---Patrick---

"Oh, hey? Mikey?"

I hear Gerard in the hallway outside our bedroom, the light on and his phone gone from the bedside table, in its place is empty space and mine right beside that empty space. I'm exhausted right now but curious as to why Mikey called. Is he coming back? Did he just want to call? Why the hell is he calling at 10 at night? Oh yeah, he's in California. It must be 6 over there, huh?

"That's great! Oh my gosh. Do you know when you'll be back?"

Pause, I can hear the soft murmur of Mikey on the other end but just barely. Only when I strain my ears.

"That's great, it's ten over here right now," Mikey, "No, no it's okay. I hadn't gone to bed yet, I'll talk to Mama tomorrow morning, though and I'll let her know, all right?"

Mikey.

"Okay, I love you... Bye."

I hear the call end, and I smile to myself as Gerard opens the door again, a grin across his lips in such a goofy way I can't help but laugh, "You're so adorable."

"Shut up," He replies playfully as he sets down his phone and crawls back in bed, pulling the sheets up, "Goodnight, Love. I'll talk to you in the morning."

"Okay..."

***

"I'm home!" I call. Why do I call? I know what happens when I get home. I always know what happens, it's happened so many times I've lost count and yet, I still make the same silly mistake of announcing my presence to a house that doesn't care. A house that's stood for at least 16 years, but it would still rather watch me hurt than help.

The stairs from the basement creak as Dad comes up, I'm able to count each step he's so loud, and as soon as he reaches the top step, I can't find the will to run. I'm frozen as a gripping fear overcomes me. I scream at myself to move. I scream from the top of my lungs but nobody can hear me while if I were to scream, "I love you," at the top of my lungs, I'd be afraid someone else would hear. It's silly how the world works. People only hear your cry for help after the danger is gone. They only answer the call if it's worth their time. Would a hurting boy be worth anyone's time? Or would they rather go to a boy who is already on the road to health?

Either way, nobody is here for me. They can't hear my silent cry for help. Only me and even I can't follow its orders.

"Where were you?" He growls a beer bottle in hand and a cigarette in the other.

Where was I? I... I don't remember...

"Answer me, Boy," he barks, slapping me.

"With Pete," I lie.

He scoffs and takes another swig of his beer, "To the wall."

I don't want to. I really, really don't want to. Blood splatters that wall, thick, dark blood. That wall smells of leather and hurt and... I know if I fight it will only be worse. I shut my eyes and with shaky hands, weak knees, and sweaty palms, I press my forehead against the wall and wait for a lash of pain, the whiplash. The tear in my shirt. The blood that oozes out of each cut. It's disgusting. I'm disgusting. I deserve it. It's my fault this is happening. I was the one who came home. I was the one who ruined his life. I was the one who killed Mom. I'm the real monster here.

The first lash stings badly, and the only thing I can do is bite my tongue until it bleeds and claw at the wall, desperate for something to hold onto or bite down on or anything. But I don't have anything.

So I scream as my mouth fills with blood and I take what I deserve. Every last drop of pain that belt has to offer is mine to tolerate.

The second lash rips open my shirt.

The third hits my skin straight on, and my vision flickers as the burn settles.

The fourth wakes me up.

***

"Patrick! Wake up, Baby." My eyes dart open, tears falling from them onto my cheeks like droplets of rain. Gerard's here. Someone actually did hear my cry for help, just not the person I want. I wish he wouldn't. I wish I could get through this alone and not like the pathetic waste of space I am. I wish... "You had a nightmare," he whispers. I look over to him and quickly wipe my tears.

"I know," I snap. I don't know where it comes from but the moment it leaves my mouth, Gerard's eyebrows furrow and I have to bite my lip out of fear that he might hurt me.

Like you deserve, faggot.

He gives up, though, too tired to fight and falls back into bed, "Whatever, I'm going back to sleep if you need me just wake me up."

I roll my eyes. He knows I can't sleep. He fucking knows but he doesn't care. These nightmares have been going on for a week now, and they've made me more and more irritable since I can't sleep. I'm too scared to. It's just stupid. I hate Kevin. I hate Dad. I want some sleep, dammit.

I lay back down, pulling Gerard close, I don't like having these fights with him, so I always try to let him know I still love him and I wouldn't leave him for anything.

Right?

