---Patrick---

Everything is difference when I open the door for Joe, sweat making my hoodie stick to my skin but, high or not, I'm too self-conscious to take it off. I don't want anyone but Gerard to see my scars at this point. He's the only person I trust. The only person I'll probably ever trust.

I've also started to notice that it is gone. It hasn't said a thing... Is it gone?

Goddamn, that would be a blessing.

Joe leads me to the bar where we both take a couple seats, I get a shot of gin, Joe just gets a beer.

"So where are they?" I ask, continuing to look around the room.

"They'll be here soon, they have to be really careful about coming out here because they nearly got caught once. It was terrifying, put a lot of stress on Brendon..." Joe says, placing his elbows back on the counter with a relaxed post-sex expression across his face. His whole posture screams, "I just had sex, and I feel high right now," It's actually quite comical, "Pete should also be here soon, I told him you were coming when Bren went to go pick you up."

"O-Oh," I reply, biting my lip. Is he going to bring the notebook? I saw some of the lyrics earlier this week but it was just to one song, his whole notebook is full of songs, and I want to see. I want him to show me what he's been hiding all these years. I want him to trust me with everything he's got. I remember how the song went, how could I forget?

She says she's no good with words, but I'm worse
Barely stuttered out a joke of a romantic stuck to my tongue
Weighed down with words too overdramatic
Tonight it's "It can't get much worse."
Vs. "No one should ever feel like..."

I'm two-quarters and a heart down
And I don't want to forget how your voice sounds
These words are all I have so I'll write them
So you need them just to get by

Dance, dance
We're falling apart to half time
Dance, dance
And these are the lives you love to lead
Dance, this is the way they'd love
If they knew how misery loved me

Pete said he based it off of me and how awkward I used to be, he said he liked it about me. It was cute. That was the part where I started crying because he based it off of me. He wrote a song for me, and it meant a lot. I told him so.

"Earth to Patrick..." Joe says waving his hand in my face.

I squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, "Sorry,"

He smirks, "You wanna fix that problem?"

I frown confused but as soon as I look down, my frown softened, and my face goes a bright pink. Holy shit does this drug work, "No, I'm fine... Uh... If I need to, I can just do it myself..." I mumble out, lowering my head in shame.

"You're fucking adorable," Joe says with a chuckle.

"Shut your face," I growl.

He drains down the last of his beer and looks to the door, watching for one of our friends to show up, but he looks away after a bit and scrunches his nose, "This is gonna sound cheesy as hell but... How do you know you're in love? I mean... I've been in plenty of relationships but they always went bad, and one of us always left... And I mean... I dunno... It's stupid..."

I smile softly and rest my head on the counter, shutting my eyes, "It's... I'm not sure how to explain it," I open my eyes, gazing at his shot-glass, "It's like... You realize you would do anything for them. You love their personality, you love the way they look, you love their flaws, you love the way they talk and the way they dress, and you would do anything for them. And it's more than just the sex. You would live a life without any of that for them if they asked. Ultimately, you would die for them..."

Gerard. Gerard. Gerard. That's all I can think of. I came to forget, not remember but I'm remembering and before I know it tears are slipping from my eyes, "I don't know what's happening, Joe... I love him, but I can't stop fighting... I want to be with him, but I hate him..."

"Hate is a... strong word..." Joe says as he runs his hand over my back in an awkward attempt to comfort me, "It's... It's okay to get into fights, as long as it... works out in the end, if you know what I mean."

I nod softly, but I'm still having doubts.

"Hey, guys!" Andy calls from the front door followed soon after by Ray and Pete.

Pete's wearing his loose, Metallica tank top with his black hair a mess on his head and his hands hanging loosely at his sides, his notebook in one hand. He walks over to me while Joe hugs Andy and Ray.

"Patrick! Happy to see you here," Ray smiles. I smile back, but it's weak, and I'm still wiping my tears.

"You okay?" Pete asks beside me, lowering his voice.

I turn to him, looking into his eyes but my voice isn't strong. Okay? Okay? Am I okay? Fuck, I've never been okay. I'm not okay. I don't think I ever will be, "No, can we uh... go somewhere private...?"

He looks up to Ray and Andy and Joe, "See you guys in a bit,"

"See you," Andy replies but he's being cut off by Joe's hugging and kissing, and I can't help but chuckle. They're cute together... and that must have been what Joe was asking about...

