---Patrick---

Yesterday went by too fast, and today seems to go by even faster. It's 3:52 PM. Pete still isn't here to see me, what does he want to talk about? Me? Our friendship? Maybe he's admitting his love to me.

I get that was a joke but was it really necessary? Nobody loves you, 'Trick.

I know. Who could love me? I couldn't even take it when Gerard mentioned my blowjob earlier. I should be able to. What's wrong with me? He didn't know, how could he know? More importantly, why did I snap? I shouldn't have. Not at him, at least, he didn't deserve it. He's such a sweet person and... God, I had to go and screw it up.

You screw up everything, don't you? You screwed up your mom's life, you messed up your family: Megan, Kevin, Dad, Mom. If it weren't for you, your own Mom wouldn't be dead, Kevin and Dad wouldn't be in jail, and Megan wouldn't be living with Kellin. You'd get the family you always dreamed for.

Tears are falling down my cheeks, and I try and fail to hold back a sob.

You're a fucking disappointment to the world, I can't believe you'd ever think that someone could love you. Gerard's just there to make sure you don't go off and kill yourself. You know he doesn't love you. He never has loved you, and he never will love you. You should stop talking to him and break his promises. He won't care. How could he care? You're pathetic!

I am.

Say it you little bitch.

"I'm pathetic," I whisper, "I'm broken. I'm a disappointment. I'm fat," I let out a sob as I let the words pierce my heart, "I'm ugly. I'm a cutter. I'm unlovable..." My voice cracks and my breath shudders as I whimper out the last word, "I'm disgusting."

"You're beautiful." My eyes dart up to see Gerard at the door with a bowl of rice, he looks sad, but I know it's not true. It can't be true. How could anyone love me? I shake my head from where I'm sitting, on the floor beside his bed. He walks forward, continuing his sentence and handing over the bowl of rice, "Please don't say that about yourself, I love you. I love you so much, and it hurts to see you like this. You are so beautiful and amazing and talented. I love your voice and the way you sing 21 Guns. I love how strong you are. I love how you look, you're absolutely perfect in my eyes and one day I'll prove it to you, do you understand?"

I lower my eyes, "It's not true... None of it's true..."

"Patrick, don't lie to yourself. Your self-esteem is low, but one day it's going to be so much higher. Pete's here, so I'm gonna leave you two alone for a while, okay?" He asks.

I nod softly, "Th-Thank you..."

"Anytime, Sugar."

He gets up and leaves. It's just a favor to him. He thinks he's doing me a favor lying to me, but I know the truth. I'm a mess, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I take a few pieces of rice from the bowl since Gerard said it would help settle my stomach.

The door opens again, and I see Pete at the door in a black t-shirt with his short black hair pointed straight up... kind of like Brendon but much shorter.

"Hey, 'Trick." He says with a low volume, like I'm so broken that even a loud voice could shatter me. It probably could, to be completely honest.

"Hey," I give a weak smile as he sits beside me. There's silence as I eat but after about a minute or so I hear him whisper, "I missed you..."

"I missed you, too," I say plainly. I did, didn't I?

"I... I came because I wanted to say sorry for... everything that happened three years ago." My breath hitches at even the mention of The Incident, "I'm sorry that I was so clingy and that I was constantly worried about you... I understand how annoying it can get... Especially after...." He trails off, "After I... attempted suicide..."

"Suicide?" I blurt out in surprise. He attempted suicide? When? Where? Why didn't I find out? Was it after I left? Or before?

"G-Gerard didn't tell you?" He asks quietly. I can only shake my head. My ex-friend-I mean-best friend tried to commit suicide, and I didn't find out? How? Did Gerard not want to tell me or something? What? He sighs, "I... After you had left, I became really depressed... And you know my bipolar disorder contributed to that... I... I wouldn't stop... h-hurting m-myself..." He's trying not to cry. My Pete doesn't cry. My Pete never cried around me. He was always so strong, did I really do this to him? It's all my fault... isn't it?

