[Written with Sam, every even numbered chapter is her work.]
Patrick lay face down on his bed. He hadn't touched his homework. His parents' angry voices flooded the bottom floor, and snuck up the stairs into Patrick's tiny room. Alcohol. Sex. Money. The usual. He let out a groan as he moved, lifting up his green shirt to reveal the mark James had left on his side. "Fucking bastard," he muttered to himself, "you know I could crush you with my voice." Patrick took his cell out of his pocket and turned it on. 10 new messages from Pete. Fury built up the pit of his stomach; came to a stage where he couldn't take it anymore, and flung the phone across the room so it collided with the wall and snapped. "Fucking hell Wentz, I want to hate you half as much as I hate myself, you absolute CUNT! WHEN THE FUCK WILL YOU UNDERSTAND?!" he shouted, and was so shocked by the words that came out of his mouth, he placed a pale hand over his pink lips. His cheeks grew rouge with anger. Downstairs, his parents became totally silent, suprised by his outburst. He picked up the fragments of his cell and threw them in the bin. His parents would kill him for that one.
He kicked his bedroom door open; leaving a hefty dent, sprinted down the stairs and out the front door; only to collide with Pete; "Aww, heya 'Tricky," Pete grinned, "you were acting weird earlier so I thought I'd come over and see what's up?" Pete had genuine concern in his voice, and he lifted his hand to brush a lock of Patrick's hair off his cheek; it had stuck there with tears. "'Trick? What's wrong? Parents' arguing? C'mon, you can tell me, man," Pete said soothingly. Pete just didn't get it. Pete never got it. "Petey," Patrick finally breathed, grabbing the tanned fingers that lay on his face. Tears stung his eyes again. "I hate it when you cry, 'Trick," Pete whispered. "C-can we go to your place?" Patrick asked. "Okay?" Pete answered; half questioning. Pete walked to his car and hopped in, while Patrick turned back to face his house, and, as expected, his mother's beady eyes were peering out the window, seeing what her only son was up to. Since Patrick had hit puberty, and became friends with Pete "the little Hawaiian rich kid from down the road" Wentz, his parents had questioned their son's sexuality.
What lovely parents.
They weren't afraid to hide their thoughts either - Patrick was one of the main topics of their arguing. Patrick motioned to Pete's car and waved to his mother. She nodded.
Pete drove to his parents' home, and pulled up in the drive. This place always made Patrick happy. The Wentz's treated him like their own. "Are your parents home?" Patrick muttered, as he and Pete stayed still in their seats, belts still buckled. "Uh uh," Pete replied, "just you and me." Patrick swallowed hard at his words. "Let's head in," Patrick said quickly, before he turned any redder. Pete was really confused; Patrick saw it on his face. They continued into the house, and into the sitting room. Pete sat down on the leather couch, and tapped the vacant seat next to him. Patrick plopped down. "Now," Pete started, "tell me what's wrong."