---Patrick---

Not a sound enters my ears.

My heart falters for a split second, and in that split second everything just stops for me. After I realize my scars are showing, I notice Brendon and Ryan there, turning away to leave. Brendon's shaking his head in shame and in that moment I know they've given up on me in the same way I gave up on them, and it hurts. It hurts so badly. I start shaking out of fear and embarrassment and shame and hate. Afterward, I notice Bob with a small smirk nagging at the corner of his lips. That scares me. A lot. That means I'm going to get bullied all over again. It's going to happen. They're going to call me a fake. They're going to tease me for being a cutter. They're going to laugh at my misery. No, no, no.

Tears prick at the backs of my eyes in embarrassment and self-loathing as I scramble to get up, pulling down the sleeve of my hoodie and staring for a second or two as I try to fight back the tears. And somewhere in that crowd, there's a head of black hair and a pair of troubled brown eyes. His hands over his mouth, looking straight into my eyes with a look of pure pain in those eyes and his mouth forming a tight O.

I take my science journal and binder from the floor, picking them up as fast as I can because I want to leave. I want to run away. I want to disappear. I sprint away, crying. I'm broken, I'm weak. I'm pathetic. I'm fat. I'm ugly. I'm broken. I'm a cutter. I'm broken. I'm scared. I'm broken. I'm broken. I'm broken.

"Patrick!" The artist calls. I hear, but I don't listen. I know they don't care. Nobody cares. Who could love me? I'm out of my fucking mind. If they really cared about me, they would be here when I need a shoulder to cry on. Nobody cares about me. If he seriously thinks he can come out of nowhere and try to care for me, he's stupid. Idiotic. I'm more so.

I slam a stall door open, whimpering and sobbing with time passing by too fast to even realize where I am until I've shut the door and locked it. My vision is blurry from the salty tears running down my cheeks, and I can't breathe. My breaths are short and rushed, I can't calm down I feel so scared and embarrassed and useless, and no matter what I can't seem to calm down, my mind is racing, and I think that was Gerard back there, but I don't know, and I'm so scared that I'm going to get bullied and Bob is going to hurt me and I wish they'd just understand how empty I feel and how much I really do want to kill myself and god I can't breathe this is going so badly and-

"Patrick! Are you here?" He calls from outside the door, stopping my mess of thoughts, so all I can focus on is him. His voice is beautiful just like him, his hair, his eyes, his body, and though I don't know it all that well, his personality. I want him here with me, to hold me. To tell me pretty lies about how, "Everything will be okay," and, "I'll always be here for you," and, "Just stay will me, Darling, you'll be okay."

You're fucking stupid, Patrick. He's just here out of pity, and you know it. You're so pathetic. He'll never do something like that for someone like you. Weak, fat, pathetic, ugly, broken, useless, unlovable, fag, crybaby. You know everything he would say would be a lie.

I'm so pathetic and weak. I'm too scared to reply to him. Too afraid he'll find me. Too afraid he'll help me. I don't need help. I'm doing okay on my own... I think... He stays for a few more moments, calling my name a couple more times before he leaves. His footsteps fade away into the distance, the door closes behind him, and I release a breath I didn't realize I was holding, long and drawn out.

A moment or two after Gerard leaves, I hear the bell ring, but I don't dare move. Fifth period might have started, but that doesn't mean I can bring myself to let them see me like this. I don't think I can ever let anyone see me again, not like this. Broken, a cutter, an attention whore. That's what they'll call me at first, second, third, lunch, fourth, fifth, sixth, before school, after school. Wherever they can, whenever they can, they'll do it. I'm in so much shame and embarrassment. I just want to die. Is that too much to ask?

My back slides down the stall's wall as I sit and choke in my ocean of tears. Tears of shame. Tears of embarrassment. Tears of self-loathing. Tears of hate and disappointment and sorrow and every other emotion I can think up. Crying about home, about The Incident, about the boy in art, about my ex-friends, about Megan...

I'm not sure how long I sit there choking and sobbing into the silence. A couple come through and I force myself to keep quiet until they leave again but otherwise, I cry for a long time, pathetic. After a while, I hear the bell. I don't know if I'm relieved or scared. I know fifty minutes have passed. I should probably go either way...

