---Patrick---

Open fly my eyes as I sit up in bed, drenched in sweat and tears. My breathing fast and my arms and legs shaky as I look around to see nobody in my room except me. It was just a dream. More of a nightmare.

It was real at one point. It's one of the worst memories out of all the ones I have from this hellhole. Of course, that's the memory that I'd dream about after yesterday. I just want to go back to sleep. Forget that any of this ever happened. Forget that I exist. Sometimes sleep helps more than cutting. It makes me feel dead. When I'm asleep, I cease to exist for just a little while. I don't have to think. I don't have to see anyone. I can be alone in my dreams.

I lean back and shut my eyes again, but he's behind my eyelids, too. Leaning over my helpless body as he unzips my pants... running his cold, filthy fingers into my underwear and massaging me, making me more and more uncomfortable.

I opened my eyes, immediately feeling sick to my stomach at the thought of it. And it's my fault...

You are such a fucking slut, Patrick. What the hell? Do you want him to rape you? Do you enjoy it? Do you like the way he forces you to your knees for him? Whore. You're a disgusting whore.

I jolt up and run into the bathroom with ten quick steps, slamming the door shut and pulling the toilet seat up just in time before what I had of last night's dinner comes up. Not much but enough to give me something to puke up.

I'm filthy. I'm so filthy. I'm such a disgusting slut. Why do I let him do this to me?

You're sick.

My hands shakily flush the toilet, pressing the seat back down as I lean over the counter, tears of shame dripping from my eyes. I look up at myself, my sick, filthy, disgusting, sinful self. I'm a mess. I'm a fucking mess...

Bzzt

I don't want to answer it. Not now just-please. I want to die. I want to get out of this hellhole. I want The Incident to just have never happened. I want somebody to realize I don't want to talk. I want to forget the world for just a little while...

But I only want what I can't have.

I pull my phone from my pocket, tears running down my cheeks as I notice Gerard had texted me.

Gerard: Hey, are you okay?

Gerard: Uh... Goodnight I guess...

I look at the digital clock on my phone, the blocky numbers reading: 11:24 PM. My heart sinks as I remember that I said I'd text him back earlier. I forgot all about it, and it makes me feel even more guilty than before as I realize he must hate me now. I quickly text him back, knowing it would be rude to ignore him, and he's probably disappointed in me.

Patrick: I'm sorry. Had to make dinner and I forgot.

I send the lie with guilt and a strong sense of regret. I forgot? He's going to think I don't like him. I do like him! Before I can text back and apologize again, he replies.

Gerard: it's fine. Can you talk?

I'm surprised he forgives me so easily. So he's not mad that I forgot? Why not? I hesitantly text back, knowing I should probably clean myself up.

Patrick: Yeah, just a minute. I promise I'll text back haha.

I set my phone down and grab my toothbrush from the bathroom cupboard, Kevin's taste still in my mouth. I shudder as I squirt the minty substance onto the brush and begin cleaning my mouth.

Gerard: Okay :)

I sigh, running my free hand through my hair. I still haven't forgotten about the memory. It haunts me. It's my fault that he does it to me... Do I want to subconsciously? Why...? I place my toothbrush as far back as I can, right where Kevin was earlier but I only choke on the toothbrush, and I'm reminded of him. That thought alone makes me gag even more before I have a chance to catch my breath over the sink, calming my reflex and shutting my eyes as I spit out the blue-white film in the back of my throat.

I wish I could have been born into a different family. I wish I didn't live here. I wish I were dead. Everyone would be better off without me anyway. They don't need me. They don't want me. They don't want a little, pathetic fuck like me. They don't want a stupid boy like this. They want someone like Gerard. Like Megan. They want someone who might actually do the world well. I probably deserve this anyways... I deserve Kevin and Dad and what they do to me. I deserve my anxiety and depression and whatever else is happening to me. I deserve life.

I spit the rest of the residue the toothpaste left in the sink and rinse out my mouth, the taste of my brother still lingering in the back of my throat, but I know it doesn't go away. It never goes away no matter how much I want it to.

I shut my eyes and find myself yawning a few moments later, tired, but I still kind of want to text Gerard. I take my phone and return to my bedroom, shutting and locking the door behind me in the hopes that my brother won't come in later tonight. My back falls onto the mattress of my bed as I pull out my phone, immediately sending Gerard a text.

Patrick: I'm back, sorry had to get ready for bed...