Pete pulls me into one of the back rooms, shutting the door and turning to me while I take a seat on the bed, lowering my head, "Why did you come?" He asks, his tone is dark, and he seems kind of different than usual.

"Gerard and I got into a fight..." I whisper as he takes a seat beside me, "He... Caught me uh... C-cutting..."

Pete swallows, "And you came to forget..." It's not a question. It's my answer, "It's okay... I did, too..."

I look up at him, confusion etched on my face, "Why...?"

He gives me a sad smile, the smile Megan flashed me so many times in my old house...

"Bipolar disorder..." He says then lays back, "Drugs make me feel better when I'm on my low..."

"I'm so sorry..." I reply, "I... I forgot..."

"It's okay," He whispers, his voice close to cracking, "Hang on, I'll be back, stay here."

He sets the notebook on the bed and leaves the room, I kick off my shoes and lay back, trying to relax a little bit, and this goddamn boner is making it really hard to concentrate, not to mention I feel really hot in my hoodie right now. I want to take it off, but I don't know if I really trust Pete with that sight.

I find myself drifting off, my mind wandering to the vastness of my mind. The sex with Joe, mostly, but the ecstasy is making it kind of hard for me to think straight... I... I had sex with Joe. Was that really necessary? Should I have not? I feel like I shouldn't have done that while I'm still dating Gerard but at the same time it felt so... good.

I don't know. I'll figure it out soon.

Pete comes back in with one brownie in his mouth and another in his hand, "Brownie?"

I gratefully take it, "Pot brownie?"

He nods, taking another bite of his own and laying on the bed so his head is at the headboard and his legs are resting across my stomach.

"Rude," I comment with a huff as I move next to him. He grabs the notebook from the edge of the bed, ignoring what I said with a sigh.

"I... uh..." he blushes softly as he looks through the pages, blocking them just enough so I can't see, "I wrote three songs around my attempted suicide..." he whispers, his voice gravely from how quiet he is but I don't mind, "I... I trust you enough to see them but only if you can trust me..."

"What do you mean?" I ask, confusion lacing my voice.

"Gerard and I were talking. About you. Sorry if it sounds creepy but... I want you to take your shirt off in front of me. I know you're self-conscious about it, but I want to see what you've done to yourself..." he says, looking across my hoodie.

My breathing hitches. Take my shirt off? In front of Pete? What if he just pushes me away? What if he leaves and never comes back? What if he thinks I'm disgusting...?

"P-Pete..." I whisper, blushing softly, "I..."

"Patrick, you know I'd never insult you. You're my best friend, please... trust me with this, and I'll trust you with my mind..." he pleads.

I look away, I'm ashamed. I'm disgusting. Why would Pete think any different than I think myself?

Because he's my best friend. Because no matter what, he'll always be here for me.

Right?

I sit up on my knees, my hands are shaking, and my mind is full of doubt, but this is for Pete. This is to know what really goes through his mind because I can know how darkest thoughts.

All I have to do is show him mine.

I unzip my hoodie and pull it off of myself. I feel like I'm unzipping my skin and showing him something that could either kill me or heal me. I'm showing him something I've been hiding for years... all to see a few song lyrics...?

It's his suicide note, though. It'll be worth it.

I throw the hoodie off to the side, my scars now showing, each one has begun to scab over, and I'm slowly healing. I was so close but... I just had to relapse earlier, didn't I...?

I feel close to tears now because his eyes are glued to me like a fucking porno but I know this isn't. This is a much darker turn of events. Scars and suicide. Depression and anxiety. Hate and love.

This is him and me and me and him until we've got nothing left.

Tears are finally spilling out my eyes as I begin to unbutton my shirt, each button feels like an eternity, and it goes to a point where I can't undo them. My hands are shaking, and I'm trying to catch my breath, but more and more tears fall down my cheeks. I bite my lip and drop to my hands, barely supporting myself because I'm shaking and sobbing and choking so much.

"I can't... I can't please..." I beg I know this is a choice, but at the same time, it feels forced. I'm so terrified. I hate myself so much. How could anybody love me after how gross I look? I'm disgusting and misshapen. I'm too skinny but not skinny enough at the same time and after what Gerard finally got me to believe I'm so fucking confused.

