Patrick, Would You Really Let Me Do This To Myself?
Don't Come Begging Me.
Patrick looked out the window of his bedroom. High up on the 5th story of an old apartment building. The place was falling apart, but it was cheap and he needed to be cheap. Fall Out Boy was still on hiatus and there was no money coming in. It was impossible to find a job in Chicago at the moment and he'd spent hours trying to make money by playing on the streets, but it wasn't worth the few pennies and nickles here and there.
He felt a breeze come through the crack in the window sill and moved his face away, as a shiver ran through his body. He was cold. It was always harsh during the Winter. The grounds were covered in Snow and it was still coming down.
His heater was broken. It didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to pay the heating bill if he could use it anyways. Instead, he went back to his couch and curled up under his dark red blanket. It was soft.. It reminded him of being happy. He associated being warm with being happy.
Keeping in touch with Pete, Andy and Joe wasn't something that was happening lately. Pete had a new girlfriend in LA, while Andy and Joe had full time jobs. Patrick was living off of money his parents were loaning him. He'd promised he'd find a job soon and that they wouldn't have to keep supporting their 29 year old son.
Every day he repeated the same schedule: Wake up, shower, eat, try to find a job, write music, eat, sleep. Occasionally he would read.. But it was too hard to pay attention to someone's drama in a Fictional book, when he was going through enough drama of his own. He was kind of glad he lived alone sometimes. He was very to himself and hated showing any sort of sadness around people he knew. Living alone meant he could cry as much as he wanted without being judged.
He wasn't depressed. He was just sick of it. Sick of living like a poor man. Sick of reading the lies and rumours that he would see in magazines or online. People saying he was a jerk, or rude to fans. Some even came up with some crazy idea that he was broke because he'd spent all his hard-earned cash on drugs and alchohol.
He wasn't going to deny he had bought a few fine bottles of Whiskey or Vodka here and there, but he definitely didn't spend all his money on getting drunk.
His eyes looked through his glasses and over to his guitar that was propped up against one of the faded white walls. He hadn't played it in days. He was slowly giving up and he wasn't sure if he even cared.
There was a knock on his door and he flinched a bit.
"Fuck" he muttered. Had he payed the rent on time? Or was someone complaining about him singing at 2 AM last night? He slowly got up and headed toward the door. After looking through the dirty peep-hole, he tried to breathe normally. It was Pete.
What did Pete want? He hadn't called or made contact with Patrick for nearly 6 months.
Patrick slowly opened the door.
Pete rubbed the back of his own neck as he nervously looked at Patrick. "Uh.. Hey." He murmured, quietly.
Patrick just looked back at him, not feeling like saying a word to him. He wanted Pete to give some sort of explanation before he wasted a breath on the guy.
"Can I come in? I have to talk to you."
"Suddenly?" Patrick asked, looking hurt.
"I know I've been distant." Pete muttered. "Don't be a dick. This is important." He snapped at the shorter one.
Patrick sighed and let Pete in, shutting the door behind him. "So, what's so important?"
"My girlfriend broke up with me." Pete muttered. "Took a bunch of my fucking money."
"Boo hoo.. Go get another whore." Patrick muttered. Pete was always with someone new. Sometimes just for a night of sex, even if it ended in a morning full of regrets.
"You know what.. If you're gonna' be like that, I'm fucking leaving." Pete growled at him.
"Why is this important information to me, Pete? You ignore me for 6 months, then show up at my door over a supposed heart break?"
Pete looked at him, looking more upset than angry. Patrick suddenly knew he'd hit Pete's soft side. It rarely came out, but when it did, it was usually only around Patrick.
".. I need your help." Pete murmured.
"Doing what?"
"I started doing drugs, again.."
Patrick looked at him. ".. Like pills? Or what?"
"Yeah.. Pills." Pete muttered. "I feel depressed.. Suicidal."
"Then go to rehab.. Get a therapist. I'm not gonna' babysit your ass while you scream and cry for a bottle of drugs and withdrawl."
"You helped me last time!" Pete snapped.
"Last time, we were friends at the time." Patrick said bluntly.
"What are you saying? I'm not your friend anymore because I haven't talked to you in a few months?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow and standing up.
Patrick stared at him, angrily. "A few months? You've ignored me! I've tried to call.. I've tried to E-Mail! I was fucking worried about you!"
"I wasn't in the mood to talk!" Pete exclaimed.
"Don't care. You ignored me when I needed you the most." Patrick said, but the last few words came out scratchy. He tried to control his breathing as a lump started rising in his throat. Fuck, he was going to cry.
Pete watched him. "Patrick.. I'm sorry."
"Get out." Patrick murmured, turning away.
"No... Please.. I need your help." Pete murmured, moving up behind him and touching his shoulders.
Patrick didn't shove him away, but he didn't pull him closer either. He just tensed up.
"I'll make sure Andy makes sure you get help. Just leave me alone."
Pete sighed and moved away, heading for the door. "You know what Patrick? I thought you were the one person I could come to to help me out."
"Should've treated me better." The singer replied.
Pete didn't even reply, just walked out the door and slammed it shut.
