Adrenaline Sisters// fall out boy & my chemical romance

Chapter 41: Run Away With Me Any Time You Want

|| First Person || Bomb Sunshine ||

I sit on the barstool by the counter once I leave Revolution's room, unable to shake off her words about Patrick. I usually am able to move past the small fights we have about her labeling him a demon, but it taunts my brain. It causes a headache to erupt behind my eyes. I groan at the developing pressure and pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping for the pain to subside. Her words don't leave my mind as I start to realize that none of us are saints. We all have blood on our hands. Some of us are better at ignoring it than others.

A figure sits beside me but I don't bother to look up and see who it is. I wait until I feel a hand rest on my knee, gently notifying me that this person wants a fragment of my attention. I look up and see Patrick beside me. I notice that he has his hook off of the rest of his arm. The injured limb has gauze wrapped around it, the once white cloth now soiled with dirt and blood. I instantly want to tend to it to try to forget my developing irritability, also worrying about Patrick's arm becoming infected.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, his voice gentle. It seems to be the only question Patrick can ask me. It's always the same answer: I'm busy vomiting or I just lie and tell him I'm fine even though I still feel like shit. I almost want to tell him the truth— that I've got a headache and I don't want to be bothered— but I decide to just settle with the latter. It's easier that way.

"Fine," I mumble. I just want to sleep and not be nauseous. My stomach doesn't demand to evacuate its contents for once, but it still feels sour. It reminds me of this by churning. I cringe at the feeling, losing the appetite I never knew I had to begin with.

"You sure?" Patrick inquires. He goes to tuck a strand of my hair behind my ear, but I push his hand away. Confusion claims his blue irises as he studies me. "Talk to me. What's going on?"

"Patrick, I'm not in the mood for this," I groan. Patrick takes my hand and guides me to his chest with a gentle tug. He wraps his arm around my waist to keep me in front of him.

"I just want to help you, Bomb," he says. Patrick's voice is soft and gentle. I start to loosen at his tone of voice. I give a weak smirk and rest my aching head on his shoulder. I bury my face into the crook of his neck and blow an exhausted sigh.

"I'm just tired and I don't feel well," I mumble. Sleep wants to claim my form, so I settle with just closing my eyes. "I'm sorry, 'Trick."
"I just want to know what's wrong, hon," he says as he strokes my hair. "For all I know, maybe all of this is not your fault. I'm making sure you're eating and getting rest; I'm really trying, Bomb."
"I don't know what's going on," I chuckle weakly. My voice is a tired rasp and I find myself latching onto Patrick's torso. Patrick laughs lightly and pulls me closer to him. I feel myself drawing closer to sleep.

"What's bothering you?" Patrick asks me. He presses his lips against my jaw for a small second.
"Everything," I groan.
"Specifically, Bomb."
"Headache, nausea, and I'm too tired to function," I list. I find comfort in Patrick's arms and I feel myself nodding off. I try to fight the urge to sleep though the idea sounds great.

"That sounds familiar," I hear Party Poison chortle. "I think I know what's wrong with her, Patrick."
"Care to tell?" Patrick answers with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. I almost don't catch it with the tone of his genuine curiosity.

"Marie was the same way before she had Grace," Gerard says. I look up at the killjoy, finding him eyeing me and Patrick. A smirk crosses the redhead's face as he points a finger at us."What have you kids been doing?" Gerard laughs. Patrick and I exchange a glance. The blonde boy's cheeks burn red and it's his turn to hide his face in my shoulder. Patrick blows a sigh, his exhale shaking the slightest.