I stand up from the dirty stall floor, brushing myself off and opening the stall door, careful to make sure nobody is outside. Thankfully, the bathroom is empty, and I rush to the mirror the first chance I get; brushing my blonde locks with my hands, wiping the dried tears from my cheeks, straightening out my hoodie. After a moment of trying to build my confidence, I walk out of the bathroom with my binder and science notebook in hand. Keeping my head down, I hope and pray that nobody will notice me. A small plead to be left alone.

But they don't. Why would they? I'm wishing for the world and nobody just gets given that kind of stuff for free. As I walk down the hall, and stop by my locker, unlocking the squeaky door with the three number code and throwing my stuff in, I hear someone come up behind me. Loud footsteps and just the feeling of his eyes burning in the back of my head. He pulls me back roughly by the hood of my jacket and slams my locker shut as I squeak in fear. He only snickers as I gaze up at him in fear. Bob.

I swallow when he gives me that nasty smirk. He shoves me into a shut locker door with a loud clang, backed by his two friends, Spencer and Jon. His fingers curling into the collar of my sweatshirt and nobody stops him. Nobody because nobody cares. Nobody because I deserve it. Nobody because everybody knows he's putting me in my place. I'm the nobody of the school. The underdog. The person nobody cares about. Who would care about me? Who could care if I died? Who? Nobody. Nobody cares about me. Nobody would cry if I died. Why don't I just do it already?

Bob knees me hard in the stomach, a jolt of pain passing through and I'm almost forced to gag whatever stomach acid is left in my stomach up. I double over, but it only gives the bully a chance to lower himself to my ear and speak, "Hey there, faggot." He growls, "Let's get out of here, I can show you what you really deserve other than a few laughs and some embarrassment, huh? A fucking fag like you deserves so much worse."

Fear swallows me for the third time today, and I can't help but think this is a really bad day. Really bad. Hopefully tomorrow might be better... If there is a tomorrow. I try to fight against them, but they only drag me away and into the gym locker room. I'm kicking and screaming, but nobody can hear me over the loud buzz of teenagers. I'm alone, and nobody cares. Jon shoves me into the room before shutting the door behind him. I try to back away, tears pricking at my eyes but I'm only met with Bob. Who immediately gets a tight hold on my hair and growls in my ear.

"Where the fuck are you going, faggot? Jesus, you're so pathetic."

He lets the words sink in towards my already cracked heart. A nasty smirk crossing his face in reaction to my own, completely broken and lost. He knows the words get to me. Like he's a butcher with a smile striking me each and every opportunity he gets. Trying to hurt me and turn my heart to glass shards.

I wait for someone's fist to collide with my face or my stomach. I wait for the pain to surge, leave a bruise. Leave a mark. A cut. A scar.

Bob is the first one to react, his hands pushing me roughly back and sending me straight into a locker door with a big clank, and a fist colliding sharply with my nose. Out of reflex, my hands immediately clasp it, and I let out a yelp of pain, shutting my teary eyes but that's my next mistake. Bob knees me hard in the crotch the first chance he gets and throws me to the ground, my back hitting the floor sharply.

I feel like all the air has left my lungs because I can't breathe and I'm struggling for something, anything to fill them. The air is just gone, the wind knocked from me and it's all I can do to just gasp for air, my fingers scraping the floor and tears leaving my eyes as my teeth clench and I manage a tiny whimper.

"Pathetic," Bob growls before he pulls me up by the collar of my hoodie, "lemme see those scars, I could add a few more for you, attention whore. How would you like that?"

"S-stop," I whimper, a small, breathless plead. Bob only chuckles in reply, pushing me down on the floor and kicking me hard in the face, wiping blood on his shoe that I didn't realize was leaking from my nose. I'm shaking and huddled in a ball as he continues to slam his foot into my stomach. I try my best to muffle my sounds of pain, desperate for him to stop. Desperate for him to just leave me alone even though I know I deserve this. I deserve every ounce of pain he inflicts on me. I deserve to die.

"Get away from him!" I hear a boy yell and just like that, the foot is gone, and I can try to focus on calming down and get more air into my lungs. I'm coughing up blood, and my nosebleed isn't helping with that. Not to mention I feel like I'm going to puke and I can barely think straight as I shake on the floor, trying to hold back my tears on top of all the pain.

"Are you alright, Kid?" I hear a man say above me, Mr. Freeman, the gym teacher. I can't focus very well, but I still manage to look up shakily, tears in my eyes for the third time today and my voice rough.

"Y-yeah... I... I..." I choke and just like that, I break down, trembling and shaking, sobbing. My head is immediately buried in my arms as I try to stop myself but ultimately fail.