I'm beautiful, but I'm not. I'm skinny, but I'm fat. I'm hurting, but I'm healing.

"Hey, shh," Pete pulls me close so I'm sobbing into his shoulder, "Come on, 'Trick... You aren't ugly, you aren't fat, you're just the perfect size, and there's nothing you could do to make me feel any different about you. You're my best friend. Do you want help or do you want to call it off?"

I pull back up, wiping my tears.

"I..." I take a deep breath, my fingers beginning to calm down a little bit, "Okay... okayokayokay..."

My fingers are more relaxed but still trembling as I start to slide the buttons out of their holes, continuing to unbutton my shirt as my tears drip down my chin to the sheets of the bed. I can't think straight. I can barely think at all except for how much I'm going to regret this. How much Pete will hate me after this. I can't lose my best friend, but I know he'd find out eventually...

My fingers finish the last button, but I don't pull off my shirt yet, I hold it together firmly, looking down hesitantly. Am I really doing this?

He takes my hands, making me flinch, but I hold my place, "Patrick, I promise I'd never hurt you. You know that..."

Before I can stop myself my response has slipped out, "How strong are your promises?"

He sighs, "I'd never break one."

This isn't Gerard. This isn't Gerard. It's Pete. Pete wouldn't hurt me. Pete would never hurt me. It's going to be okay. It's going to be fine. I'm okay, I promise. I'm okay. I'm okay. I'm okay... I'm not okay... I can never be okay, but that's okay... At least I can cherish these last few moments before he turns on me... Falling my own path of ruin.

I open my shirt, letting it slide down my arms. My mind is blank, but I want to scream. I want to let out all my bottled up emotion. I want to cry and choke and sob and scream, but I don't. I stay perfectly still, waiting for him to slap me. I wait for his hand to collide with my face and I wait for his yells of frustration and disappointment just like Dad...

He only runs his fingers down my stomach, sending goosebumps up my spine and to the back of my neck. His fingertips are soft on my damaged skin. They're like a blessing, and I'm just a curse. Three years of hell because of a 'mistake with a sad outcome.' Mom was just one of the millions who die from car crashes. She was nothing special. She was nothing to the rest of the world. She was my world to me.

I deserve all the pain I can take because I killed her. If only I'd told her to look back at the road. If only I'd told her to stop watching me. If only I could have pumped her heart. If only I could have tried harder, then I wouldn't have been raped and abused and hurt. If only she had lived, I wouldn't be here with a shocked Pete gazing across my stomach and chest and everything ugly about me. If only...

"Patrick, how much have you been eating?" He asks quietly.

"Enough." I reply.

He bites his lip, reaching out and running his fingers over my stomach, fat, chubby, disgusting.

"No, you aren't. I can see your ribcage, Patrick," He looks up at me. Eventually, he just gives me a sad smile and pulls away. He opens his notebook, fanning through the pages. My mind goes blank. That's it? He isn't going to say anything else? He's just accepted it...?

"Thank you, 'Trick, it means a lot..." he whispers. Is that sarcasm? Or is that my imagination? "Here..."

He hands over the notebook and my eyes immediately scan over the three sets of lyrics.

Summer Song, Hum Hallelujah, and Saturday.

I set the book on my lap and let my eyes trace the words, each letter as it shapes his mind. His suicidal thoughts. His hate towards the world. His sorrow. His final thoughts before he would try to take his life...

I read through Saturday first. His handwriting was shaky, and I understand why. He was about to try to kill himself...

"I wrote Saturday before I was... um... about to, y'know... and then Summer Song came when I woke up in the hospital room... and then Hum Hallelujah was about a month afterward... when I was finally starting to heal." He says, his voice weak. I nod softly as my eyes continue to look across the paper.

I'm good to go
And I'm going nowhere fast
It could be worse
I could be taking you there with me
I'm good to go
But it looks like I'm still on my own

I'm good to go
For something golden
Though the motions I've been going through have failed
And I'm coasting on potential towards a wall
At a hundred miles an hour

When I say
Two more weeks
My foot is in the door
I can't sleep
In the wake of Saturday
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended
Saturday
When these open doors were open-ended

Then there's a part that looks newer, neater and I frown in confusion. Did he write this afterward, too?