I'm starting to doubt myself. Why do I doubt myself? I know I love him. I don't know where all these thoughts are coming from, but I'm starting to hate living with him. I know. I should have thought about that before I moved in, but I didn't. This last week has been a mess. Saturday and Sunday we were happy. We had made love. Time passed, Monday came around, and I had a nightmare. I snapped at him when I woke up and didn't talk to him until lunch at school. We got into a fight on Tuesday about some stupid shit. I can't even remember what it was about. That night we made up and had sex again. It was sex, not making love. I couldn't stop myself from feeling guilty about being pissed, but it quickly disappeared Wednesday morning when I yelled at him for being clingy. Nothing happened Thursday, but now it's Friday, and I hate this. I should be grateful that I'm not at my old house I guess but he keeps pissing me off without any reason.

I'm also really, really craving a blade. I can't stop picking it up, but when I do, I always back off and put it back in Gerard's desk. I hate the craving so much. It's like it wants me to break all my promises I've ever made with Gerard but at the same time, I really don't care about the promises.

I'm getting selfish. It isn't good.

I don't have any other form of release besides sex, and it's not like Gerard, and I have a ton of that. There's the occasional blowjob or handjob, but I know I can't get much more than that because A, I don't want him to start thinking I'm just using him for pleasure and B, we get into too many fights to even get in the mood. The only thing on my mind anymore besides the fighting is the constant need to cut or fuck Gerard. I know why. It's the stress. The stress of the nightmares, the stress of trying to get sleep, the stress that I'm annoying him. Cutting releases the pressure in the form of blood down my wrist. Sex puts me in that pleasurable headspace where all I can focus on is him and I and all of my problems are forgotten. Kevin, Dad, Megan, my low self-esteem. It all disappears, and I'm left with pleasure pure pleasure.

I want to tell him, but I'm scared he'll hide his blades if I really do think I'll try to cut. I don't want him to stress about that and, besides, maybe I will cut eventually, maybe... I just need a new addiction. A hobby because listening to music, doing homework, and craving a release sure as hell isn't helping me. I need something to do to get my mind off of life and the fights and my past. I want-no-I need a distraction. I need a distraction from my life.

Anything, really. I don't give a shit.

I turn in bed, burying my head in Gerard's chest. Maybe I could get someone like Pete or Brendon to help me. I do have friends besides Gerard, and he doesn't have to be the only thing I focus on in life.

My eyes look up to see him looking back down, and I can't help but blush softly. What those brown eyes do to me.

"I'm sorry..." I whisper, "About this past week I..."

"It's alright, Sugar," He whispers, "If you need anything just ask, alright? I'll do anything to make you happy."

"O-Okay..." I whisper. I swallow, and I try to shut my eyes, desperate to get some kind of sleep without nightmares, or anything. I lay, swayed slightly by Gerard's gentle breaths. Comforted by the fact that he's here and he won't leave.

But I still can't sleep.

Every time I close my eyes, Dad is there. Glaring at me, that belt in his hand, the beer in his left with a cigarette hanging out his mouth. He's changing. I know he's changing, but it still terrifies me. Just because he's getting better, doesn't mean I can't stop lingering on the past. I'm afraid he'll only get worse. I'm afraid he'll find me. Call me a slut, a whore, a fag. He knew. He knew what Kevin was doing, and he didn't stop it. He knew I deserved it. He knows I deserved it. Everyone does.

Even Gerard.

I don't realize I'm crying again until Gerard brushes my hair out of my eyes and kisses me chastely. Innocent, sweet. His coffee lips. Dark, bitter, beautiful.

He pulls away and holds me impossibly closer, his warm arms embracing me under the covers and his voice ringing through the room not soon after.

"Now the night is coming to an end," I cling impossibly closer to Gerard, my eyes widening because I immediately recognize that tune and I suppress the urge to sing along.

"The sun will rise and we will try again." His voice sounds so warm like coffee on a cold autumn morning. Then again, he reminds me of a cold autumn morning. Of coffee. Of love.

"Stay alive, stay alive for me,
You will die, but now your life is free
Take pride in what is sure to die.

"I will fear the night again
I hope I'm not my only friend.

"Stay alive, stay alive for me
Take pride in what is sure to die." I feel myself drifting off and by the next line, my eyes are shut and it's all fading to black.

"Take pride in what is sure to die."