Alone Together {Patrick Stump}

Chapter 2

"Her name is Lyra," Patrick said. "I've got her here in the car now."

"Hey," I said.

"Was that her?" Pete asked.

"It sure is me," I said with a laugh.

"Gorgeous laugh," he said.

"Don't mind him," Patrick smiled. "He says that to every girl."

I smiled. Patrick continued his conversation with Pete. They decided that they were going to get all th guys at Patrick's to meet me. They were coming over later that day. After Patrick it off the phone, he turned on the radio. We jammed out to some music the rest of the way. When we pulled up in front of a large, stone house, Patrick turned down the radio. It was a gorgeous home with stone walls and front porch. Patrick opened the car door and I followed suit. He grabbed my bags from the trunk and climbed the steps to the porch. It was made of solid oak with a shine finish. He unlocked the door and we walked into a gorgeous, white-walled entrance. The floor was marble and there was a staircase leading off to the side. 

He led the way up the staircase and down a hall. About halfway down the hall, Patrick stopped outside an oak door. He opened it to reveal to reveal a gorgeous room with white carpet and grey walls. The bedframe was made of oak wood with white bedding. An oak desk stood against the wall next a window.

"You have your own bathroom through that door," Patrick said, pointing to a closed door. "Wardrobe, shelves, desk, bed. I'll leave you to unpack. Hollar if you need me." I nodded as Patrick left the room. I put all of my belongings on the shelves and in the wardrobe. Everything had its place. It almost felt like home. I had a family now. Even if it was just me and Patrick, it was still a family.

I decided to change before meeting the rest of the band. My band tee and black skinny jeans weren't exactly the kind of thing you would wear. Instead, I opted for a pair of blue skinny jeans, white v-neck crop top, my favorite leather jacket, and my black heeled boots. I brushed my hair again did my makeup. It had to be perfect. 

By the time I was done, Patrick called me downstairs. I put on my lipstick and made my way down the stairs. Patrick was standing in the entrance way with the rest of the band.

"Damn," Pete said. "When I heard her on her phone, I wasn't expecting this. How old is she again?"

"Fourteen, Pete," Patrick said, grinning. "Remember that." Pete sighed. I walked over to Patrick and kind of stood slightly behind him. I was kind of nervous.

"I'm Joe," Joe Trohman said. He came over and hugged me, which I returned. "You look great, by the way," he whispered. I smiled.

"Pete," Pete said. "If you didn't get that when we talked on the phone briefly." He also hugged me. Then Andy Hurley approached me.

"Andy," he said. He hugged me as well. "If you ever need anything, we're all here for you." I smiled gratefully. I never imagined that this would be my first meeting of my favorite band. I expected it to be at a concert when I'd moved out of the orphanage and was on my own. I never would have thought it would be standing in Patrick Stump's house after just being adopted by him. It's crazy how fast your life can change, huh?

"I'm Lyra," I said. After our introductions, Patrick led us all into the lounge. We sat on the sofas.

"So tell s about yourself, Lyra," Andy spoke up. "What do you like? Your passions? Your life before meeting Patrick? Everything."

"Well, your band has been my favorite band for about five years," I started. "Living In The orphanage, I learned to find things that interested me and keep them for myself. I have a passion for music, journalism, and drawing, I've been alone for eleven years, three months, and seventeen days, and my entire family died in a car crash on the way to a Christina Aguilera concert in 2004. I was too young, so I was with my grandma. She didn't want me, so I was sent to a group home. After one year there, I couldn't take it. I stole some money and ran away at three years old. My social worker sent me to the orphanage and I lived there for ten years until today. Pretty sure my grandparents are all dead by now, my dad's only sister is a drug addict and my mom's siblings are nowhere to be found. I have zero family and am completely alone. In the orphanage, I bullied and beat everyday by a group of girls that lives there and no one cared enough to do anything about it. That's how I got this-" I pulled my shirt aside to show a bruised scar just above my collar bone. "- and these-" I showed them my scars and bruises and the fresh bruise on my neck.

"Those bruises on your neck are fresh," Pete said, looking at them carefully.

"I know," I said casually.

"When did that happen?" Pete asked.

"This morning maybe?" I said, unsure. I knew when it was, I just didn't want to admit it. "I don't remember. Could have been this morning, could have been last night. They all blend together over time."

"If that's happened so many times you can't even remember when it happened, that isn't good," Pete said. "Maybe we should take her to a doctor, Patrick."

"I'm fine, honest," I said quickly. "It's no big deal. Really." Pete looked skeptical, but went with it nonetheless. "Ever since my parents' death, I can't bring myself to listen to that kind of music. In the orphanage, it always reminded me why I was left there. I didn't have parents and I was unwanted by the rest of my family. It made me depressed. When I was younger, I suffered from serious depression. I still do, just not as bad. I convinced myself several times that if I just ended it, no one would care. No one would notice. They'd just be glad to have one less kid to feed-" I stopped. I couldn't go on. I wanted to cry right then and there, but I stopped myself.

"What made you realize you shouldn't?" Pete asked. I know he only asked because he'd been through the same thing.

"You guys, actually," I said after a few moments silence. "Your music started playing one day and one of the girls asked if they could change song. I asked them to wait because your lyrics really spoke to me. I did some research and found more of your songs. Most of them spoke to me. Especially What A Catch, Donnie." Pete looked at me in awe.

"Most people hate that song, you know," Joe said. "Say it's too depressing."

"When you've suffered from severe depression for a large portion of your life, nothing is more depression than your own thoughts," I said. Pete nodded his head.

"It's true," he said. 

"After discovering you guys and your music, it led me to music," I said. "I would borrow the school's guitars or drums or whatever I needed. I wrote songs and tried to play them out. I didn't have any friends, so it was just me. Every time I had a free period, you would find me in the band room. Piano, drums, guitar, bass, I played it all. The band instructor tried to get me to join band, but I decided to stay with my own music. I didn't want someone telling me what songs to play. I was also scared we would have to play a song that reminded me of my parents." I felt the tears in my eyes. I tried to blink them away, but one escaped. I wiped it away quickly, hoping no one noticed. I was wrong.

"Let's change the subject," Pete said, wiping at his own eyes.