"I... uh... that was just last night... I-I couldn't sleep, and I started writing a few songs about you... s-sorry..." He bites his lip. I smile softly, "It's okay. I don't mind."

'Trick and I attacked the laws of Astoria
With promise and precision and a mess of our youthful innocence
And I read about the afterlife
But I never really lived more than an hour

"Laws of Astoria? What does that mean?" I ask softly, a lot of these lyrics are confusing but it's honestly beautiful. Everything about it is beautiful. I never thought he could be so... amazing...

"I was watching The Goonies last night," He chuckles softly but it's weak, "and Astoria, Oregon was where they were on their treasure hunt. Our treasure hunt was always a point in living." He whispers. My eyes dart up to meet his.

"How the hell did you come up with that?" I ask, shocked. How long has he been so talented? How long as he known? I want to see his mind. I want to see every single detail I can find. I want to know every dark thought that mind holds like it contains the answer to life.

He shrugs, "I'm sorry... I know it kind of sucks..."

"Pete!" I exclaim, playfully punching his arm, "It's wonderful. I'm honestly jealous. You're the best lyricist I've ever heard of, this is brilliant!"

He blushes softly, flustered, "R-really?"

"Yes!" I half-yell.

I look back down at the book and continue to look through his lyrics, reading Summer Song next.

This one is still a little messy, there are some things he wanted to change and lots of little marks all over the page as I read

Joke me something awful just like ???
We're the kids who feel like dead ends
And I want to be known for my hits not just my misses
I took a shot and didn't even come close
At trust and love and hope
And the poets are just kids who didn't make it
And never had it at all

His suicidal thoughts. I know that already.

And the record won't stop skipping
And the lies just won't stop slipping
And besides my reputation's on the line
We can fake it for the airwaves
Force our smiles 'cause we're half dead
From comparing myself to everyone else around me

The way he played Hallelujah in the car when he tried to take his life, his lies about him being okay, more suicidal thoughts, more faking that he's okay... I feel tears lining my eyes again.

Please put the doctor on the phone cause I'm not making any sense
Blame everyone but me for this mess
And my back has been breaking from this heavy heart
We never seemed so far

When he called Brendon, Brendon probably tried to get a doctor as soon as he found out. They told him it wasn't his fault... he knew it was. He was still sad, and he still wanted to take his life... Something is missing there, and I think I know just what to add...

And the record won't stop skipping
And the lies just won't stop slipping
And besides my reputation's on the line
We can fake it for the airwaves
Force our smiles 'cause we're half dead
From comparing myself to everyone else around me

I clutch my heart because I swear I just heard it break.

I don't say a word. I can't comprehend how much it must have hurt for him. How depressed he must have felt. How terribly depressed and suicidal he was... All because he missed... me...

Pete doesn't say a word, he only looks away uncomfortably. He doesn't want me reading this, but he knows I held up my side of the deal, he has to keep his. I continue, looking across the lyrics of Hum Hallelujah, printed much neater than his other songs.

The road outside my house is paved with good intentions
Hired a construction crew, 'cause it's hell on the engine

This lyric is a bit harder to transcribe, but I'm guessing it means he had lost his good intentions, he couldn't stop himself from thinking so poorly. So depressed.

So hum hallelujah,
Just off the key of reason
???
???
A teenage vow in a parking lot
"Til tonight do us part."
I sing the blues and swallow them, too

Hallelujah was the song he listened to in the car. It wasn't reasonable. He was in an empty parking lot when it happened, and he planned to end it that night. The blues are probably referring to the pills.

There's a chapel in a hospital
One foot in your bedroom and one out the door
Sometimes we take chances, sometimes we take pills.
I could write it better than (I/you?) ever felt it.

He felt like he was going to the afterlife in the hospital. I think the second line was a reference to Saturday, the third line must be about how some people will take their chances with life while others won't. And he's writing so much it's like he's feeling it again, maybe? I'm not sure. I can't interpret lyrics for shit.

I don't say anything about this one. Instead, I take the utensil that's tucked between the cover and the first page and write down a short lyric on Summer Song. I remember thinking it when I tried to take my own life... When I tried but failed...

I'm hopelessly hopeful,

But the pencil just keeps writing, and I can't stop the next line from leaving it.

You're just hopeless enough,

I can't stop the last line, either. The last line of the night...

But we never had it at all