"I'll take care of him, Mr. Freeman." The boy from earlier says. That Jersey accent, that light voice. Why? Why him...? He shouldn't be here. He's going to push me away just like I pushed away anyone who ever loved me or cared for me. Just like... Just like The Incident. My eyes still dart over to see the boy I had guessed: Gerard. Beside the gym teacher and I can't say I'm relieved.

Mr. Freeman nods before leaving the locker room with a, "You boys have ten minutes, I'll give the both of you a pass to sixth."

"Thank you, Sir," Gerard quickly calls but the door shuts and the gym teacher is already gone, back to the gymnasium and leaving the two of us in the locker room. Alone. Together. I shouldn't be so nervous about it. I'm just here to wipe my tears and leave.

I pull myself up, brushing away the droplets of water from my eyes and turning to Gerard, "I'm so sorry about that. I really shouldn't have let them take me here. I'm sorry," I whisper.

"Patrick, hey," Gerard replies in an equally soft voice as he drops to his knees beside me, "You've got nothing to say sorry for." He pauses, traps his lip between his teeth with his eyes gazing off somewhere else before asking, "Hey uh... Are you doing alright? I saw everything that happened today... I'm sorry I..."

My hands are still shaking, and I'm done crying. I'm finally calming down, taking deep breaths, grateful for the much-needed air to finally fill my lungs again. It feels like paradise compared to Bob. It's nice.

Gerard holds out his hand for me, standing back up and it's all I can do to look up at him. Then I realize what he's offering like a fucking idiot, and I take the rough skin, blushing furiously. As I turn to him, I realize just how worried he looks. It kind of hurts me.

Why? You're pathetic, Stumph.

"I... I know I'm new here and everything, but if you ever need something, just call." He says with caring brown eyes as I straighten out my hair. He's so concerned, but I don't understand why. Why would anyone care about me? Worry about me? Try to help me? There's no way to help a mess like me. No way to fix something as broken as this.

"I don't need friends," Someone says. It's not Gerard, though. It's me. And it takes me a moment to realize it. I would never say something like that, right? Not unless it was the truth... Oh, my God. I actually just said that.

It is the truth, Patrick. Fucking deal with it.

Before I continue. I need to say something. This is probably one of the worst days of my life since The Incident. It wasn't always this bad. In a typical week, one of the three things that happened today would only happen once. I would only break down once in an entire week instead of three times in two hours. I would only do something as big as show my scars to the school about once a month. And well... the bullying doesn't really change much, usually about two or three times a week.

I look up at Gerard since he's a good 4 inches taller than me, but I'm not intimidated, there's glare in my eyes. The same glare I gave Brendon and Ryan. The same glare I gave Frank. The same glare I gave Joe. The same glare... the same glare I gave... Pete...

He looks slightly hurt but nods, shocking me. Why is he okay with this? Does he just not care?

Of course, he doesn't, dumbass. Who cares about you? Give me one person, and I'll leave you alone for the rest of the day.

"I'm still here if you need one. All you have to do is talk to me." He replies, quietly, simply, calmly. And just like that, he turns on his heel and leaves. I'm speechless, and I have to take a deep breath to stop these new emotions from taking over. From beating me up all over again.

I take a moment to stabilize myself before I follow him out. My shoes tapping softly against the linoleum locker room floor. My hands grasp the cold metal bar of the door, hesitating slightly, before pulling it open and walking through. Gerard gives me one last glance, standing in front of Mr. Freeman with a yellow slip, he looks sympathetic, maybe empathetic, sometimes I can't tell the difference because I haven't seen it in a long time, before leaving the gym, the door slamming shut behind him.

Mr. Freeman approaches me, I can see his teacher ID in the pocket of his lanyard. His curly gray hair and the name Martin Freeman printed in large black letters on the card.

"Are you sure you're alright?" He asks, worried. I don't look into his eyes, but I still nod softly.

"I'm fine," I murmur even though I really don't want to talk.

"What's that?"

"I'm fine!" I snap looking right at him. He jumps slightly. I'm immediately swollen with guilt, "S-sorry..." I stutter, "C-can I just go?"

He nods, writing out a pass on the slip of paper, "Here, no dilly dallying. Save that for after class, please."

"Okay, I'll see you tomorrow," I say, scared of upsetting him further as I restrain the annoyance from my voice before leaving, happy to get out of there. Just like that, I'm off to 6th. Social studies with Mr. Collins.