I wait for a little bit, twiddling my thumbs nervously, hoping I didn't say the wrong thing. My thoughts of my brother are slowly being replaced by... New thoughts. Strange thoughts.

Sinful thoughts with Gerard.

Gerard: It's fine. So, you said you wanted to talk? Becuase I'm okay with talking about anything.

Patrick: I don't know, I just didn't want to really talk about it on the bus...

I bite my lip, am I replying too fast? Does Gerard think I'm clingy? Are these sinful thoughts normal? I bite my lip and shut my eyes, imagining Gerard. Beside me. In my bed. Naked.

You sick bastard. That's fucking disgusting. Quit thinking about him like that. He's a friend. He's not like you. He's not a whore, a slut, a toy, a skank.

Gerard: So I've been meaning to ask, and you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. But do you have anxiety? Like I said, you don't want to talk about it, it's fine we can talk about something else.

I bite my lip again, the skin starting to tear off. I stop immediately.

Patrick: I was diagnosed with it about three years ago, yeah. But I don't have therapy...

I can't believe I'm telling him all this. What if he doesn't want to hear about me? What if he's just trying to be nice? What if he's laughing right now because of how pathetic I sound?

He is you stupid cunt.

Gerard: I'm so sorry... I didn't know...

Patrick: It's fine. I'm okay with talking about it. It's just kind of weird because nobody has ever asked me about it

I sigh, my hands are shaky for no reason at all, and I'm getting really jittery.

Relax, Patrick.

Gerard: Oh...

Gerard: Tell me about yourself. Just random facts, I don't care what. I barely know you except for the fact that you have anxiety.

My fingers shaking keep shaking like a bass vibrating a car, making it extremely hard to type as I reply. My mind filling with troubled thoughts and the self-esteem to match.

Patrick: I don't thiink therres anything to realsy say

There's a little bit of a wait. I take a deep breath, knowing what's happening. I'm about to break down again. All. Over. Again.

Gerard: Yes there is. You're awesome, and I'd love to hear about you. You can tell me anything. I won't judge you, I promise.

My anxiety leaves me as I read the message, You're awesome, and I'd love to hear about you. R-really? Are you sure?

No, Idiot. He's just saying that. You know he doesn't mean it. He'll never mean it. Nobody will.

You can tell me anything. Anything? At all?

What the hell, Patrick? He's just faking.

I won't judge you, I promise. Promise? Really?

He'll break it.

Patrick: How strong are your promises?

I send the text before I can stop myself, trying to prove the little voice in my head wrong. He has to be more than it thinks he is. Gerard is a good person. I know it. He has to be.

Gerard: I have yet to break one.

My heart flutters inside of my chest, my stomach gets those butterflies again, and my throat closes up. And I smile, and for the first time in a few years, that smile isn't empty. It's not one that you flash someone to lighten a mood. It's not the type of smile that you give someone just to be friendly.

No, that smile is real. I'm happy. I'm actually happy. That feeling hasn't stirred in a long time, and it feels good. I'm actually a little worried I'll cry tears of joy because... It actually means a lot to me... He really means it. He would never break a promise.

Gerard: Will you tell me now?

Patrick: What do you want to know?

The messages seem to fly by because I'm not worried. I'm not scared I'll fuck up. I'm not afraid of saying something wrong. Because he won't judge me. He really won't.

He promised me.

Idiot, of course he'll still judge you.

Shut up!

Gerard: Uh... I don't know haha. What about your childhood? Like before high school?

What are you gonna say, loser? The truth?

Patrick: I... Uh... Can we not talk about that... It's not that I didn't have a good childhood it's just that... Idk it just brings back bad memories.

Real smooth. You didn't have a bad childhood, but it brings back bad memories? Do you think he's an idiot?

Gerard: That's fine. Uh... What about hobbies? What do you do when you're bored?

Have sexual fantasies about you.

OKAY, THAT IS TOO FUCKING FAR. IT WAS A RANDOM BONER AT THE WRONG FUCKING TIME.

Whatever helps you sleep at night, faggot.

Patrick: I listen to music, and that's really it. I kind of just space out lol.

Gerard: That's cool. Do you play any instruments? I have an acoustic guitar that I play sometimes, and I'll listen to music while I draw.

Patrick: I know drums. I learned them a couple years back to-

No. I can't send that. Cope with The Incident. Cope with The Incident...

I can't even fix it before I'm biting my tongue and my eyes open wide. And just like that, the flashbacks come to me. I don't mean to trigger them. I really don't but they come anyway, and it scares me.

No... Please...