Patrick Stump/Fall Out Boy Imagines

[PATRICK] Suspended - Part One

You're in the car with your sixteen year old daughter, Gabby, driving home from school. Her arms are crossed over her chest and her gaze is glued out the window.  She hasn't spoken a word to you since you've arrived at school to come and get her in the middle of the day, upon the principal's request.

You glance over at her briefly before returning your gaze back to the road.

"Your dad isn't going to like hearing this," You mutter under your breath.

The radio wasn't on, so there's no doubt that she heard you. But that doesn't mean she was going to respond.

"Why would you even do something like that?" You ask. She remains silent. "Did someone pressure  you? Did someone tell you it would make you cool? Make you popular?"

Gabby just rolls her eyes, shaking her head.

"Gabby, come on, talk to me."

"I don't want to talk to you," She snaps, glaring at you.

You heave a sigh, "Fine, but don't think that I'm just going to drop this. I'm very disappointed  in you, Gabby, and I'm sure your dad is going to be too."

"I don't care," She mumbles, resting her head in the palm of her hand, "Just take me home..."

The rest of the car ride is silent, and the second you park your car in the driveway, Gabby gets out and slams the car door behind her. Your eyebrows furrow together as you get out of the car yourself, following her into the house. By the time you step foot in the house, she's already upstairs, slamming her bedroom door shut.

"Do that again and I'll have your dad take the door down!" You shout at her from the bottom of the stairs, beyond furious with her and how she's behaving.

You don't know what it is, but your daughter hasn't been herself lately. First it was wearing darker clothing, not that that was a bad thing. You did the same thing  when you were her age. Next was the darker makeup that almost made her  look like a racoon and dying her naturally blonde hair black or a dark blue, you couldn't really tell, and styling it so that it covered almost  half of her face. You didn't say anything about it because you just thought she was just finding herself, and you didn't want to get in the way of that. But then it was the staying out late and coming home whenever she felt like it, not giving a shit about how worried she made  you or Patrick. You totally agree that because she's older she should have more privileges, but you don't agree with how she was taking these new freedoms a little too liberally. And now she was coming to school drunk and getting caught in the back of the school doing drugs.

You don't know what you did wrong. You definitely didn't raise her to be like this and there was no way in hell you were going to tolerate it.

*****

You have a dinner plate in your hand and you're standing outside your daughter's bedroom. From  inside the room, you can hear loud music being blasted. If you're being  completely honest with yourself, you're scared to walk in, afraid of what you might see. So you set the plate down on the floor for her when she decides to come out and walk back downstairs.

"Well?" Patrick inquires as you walk into the dining room and sit down across from him.

"I didn't even knock," You admit sheepishly.

"What are we going to do, (Y/N)?" He asks you.

"I don't know," You run your fingers through your hair, "Is there even anything we can do?  I mean, she's already suspended. We could ground her, but she's not  going to listen to us. She'll sneak out and that's the last thing I need her doing right now."

"Maybe it's just a  phase..." Patrick tries to convince you. You give him an incredulous look. He scoffs, "Okay. Maybe it's not a phase. But what do you want me to tell you, (Y/N)? I've never had to deal with something like this before! I don't know what to do!"

"Well neither do I!"

The two of you sit there for a little before he blurts out, "Maybe I should go talk to her." You meet his gaze. "Maybe she's doing all of this for the attention she  didn't get as a kid."

"What are you talking about? I was there for her every step of the goddamn way!" You exclaim in frustration.

"I'm talking about me, hon," He tells you humbly, "Sure, you were there for her every step of the way, but that's you. Not me. I haven't been there for her as much as you have. I was always touring and playing concerts. I was never home."

You frown, "Don't blame yourself for this, Patrick. You couldn't help it."

He wipes his mouth with the cloth napkin and rises up from his chair, "I know, but...it's true,  (Y/N). Can you remember the last time I was home? Long enough to  actually do something with her?" You bite your lip and avert your gaze to the side, your silence speaking a thousand words you don't have the  guts to verbalize. "Exactly. So I think I need to talk to her."

"What are you going to say to her?" You question, standing up as well.

He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know. Whatever she'll let me say to her."

"Patrick, you can't just go up there and think she's going to talk to you just like that. That's not how teenage girls work. They're not willing to just open up to anyone."

"Well I'm not 'just anyone'. I'm her dad." And with that, he makes his way upstairs. You heave a sigh and sit back down, hoping everything goes alright.

To Be Continued...