"I couldn't take it, Patrick. I knew it was my fault that you pushed me away, I kept blaming myself, and I couldn't stop. I ended up in the hospital twice because I hurt myself so much... I missed you horribly, but you wouldn't let me back in. Everyone was kind of depressed. We missed you..." I find myself wrapping my hands around him, guilt swelling inside me. This was all my fault, "B-Brendon was always stressed and his anxiety spiked, Joe's OCD got worse, Frank wouldn't stop blaming himself, Ryan and I became severely depressed. I became suicidal. We all kind of relapsed...

"I was in my car in an empty parking lot when I tried to take my life..." His voice is just barely audible now, and he's crying, so I wipe his tears as I hug him, "I-I o-overdosed on A-Ativan... When I woke up I was in the hospital... the doctor told me I'd called Brendon and h-he came to where I was and c-called 911... I w-was playing Hallelujah in the car...

"I missed you so much..." He sobs. I'm not crying, but I can feel my heart breaking. I fucked up really, really bad.

I grasp onto him like if I let go, he'll be back in that car, trying to kill himself again. I didn't realize... I didn't realize I hurt them that much...

"I-I can't stop blaming myself f-for everything, and I started writing songs... they're horrible, Patrick, they're so fucked up. I don't know... I can't seem to do anything right anymore..." He ends it in a whisper, a sad, almost pleading tone of voice. Pleading for it all to end for the pain to go away. Anything.

"Can I see?" I ask quietly. I want to see what they made. They can't be that bad.

He swallows and shakes his head, "They're at home... I don't... They're kind of personal..."

I squeeze his hand softly, "That's okay. It's gonna be fine... I promise you, and I haven't broken a promise yet, I don't want to lose you, do you understand? You're my best friend, and I'm so sorry for making you feel like that... like shit... I'm sorry for leaving, I didn't think anyone would miss me and once Dad started..." I pause, "Y'know... I didn't think anybody loved me anymore or even cared for me. I'm sorry for... everything... I shouldn't have done it..."

He hugs me closer, "I'm sorry for being so clingy... It's just... it's been three years, and I was too scared to talk to you before now... I was scared you'd get mad at me..."

"Pete, I'd never be mad at you. You'll always be my best friend..." I whisper, "Always..."

***

It was my fault. It was all my fault. There's another thing I've fucked up in these past few years. I can still hear Pete's words echoing in my ears, "Brendon was always stressed and his anxiety spiked, Joe's OCD got worse, Frank wouldn't stop blaming himself, Ryan and I became severely depressed. I became suicidal. We all kind of relapsed..."

I'm so mad at myself. I can't believe I could do that. He was so happy. Sure, he's bipolar and depressed, but now he's suicidal, because of me. Not to mention the rest of my friends getting worse.

I'm a monster. Just like my dad, I've hurt so many people, it's only a matter of time before I hit one and after that, it's just a downward spiral.

The blade is right there in my hand, all I have to do is dig it into my wrist. I was lucky to find it on Gerard's desk, and I'm not too worried about any kind of diseases, it'll mean I die quicker, right?

I press down, and I'm ready to slide it, leaving a fresh cut and a line of red. I'm about to break a promise I made to Gerard. I've told enough lies in my life, though, this is just one more. I feel guilty about it, but at the same time, I really don't care. I need this.

And I try to move my hand.

But I can't.

Am I really doing this? Breaking a promise to the boy who saved my life? The boy who showed me the light when I thought there was none?

Am I really doing this?

Do it. Now.

But I can't.

You can. Just do it.

I can't. Oh god, I can't.

Patrick, just cut it, you pussy. Fucking hurt yourself! You deserve it!

I set down the blade and walk away.

Isn't that the right choice?

You wish.

"Hey, Patrick?" I hear Gerard call from outside the bathroom.

"Just a minute!" I call, quickly flushing the toilet and turning on the sink for a moment. He can't know. He can't get suspicious. It could get bad.