Patrick sank to the floor, crying into his hands. He wanted to help Pete. But why should he? So when Pete is better he just goes back to ignoring him? That wasn't worth his efforts. Andy could easily get Pete checked into rehab for a few weeks and he'd be fine.
Besides.. Pete wasn't his responsibility.. Right?
He felt a breeze come through the crack in the window sill and moved his face away, as a shiver ran through his body. He was cold. It was always harsh during the Winter. The grounds were covered in Snow and it was still coming down.
His heater was broken. It didn't matter, he wouldn't be able to pay the heating bill if he could use it anyways. Instead, he went back to his couch and curled up under his dark red blanket. It was soft.. It reminded him of being happy. He associated being warm with being happy.
Keeping in touch with Pete, Andy and Joe wasn't something that was happening lately. Pete had a new girlfriend in LA, while Andy and Joe had full time jobs. Patrick was living off of money his parents were loaning him. He'd promised he'd find a job soon and that they wouldn't have to keep supporting their 29 year old son.
Every day he repeated the same schedule: Wake up, shower, eat, try to find a job, write music, eat, sleep. Occasionally he would read.. But it was too hard to pay attention to someone's drama in a Fictional book, when he was going through enough drama of his own. He was kind of glad he lived alone sometimes. He was very to himself and hated showing any sort of sadness around people he knew. Living alone meant he could cry as much as he wanted without being judged.
He wasn't depressed. He was just sick of it. Sick of living like a poor man. Sick of reading the lies and rumours that he would see in magazines or online. People saying he was a jerk, or rude to fans. Some even came up with some crazy idea that he was broke because he'd spent all his hard-earned cash on drugs and alchohol.
He wasn't going to deny he had bought a few fine bottles of Whiskey or Vodka here and there, but he definitely didn't spend all his money on getting drunk.
His eyes looked through his glasses and over to his guitar that was propped up against one of the faded white walls. He hadn't played it in days. He was slowly giving up and he wasn't sure if he even cared.
There was a knock on his door and he flinched a bit.
"Fuck" he muttered. Had he payed the rent on time? Or was someone complaining about him singing at 2 AM last night? He slowly got up and headed toward the door. After looking through the dirty peep-hole, he tried to breathe normally. It was Pete.
What did Pete want? He hadn't called or made contact with Patrick for nearly 6 months.
Patrick slowly opened the door.
Pete rubbed the back of his own neck as he nervously looked at Patrick. "Uh.. Hey." He murmured, quietly.
Patrick just looked back at him, not feeling like saying a word to him. He wanted Pete to give some sort of explanation before he wasted a breath on the guy.
"Can I come in? I have to talk to you."
"Suddenly?" Patrick asked, looking hurt.
"I know I've been distant." Pete muttered. "Don't be a dick. This is important." He snapped at the shorter one.
Patrick sighed and let Pete in, shutting the door behind him. "So, what's so important?"
"My girlfriend broke up with me." Pete muttered. "Took a bunch of my fucking money."
"Boo hoo.. Go get another whore." Patrick muttered. Pete was always with someone new. Sometimes just for a night of sex, even if it ended in a morning full of regrets.
"You know what.. If you're gonna' be like that, I'm fucking leaving." Pete growled at him.
"Why is this important information to me, Pete? You ignore me for 6 months, then show up at my door over a supposed heart break?"
Pete looked at him, looking more upset than angry. Patrick suddenly knew he'd hit Pete's soft side. It rarely came out, but when it did, it was usually only around Patrick.
".. I need your help." Pete murmured.
"Doing what?"
"I started doing drugs, again.."
Patrick looked at him. ".. Like pills? Or what?"
"Yeah.. Pills." Pete muttered. "I feel depressed.. Suicidal."
"Then go to rehab.. Get a therapist. I'm not gonna' babysit your ass while you scream and cry for a bottle of drugs and withdrawl."
"You helped me last time!" Pete snapped.
"Last time, we were friends at the time." Patrick said bluntly.
"What are you saying? I'm not your friend anymore because I haven't talked to you in a few months?" Pete asked, raising an eyebrow and standing up.
Patrick stared at him, angrily. "A few months? You've ignored me! I've tried to call.. I've tried to E-Mail! I was fucking worried about you!"
"I wasn't in the mood to talk!" Pete exclaimed.
"Don't care. You ignored me when I needed you the most." Patrick said, but the last few words came out scratchy. He tried to control his breathing as a lump started rising in his throat. Fuck, he was going to cry.
Pete watched him. "Patrick.. I'm sorry."
"Get out." Patrick murmured, turning away.
"No... Please.. I need your help." Pete murmured, moving up behind him and touching his shoulders.
Patrick didn't shove him away, but he didn't pull him closer either. He just tensed up.
"I'll make sure Andy makes sure you get help. Just leave me alone."
Pete sighed and moved away, heading for the door. "You know what Patrick? I thought you were the one person I could come to to help me out."
"Should've treated me better." The singer replied.
Pete didn't even reply, just walked out the door and slammed it shut.
Patrick sank to the floor, crying into his hands. He wanted to help Pete. But why should he? So when Pete is better he just goes back to ignoring him? That wasn't worth his efforts. Andy could easily get Pete checked into rehab for a few weeks and he'd be fine.
Besides.. Pete wasn't his responsibility.. Right?