Patrick groaned in pain as he coughed up blood into the marble sink, the metallic taste of blood mixed with the coffee in his mouth causing him to almost throw up.
He was starving but wouldn't eat, he had been taking up the habit of forcing himself to throw up after he ate anything. He couldn't even eat without getting nauseous after. He knew that it was horrible for his voice but he couldn't help it, it was just something that was now burned into his brain just like the calories of everything he had ever put in his mouth.
He lifted the lid to the toilet and forced two fingers down his throat, yet nothing was coming up. He coughed and pulled his fingers out of his mouth then wiped them on the black fabric of his sweatpants. The scale in the corner caught his eyes so he walked over to it and stepped on it. He hadn't been weighing himself for at least a week due to the fact that the scale had disappeared from its spot in the bus, Patrick assumed it was the work of Andy who seemed to be noticing Patrick's weight loss.

121.2 lbs 

Patrick was shook, he was surprised and honestly happy, only 1.2 pounds before he hit his goal, he was almost perfect.

Pete was looking through Patrick's bag when said man emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and revealing his skinny and frail looking torso. Pete threw Patrick a The Who shirt, a pair of black boxers and pair of Calvin Klein sweatpants that obviously didn't belonged to Patrick before leaving the room. Patrick shivered while getting dressed, he shoved his dorky glasses onto his nose then went to the main room.
Pete was laying on the couch half watching the voice while tapping along with his foot to the beat of whatever song was playing. Nobody else was in the room so Patrick guessed that Andy and Joe went out with the kids, Pete answered his thoughts "Bronx and dec are with Andy 'nd Joe, they are going to see a movie.''
Patrick sat down next to Pete and wrapped his body with a tan fuzzy blanket, Patrick started to tremble more when he felt Pete's strong arms wrap around him. Pete sensed his best friends body shaking though the blanket, he started to worry, he pulled the singer into a warm hug "'Trick, talk to me, whats wrong?" Pete whispered.

Patrick loved to hide his feelings, he wouldn't tell anyone if he was depressed, he would pretend to be happy and not let his mental state affect anyone, he never spoke up about his self hatred or suicidal thoughts. He always kept it in his head, not letting anyone into his fucked up mind, not even Pete. He would almost never cry in front of people, he would tear up but never let them fall, he hated crying in front of people, it made him feel weak.

"I am broken. " He wanted to whisper "do you remember the night after your second attempt, you told me that you were 'broken beyond repair' you said 'if I was a glass bottle, I wouldn't be shards of glass, I would be glass, crushed into fine dust ready to be blown away with the wind'," his voice would crack "I am that fine dust now and I'm about to be swept into the wind and never return".

But that didn't happen, he just shrugged and said "I guess I'm just scared about the reaction about...m—my self harm" then Patrick moved himself off of Pete's lap to just next to him, the thick blanket still wrapped around his tiny frame. Pete gently took Patrick's wrist, Patrick had a few week old cuts on it, the rest were just cuts that had almost healed into scars. Pete knew that his thighs were much worse but he had to see how bad. "Patrick, can I see your thighs" he said it in more of a 'show me or I will pull your goddamn pants off' type a way. So Patrick pulled down his sweatpants then pulled the boxer legs up so all of his thighs were visible and thick purple and red scars in perfect lines, his hip bones was covered in a few weeks old cuts that were healing, also in almost perfect lines. Pete whimpered when he saw the ruined body of his best friends "P—Patrick.... f—fuck" he was at a loss for words.