When It All Goes To Hell (Patrick Stump Imagine Story)

Wish I Never Met You

"That night," Patrick says angrily, "After I sent Pete home and after you explained to me what happened, you said sorry. And what did I do? I forgave you. I gave you another chance." You shake your head. "The least you can do is the same, (Y/N)."

You scoff, "Really, Patrick? That was seven years ago! We'd only been dating for a year!"

"Correction, four years ago."

You roll your eyes, "Whatever. I was young and I was stupid and I didn't think we would make it this far. But we have and it's 2010. You and I are both older and we've been together for eight years now. And that-" You point to the phone in his hand, "-what you did, is pathetic. And saying sorry isn't going to cut it."

He throws his phone to the side and it lands on the bed, "Well maybe I wouldn't have to cheat on you if you showed me a little affection every now and then!"

You laugh, "Me? Show you affection? How can I when you're never home?"

Patrick shakes his head, "You always find a way to blame me for everything, don't you? It's never your fault, (Y/N). It's always mine. 'Patrick did this.' 'Patrick did that.' Give me a fucking break! I'm going through a really rough patch in my life and you're not making it any easier!" Before you can interject, he adds, "You know, as my girlfriend of eight - almost nine - years, you should be the one I can come home to and feel relieved to see. You should be calming my nerves, telling me that everything's going to alright. That I'm going to get through this. But instead you're making me rip my hair out and wish I never met you!"

Your jaw drops in shock, "You wish you never met me?"

He doesn't directly answer you, but instead retorts, "Maybe then I wouldn't be in this place right now. Maybe I'd still be in the band. Maybe-" You have enough and you walk out, storming down the stairs and grabbing your coat. "(Y/N)!" He calls your name just as you zip your coat up. He runs down the stairs, "Where are you going?"

"Why does it matter to you? You wish you never met me!"

"(Y/N), I was angry. I'm sorry. I didn't-"

"I don't care, Patrick," You cut him off, opening the door, "I'll see you at the next therapy session. And you better fucking be there."

And with that, you step outside, slamming the door behind you, and make your way to your car, pulling you keys out of your coat pocket and unlocking your car. You get in and start it up, pulling out of the driveway and speeding away.

It's only at a stoplight when what just happened settles in for you. Your grip on the steering wheel tightens and it feels like an anvil has been placed on your chest. Your eyes begin to sting and you soon begin to find it hard to breathe.

Before you have a complete break down in your car, in the middle of the street, the light turns green and takes your attention away from the darkness that seems to slowly be surrounding you. You press down on the gas pedal and propel yourself and the car forward.