deep but soft. Depressed but happy. They're empty right now. Not quite depressed but not quite happy. Like he's missing something...

He's wearing a black coat and has a dark beanie over his head with The Ramones logo on it. His earbuds are in his ears as he works, probably playing Green Day or something...

I'm at the edge of the bridge now. Gerard still hasn't noticed me but... I'm not sure if I want him to... I want to run and cry and scream. My heart is drumming in my ears. My palms are sweaty, and my throat is dry...

"H-hey," I murmur, my voice cracking. It hurts. My heart hurts. Everything hurts.

His eyes dart up to look into mine, the brown orbs immediately lighting up. He stands up hurriedly, dusting himself off, "Patrick!"

I feel mad.

I don't know where it comes from, but I do. How could he just talk to me like nothing happened? Like he still loves me? He doesn't. He said it himself.

"Do you still love me?"

"I don't know."

I step back, wiping my never ending tears.

"Patrick, what's wrong?" He asks in a concerned voice. What's wrong? What's wrong? You fucking broke my heart and left me with a couple of retards.

But my guilt swallows me instead. I can't be mad at him. It's his own feelings. He can't change them no matter how hard he tries and the foster home was required. It's not like he can do anything about it. As he keeps gazing at me and I continue staring at him, I feel myself slipping up. Breaking.

"I'm sorry..." I whisper, then bite my lip, "I... I was stupid... for thinking you ever loved me... I'm sorry for being so goddamn stupid."

He gasps, "Patrick, hey, calm down," He says, standing up and walking over to me. He leaves his sketchbook on the bridge, but before I can see the drawing, he's embraced me in a hug. He feels so warm... I want to stay here forever and never leave. His arms are so comforting after the flashback and the heartbreak and... everything. This whole mess... he makes me forget and remember at the same time.

Forget about Kevin and Dad. I forget about what they did to me. I forget about how Kevin touched me. I forget about how he made me scream. I forget about how he hit me and screamed at me and tugged my hair and what he forced me to do. I forget about Dad and how he hurt me. I forget about the smell of alcohol on his breath and the feeling of his hands around my throat. I forget about how his belt stings and how many scars are across my back and torso.

I remember. I remember how this boy held me at Homecoming and I remember how I kissed him on the bridge. How he straddled me by the bus stop. How he held me under the sheets at Joe's house. I remember the words he texted me when I was on the building about to jump to my death. I know I can't stop you. I wish I could. I don't want you to go, but if you will, I just want you to know that the world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me. Please don't leave. I need you.

"I'm so sorry. I love you, Patrick. I always have. I always will. The doctor told me I needed to let you go. I'm so sorry for everything. I'm sorry for leaving. I'm sorry for lying to you," He says. I only squeeze him closer, sobbing into his shoulder and shaking. It's a relief, knowing he didn't mean what he said. It heals my aching heart but only a little. He could be mine. I could be his, but he's still just out of reach.

I whisper the only words I have the strength to whisper, "I love you, too..."

He nudges my head up by his fingers so he can see my ugly face. And then he leans forward. I shut my eyes at the collision of our kiss. The taste of coffee with a hint of sugar overwhelms my senses as he pulls me closer, one hand tangled in my hair and the other on my ass, right up against him. It's utter bliss. I love his hands on me. I love his shaky breath on my cheek. I love it. It love him.

But it's over before I can fully appreciate it.

He pulls away and squeezes my shoulders, "Sugar... there's one more thing..."

Sugar... I missed that nickname... "What is it?"

"How... how would you like to live with Mama and I?"