I turn off the faucet and wait another moment, as if I'm drying my hands, then turn the knob on the door, opening it. Donna is standing in the kitchen on the phone and Gerard has a gentle, caring expression on his face.

"Uh... your dad is on the phone." He says, "Are you sure about this? You don't have to go through with it if you don't want to."

I take a deep breath, feeling my lungs inflate and deflate like a balloon, filled, and then emptied, "Yeah," I step past him, through the hall, and stand in front of Donna, my hands in my pockets nervously. This is it. We're really going through with this.

"He's here, one moment." She says into the phone, then hands it over, mouthing out a "Good luck." I stifle the eye-roll.

"Patrick Stumph?" The man asks, a dark tone in his voice.

"Yes, Sir," I quickly respond, intimidated by him and immediately backing off. I don't want him to think I'm stuck up or anything. I just want to talk to my dad.

"Okay, your father is here. Your conversation will be monitored from both sides for security purposes. And just so it's recorded in the system, you are consenting to this conversation, correct?"

"Yes, Sir, I am," I reply, my voice shaky in anxiety.

"Okay, transferring the line now."

The phone goes silent for a moment, and I swallow nervously as I wait, my hands gripping the table. I'm about to talk to my dad. The man who beat me for three years. The man who wanted to kill me for being a faggot. Who taught me, I could never be useful. What will he say? Will he yell at me? Will he insult me? Will he say I deserved everything like I do? I don't know. All I know is that he wants to talk to me.

"Patrick?"

His voice is weak, depressed, but there's a glow of hope somewhere in there, and it makes me stand up straight, no longer leaning on the table. It makes me realize this is really happening and I have to take a deep breath before replying.

"Dad."

There's a small pause, and then he speaks, "I uh... I know things might not be the same between us... Ever again... I understand if you never want to talk to me again. I wouldn't want to either. I was such an ass. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry for drinking and having to put you through that all. I'm so sorry for everything I ever did to you. I'm trying to get sober again. I'm going into rehab soon. I'm going to get better. So I can't hurt anyone ever again. I'm so fucking sorry, and I know that saying it won't fix anything. I fucked up so bad. Nothing I can say would ever just make it better. I'm trying to get better, though. I'm such a fucking asshole. I hurt you... Nothing could forgive that. I just... I'm so sorry. I don't expect you to forgive me. I shouldn't have done what I did, I-"

"Dad." I interrupt, my eyes watering and a smile across my lips, "Don't say sorry, okay...? You were depressed. You had nowhere else to go. Drinking was your only escape. I forgive you."

I hear an audible gasp come from both Donna and Gerard simultaneously and Gerard even begins choking on air, I ignore it.

"I love you. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry I put you through all of that. It was my fault... I should have never let... I should have never let her die." I'm sobbing now, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry for everything I did to you. I'm so sorry. It's not your fault. I-I..."

Gerard hugs me from behind as I cry.

"I forgive you." I take a deep breath as I restrain the tears.

"Patrick, it was never your fault. We both know it was unavoidable. It's not like you could've known. She's... She's passed. It's okay. It's all okay. I want you to know that it wasn't your fault. Please don't forgive me. I'm a horrible person. After everything I did to you, I'm surprised you even wanted to talk."

Inhale, exhale.

"Look, Patrick, we don't have much time before I have to go. I want you to know that I'm sorry. I'm getting better. I... I hope you're happy with your boyfriend. I want you to know you never deserved any of what I did. Any of what Kevin did. I know. I know what he did. I'm so sorry. I should've stopped him. I should have stopped him. That never should've happened to you. Never. You've never done anything to deserve something like that."

I bite my lip at that information. He knew. He knew...

"Ten seconds!" Someone calls from the background.

"I love you." He says hurriedly, "Tell Gerard to take care of you for me, okay? Take care of yourself. I have to go. Bye."

"Bye, I love you, too."

The line goes dead, and I'm left empty.

Just... numb.