Adrenaline Sisters// fall out boy & my chemical romance

Chapter 37: I'm Not Okay (I Promise)

|| First Person || Bomb Sunshine ||

Murmurs of one word echoes through the dark space in my mind. Details start to come to, forming the house that once was the home my sister and I lived in. The voices become clearer, repeating the one word; it almost becomes a chant.

Murderer. Murderer. Murderer.

Panic tightens my chest and air is suddenly limited. I look around me, trying to find the voices' owners. No one is in the the room I soon discover to be the living space of the house until I face forward. I jump back at the image of Patrick, his blue irises now consumed by yellow. My feet instantly carry me away as he staggers towards me.

A white flash blinds me as a gunshot echoes. My hands suddenly feel filthy and sticky. I look at them, finding them covered in the thick, red substance known as blood. A breath hitches in my throat as nausea sinks into my stomach. A smoking ray gun lies at my feet with my bloody handprint. I dare myself to look up, finding a hole in Patrick's forehead. Blonde strands stick to the dark liquid that leaks from the hole created by a bullet. My bullet.

I jolt myself awake, finding myself still sunken into the beanbag chair in Agent Cherri Cola's studio. I let out a breath as a chill claims my body. I try to pull Patrick's jacket closer to me, inhaling his scent that was left in the fabric. The door opens and footsteps near me.

"Is she still asleep?" Patrick's voice whispers before he kneels beside me. Cherri doesn't answer verbally, so I assume he nods or shrugs his shoulders. I am soon staring into Patrick's blue eyes. He's alive. The only thing on his forehead is his dirty blonde hair and grime from being on the run.

Patrick's lips tug up into a gentle smile as he strokes my hair gently.

"Hey, Bomb," he whispers. "How're you feeling, hon?"
"I'm cold," I say just below a whisper. Patrick gives a small chuckle before resting the back of his hand on my forehead.
"It's just the Adrenaline getting out of your system," he tries to reassure.
"How long have I been asleep?" I ask, stretching my limbs from a slumber that only felt like the expected eight hours. I notice Patrick chew on his lip as his eyes avert from me for a moment.

"You've been asleep for two days, Bomb," he informs me. He presses his lips against my forehead and it takes my entire being to not shrink back from the touch I know I should be used to. "It's okay. You really needed it."
"Wh-Where's Rev?" I ask. "Is she okay?"
"More or less," he answers.
"What do you mean more or less? Is my sister okay?" I press. Patrick frowns a little before willing himself to answer.

"She's okay," he hesitates to say. I can see the lie in his eyes just as much as I can hear it in his voice. Patrick helps me up to my feet and fixates his leather jacket around my shoulders. I slip my arms into the sleeves and follow the blonde boy to the rest of the group.

I rub my eye sleepily as I examine the Killjoys and Defenders with the plus-one known as Jeremy. I spot Rev held close to Kobra's side. Bandages wrap around her hands, the white gauze soaking the blotches of blood. I look up at Patrick, wanting him to give me an answer. He tries to give me a smile and I can't tell if it's to reassure me or apologize to me.

"Sleeping Beauty is finally awake," Patrick jokes to the rest of the group. My cheeks warm up at the remark as I face the group. Revolution wriggles her way out of Mikey's grasp and rushes up to me. She clutches onto me with a glare tossed towards Patrick.

"What happened to your hands?" I ask her as I pull her away from the embrace.
"I... I, uh," she stammers. I notice her look back at Gerard for a second before she keeps her attention to me. I notice the distress in her brown eyes and a knot of empathy forms in my stomach. Nausea claims my stomach and I guide Revolution away from me in case the contents of my stomach to oblige to the stirring inside me. My mind instantly focuses on not vomiting on the diner's tile floor.