Remember me || Patrick Stump

Chapter Twenty

It's been two months since I've been at the hospital. Two months since I've been outside.
The cuts on my arm were now fading scabs, some scars.
The roots of my hair were growing in, and the blonde was fading to yellow. The circles under my eyes were now hollowed, blackened half circles under my eyes. I looked like shit. I felt like shit. I'm shit.
The power in my house got shut off about a week ago, in the middle of winter. Oh, how convenient. I mean, it doesn't get that cold here, but in the night time I can see my breath.
Judah called me earlier today, and reminded me that I had to pick up his meds today.
"Are you okay?" He'd asked.
I was silent for a long time, then I said "yes. Yeah. I'm .. I'm great" I was such a bad liar. He was quiet, then we both said goodbyes and hung up.
Realizing that I was probably low in hygiene, I made my way into the bathroom.
After my incident, I cleaned up the mirror, and replaced it. Which is why I have practically no money.
I slipped of my shirt and pants, and stared at myself in the mirror.
My boxers were loose in my thin waist, and I could see the outline of my ribs. God what have I done to myself?
I took off my boxers and let the hot water burn my skin, closing the sliding door behind me.
When I was done, I headed out the door, with no intrest of fixing myself up. Just threw on my coat and a pair of sweat pants.
It was raining outside, but I didn't care I was wet anyways.
Once I picked up the pills, I walked to the hospital.
For a second, I caught a glimpse of my self in a side veiw mirror. My lips were purple. But I didn't feel anything.
Well, not exactly.
It's not that I don't feel the pain, it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore. These past weeks have shown me this. And I regret every last big of it. I'm a coward and I know it.
I cringe away from myself and keep walking.

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"Did you get my medicine?" Judah asked, his voice shaky and panicky. It sounded like he's been crying.
I should cheer him up.
"No, I figured I'd just shoot them put of my nose, so I left them at the store."
But my voice came out flat, and he had no amusement. He just looked at me.
I searched his eyes for any sign of what he was feeling, but all I found was a jumbled mess of pity and fear.
Was he pitying me? Did I really look that bad?
Was he scared of the way I presented Myself?
"Pills please?"
"Sure. Catch." I tossed him the tube, but he just stood there, and it clattered to the ground.
"Patrick!"
I fought the impulse to lash out, and picked up the bottle, seeing that Judah was quite unstable.
A but of my right sleeve came up, exposing the scars, and the swollen, bruised fist. I hoped he didn't see it.
But as I looked up at his face, I knew I was wrong.
Betrayal. Definatly betrayal.
"I'm.." I started.
But then I realized. No. I wasn't sorry. I wouldn't let myself be sorry for me. I don't deserve that much.
"You fit yourself?" He demanded, his voice shaky but stern.
"And what did you do to your hand? Do you think that's healthy."
"Do you think any of this is healthy?" I demanded, my voice raising.
Judah started to pace, and shake his hand.
"No. But how do you even explain it? Explain how one could be such a coward to not even notice that-"
"I'm sorry! Okay? Is that what you want? To heard say I'm sorry? Then there! You have it."
He stopped and looked me in the eye.
"I'm dying, patrick. I'm dying, and they don't know how long I have."
I stopped. Everything in me stopped.
"Wh-what?" I stammered, my throat burning.
"They put me under the scan. I lot up light a Christmas tree."
Then he collapsed into my arms, and clung to me. As if I could save him.
But I just stood there, staring at nothing.
I was stuck.