Me & You ((Patrick Stump))

24: Belivers Never Die

Pete's P.O.V.

"I AM SO SICK OF YOU PETE!!!!" Ashlee screamed at me as I backed against the wall.

"WHY ARE YOU SUCH AN ASSHOLE??!?"

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING!!!!" I fought, walking away.

"YOU NEVER SPEND TIME WITH ME!!! ALL YOU DO IS HANG WITH YOUR IDIOT FRIENDS!!!!"

"ASHLEE. I. Try. Okay? Bronx is sleeping through that wall. I try to spend time with you and Bronx but I need social time. Okay?"

"All you need is time away from me. You don't even care."

"Ash, please,"

"YOU DONT CARE ABOUT YOUR FAMILY. GET OUT!!!!!" She shoved me away into the wall, making me growl.

It's not worth it Pete.

Bronx is sleeping.

And with that, I left.

I left my son.

I left my wife of three years.

And I left all my sanity with them.

I need someone, something, anything. I need comfort.

I need Patrick. I need Andy. I need Joe.

And as I lay here with a whiskey bottle in my hand, probably the 15th today, I can't think of anything else.

Of course my vision is blurred and my mind can't function well from the amount of alcohol I've consumed in the past 3 weeks, but it's all I can think of.

I slowly brought the rim of the bottle to my dry, cracked, lips and gulped down the last of the caramel colored liquid, tossing the bottle onto the floor, crashing against the countless others scattered across the wooden boards.

Probably the billionth tear fell down my cheek, holding the last memory of my three best friends.

~~~~~~

Joe's P.O.V.

I stared blankly at the TV, watching the final battle between Luke and Darth Vader for maybe the 1000th time. I've been watching the same movie for weeks, crying and eating, going to the bathroom a few times here and there, but nothing otherwise.

I haven't showered, haven't driven, haven't gone in public, haven't changed my clothes, haven't shaved, haven't had any human interaction, just been here.

Why you ask? You ever heard of these three guys names Pete Wentz, Patrick Stump, and Andy Hurley? That's why.

I miss those guys. More then you'll ever know...

~~~~~~

Andy's P.O.V.

"Dude, come on!" My friend said happily through the phone.

"Dude. You know I'm in depressed. I don't want to do anything today."

"Right... Sorry bro, I'll leave you be," He hung up and I sighed, glancing at the TV that was now playing an episode of the Big Bang Theory.

I plopped my iPhone next to me and lied down slowly, closing my eyes and drifting into a small state where I cried myself to sleep.

I'm too lonely. I am always too lonely.

~~~~~~

Patrick's P.O.V.

A drop of crimson liquid hit the sink as my wrist leaked with the fluids.

I winced as I brought the blade to my skin again, surprised when it fell out of my hand, stabbing into the counter perfectly.

Tears ran down my face as I sank to the floor, my wrists and thighs bleeding severely.

I rocked back and forth and whimpered for several minutes, doubting my life should even exist.

I might as well kill myself.

It'd be easy. Just the stab of my chest could do it.

I slowly reached to grab the blade's handle, and brought it out of the counter, bringing it to my chest.

"I'm sorry." I said, and just as I was about to insert the knife into my chest, something stopped me.

My phone was ringing.

I slowly reached to grab the small black iPhone, grabbing it, and reading the caller ID.

I froze in shock.

Why?

How?

What?

The name on that small screen read,

Pete.

"Hello?" A familiar voice asked.

"P-Pete?"

"Yes Patrick. I have something to tell you.,"

"Y-yea?"

"Fall Out Boy."

I paused, my breath hitching and my heart skipped a beat.

"Ill be there in ten minutes."