How to Not Fall For Patrick Stump For Dummies #Wattys2015

Chapter 9

The night ticked away horrendously slow. I stared at Patrick's alarm clock on his nightstand, counting the minutes away. I desperately wanted to either fall asleep or have the sun rise, and neither of those were happening.

I finally gave up and lifted the covers off of his bed, sneaking out into the hallway. He was curled up on the couch, still in his clothes from the show. I felt so bad for him.

The fact that anyone would start a rumor about someone as innocent as him angered me. Honestly, does Patrick look like a kidnapper?

I began tip-toeing across the hall in pursuit of the kitchen. My eyes were still adjusting to the darkness in the room, dimly lit by the moon through the window. I must've missed the shoe standing right in my path, because I tripped right over it.

Patrick sprang up, breathlessly looking for the source of the sound.

I cringed and whispered, "Sorry..."

He pushed a half-smile onto his face and sat upright, hanging his legs over the couch, "It's okay."

The closer I got to him, the more I could see. His hair was disheveled from sleeping on it, his eyes were extremely red, and his cheeks were still stained with tears. He opened up his arms and wrapped them around me as I sat down with him. He kissed the top of my head, sending chills down my spine.

"Patrick, hun, don't let it hurt you. You know it's not true," I cuddled into his chest.

He sighed quietly, his voice on the raspy, growly side, "I know, but it's so dang believable."

I chuckled, "No it's not. You're not that scary."

He even laughed a little, jokingly replying, "I know. It's just spreading fast and I don't think I'll be able to outlive this one."

"What do you mean?" I asked and turned to his eyes.

He glanced away, "Not everyone loves this new me..."

His sad, tired green eyes wouldn't dare to meet with mine until I shifted myself on my side and forced him to see me, "Aw Patrick..."

"No, it's okay. Don't pity me," he interrupted, swallowing hard and waving it off.

"Patrick," I persisted, "Talk to me about it."

I expected him to say something about Fall Out Boy breaking up, or his new sound, or even his hairstyle/color. I wasn't ready for what he was about to say or do.

Tears formed in his eyes and a frown crept up on his face, "'I liked you better when you were fat'."

My heart couldn't take any more. I pulled him up close to me and held him as he cried once again. Patrick never cried, ever. If he was, you knew it was bad.
This was bad.

"Who the fuck would say that?" I asked angrily.

"Someone on Twitter," he replied shakily.

I stroked his hair and bit my lip to keep myself from crying, "That's so awful, I'm so sorry."

He ended up crying himself back to sleep and I didn't want to wake him up. I laid my head back on a throw-pillow and closed my eyes, waiting for sleep to take me away.

When the sun was pretty far up in the sky, I woke up to find that Patrick was missing. I remembered our conversation last night and how upset he got. It started to worry me.

I crawled off the couch and snuck around the house, trying to find him. There were so many rooms and I wasn't sure which he wanted me looking in. It was a maze.

The morning mail truck had come by and pushed a letter through the slot on his door, catching my attention. I wasn't much of a snoop, but the black lettering of our names caught my eyes: Emerald Cruz and Patrick Stump.

I picked it up from the ground and hid it in my back pocket. The list of things I needed to talk to that man about was growing bigger by the minute.

Eventually, I ventured into the basement and found a little recording studio. Patrick was sat up on a stool, playing his acoustic guitar with big headphones around his ears. His eyes caught mine and he smiled, finishing off whatever he was doing before coming out.

"Good morning," he said and kissed my cheek. His urge to act like nothing happened bothered me.

"Good morning," I said back, thinking to the letter pressed into my pants.

He noticed the slight awkwardness and questioned what was wrong.

I wasn't proud of my instant reply, "Nothing."

"Okay," he drew out and played with the knobs and levers on the soundboard, "You hungry?"

I nodded my head a little, even though I wasn't that hungry. I just needed a place to sit down with him.

Patrick lead me up the stairs and back around to the kitchen. He pulled out a pan and started making pancakes. Now I felt kind of bad. I made him go through all of this and I wasn't even hungry.

He set a plate down for the both of us. On his plate, he made a pancake about the length and width of his fist. Mine had a much larger one. I saw right through what he was doing.

"Portion sizing" he had said in an interview. Yeah right, like I believed that. He starved that weight off and still no one appreciates him.

After finishing half, he looked down at it, contemplating whether or not he should finish. I mentally shouted at him to keep eating, but he heaved a small sigh and tossed his plate into the sink.

"Patrick..." I gulped nervously and said as I followed him to the sink with my empty plate.

"Don't worry, I had something before," he lied.

"Actually, it wasn't about that," I said to the ground and then back up to him. I took the letter from my pocket and put it on the counter.

He turned from the letter for a brief moment and returned his gaze back to me with cherry red cheeks.

"Can you tell me what it is?" I ask, trying not to sound too angry about it. I wasn't angry, just confused.

"Em..." he started.

"Can you please just open it so I know why my name is on it?" I ordered quickly. The anticipation was killing me.

He looked awful while he opened up the seals and I still felt bad. I made him this way, but more importantly, I needed to know what was going on.

It was a receipt for a check he mailed out to some random person. Along with it came a letter. It read:

Hey Patrick,
I got your check the other day. Here's the receipt in case you needed it. It paid off what you wanted and then some. The press won't know about this one, but I would be careful around this girl if I were you. You don't need that publicity and neither does she. Anyways, that's not my business. My business is done.

I felt tears prick my eyes and covered my mouth to choke whatever was about to come out of my mouth.