One-shot in Second P.O.V.: Your father is a drunk and beats you. When you finally get the will to escape, can you get some help when all hope seems to abandon you? And will that hope come in the f...
"It's all because of him!" you yell and point at your father, who looked only partly sober. "No, honey, please calm down" your mother said, placing a small pale hand on your shoulder. You removed it gently and saw tears forming in your mother's eyes. "Mom, it's always like this. He gets buzzed, says something to me, I say something back, and it turns into a volley of insults and injury" you say, trying your best not to lose your temper. "Mom, I'm sorry, but either he goes or I go" you said with finality. You swore you could see your mother's heart shatter.
"Honey...no...but...please!" she said, instantly crying. Yeah, you were her daughter, but he was her husband, the man she loved... for some reason. "I'll let you think on it" you say and walk over to the kitchen. "Where do you think you're going? Come here!" your dad yelled. Tired, you turned and walked back towards him slowly. As soon as you got there, he socked you in the jaw, slapped your face and yelled, "Get up to your room and don't come out until I say so!" Doing your best to hold tears in, you ran up to your room. You couldn't take this anymore. You were running.
You waited until the voices of your parents were replaced by slight snores before slipping out of bed. You had changed into a flannel pair of plaid pajama pants, blue and red, and a black plain tank top. Of course, you didn't notice that outside it was in a downpour. You pulled on a black zip-up hoodie, not bothering to zip it up in case of making noise, slipped on a pair of converse without socks, and grabbed a duffel bag.
In the duffel bag, you threw in an outfit for tomorrow, a few other random clothes, CDs, makeup, and some items that were particularly precious like the ring your grandmother gave you before she died. After making sure everything was safe, you grabbed a black throw pillow (it was like a security blanket) and thrust it in before zipping the blue duffel quietly. You slung it over your shoulder and slowly opened the door to your room. The door creaked. You heard rustling in the other room and froze, until the sounds died down and snoring ensued.
As you opened the back door, a blast of cold rain and air hit your body, immediately soaking and chilling you to the bone. You zipped up your hoodie and walked out into the night, not bothering to pull the hood up. It wouldn't do any good anyway, you were already soaked. You walked down the empty street, wondering where to go. Four people popped into your head: Joe Trohman, Andy Hurley, Patrick Stump and Pete Wentz, your best friends.
Joe was definitely out because he lived way across town, and so was Andy because he lived on Joe's street. Pete's house was closer than Patrick's, but Patrick seemed like he would understand better. But Pete was your best friend, but Patrick seemed like a nicer boy. May be if you go to Pete's, you can hitch a ride to Patrick's...but that would be mean. 'Damn, I am so confused' you thought. But apparently your feet made up your mind because you arrived at Pete's house.
You rapped on the door, and no one answered. You knocked louder, but still no one answered. Sighing, your eyes traveled to the driveway. Pete's car was gone. "'Damn it" you hissed. You walked back into the rain, shivering and chattering so hard you thought your skeleton would pop out of your skin. Patrick's house it was, then. You just felt bad about waking him up. But after another twenty minutes of walking, which might have been three to five minutes by car, you arrive at the front door of Patrick's house, first making sure his car was there and the whole group hadn't decided to go out tonight.
You knocked on the door lightly, hoping Patrick would be awake. When that didn't happen, you knocked louder. Still, no movement in the house. You knocked loudly one last time, before turning around and deciding to hoof it all the way to Joe's. His house was at least ten miles away if you went through the park. You were sure to have hypothermia by morning at this rate. Just as you stepped out from under the overhang from the house, you heard a groggy voice say. "Who is it?" You spun around and saw your dear friend Patrick, his hair sticking at all angles, for once without a hat, and in a pair of plaid boxers.
"Melony?" he asked, instantly waking up. "Patrick, I need a place to stay" you said. "Oh, honey, come on in" he said, and you walked through the door. He turned the light on and saw you in your soaked pajamas. "Mel, you're soaked and freezing" he said, rubbing your shoulders. Water dripped to the floor. "I'm getting your carpet wet" you say guiltily. "Don't worry about it" he said, leading you down the hall of his small house.
You came to a stop at his room, and Patrick flipped the light on. You smiled slightly at the clothes strewn about messily and the disheveled blankets on the bed. "Do you have anything dry to wear?" he asked. You looked through your bag and pulled out soggy cloth. "Sorry" you said again, knowing you'd have to borrow something of his. "Not even underwear?" he asked. You shook your head no, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want me to leave?" you asked. He quickly shook his head. "No, I'm just tired is all" he said with a smile.
Patrick took all of your things and threw them into the dryer, minus electronics and things that shouldn't go in a dryer, and turned it on. You two went back to his room, where he started to go through his closet. "Here" he said finally, handing you another pair of plaid boxers, a plain blue shirt, and a pair of black briefs. The last item made you blush madly. Your face was redder than an angry tomato, but you went into the bathroom and changed into the items. The shirt went about halfway down your thighs, the boxers were pleasantly loose, and the briefs were very loose. What did that suggest, you wondered.
You walked out of the bathroom and tossed your other wet clothes into the dryer as well before making your way to the kitchen. The lights were on, and Patrick was sipping a mug of hot cocoa, too lazy to make coffee, and had put on a blue "Mariners" shirt. He patted the stool next to him, where a green mug was steaming. You picked it up and took a sip. "So" Patrick said, "What happened to make you walk to my house, in the rain, at two in the morning with a bag full of your stuff?" he asked. You sighed, knowing this was coming.
"You know how me and my dad always fight, right?" you asked, staring down at the brown liquid in the cup. "Yeah" Patrick said, taking another gulp. "Well, tonight it got really bad. He hit me" you motioned to your pink cheek and black eye. "Oh, Mel" Patrick said, gently rubbing the sore spots. You leaned into his touch, your feelings bubbling. You had had a crush on Patrick since third grade. You leaned away and continued to explain.
"Well, I told my mom either he went or I went. I feel really bad, you know. She never did anything, but still. She tries to please everyone, but she just needs to make a decision for herself. I told her I'd give her time, but...I couldn't stand it, Patrick!" you say, tears forming in your eyes. Now that your anger had fizzled away, the reality of the situation began to sink in.
"And it's not fair to you, and I'm sorry I dragged you in to this" you say, voice cracking. You desperately tried to wipe your eyes, but tears still leaked out. Patrick leaned over and hugged you as you tried to restrain sobs and tears fell onto his shirt. "What do you mean, Melony?" he asked, trying to comfort you. You pulled your head out of his neck and gazed into his eyes with your own watery ones.
"I ask you to stay in your house at a God awful hour, and you agree in the blink of an eye. I don't have anything dry, so you give up your own clothes just so I don't freeze. Even though I got your carpet all wet, and drink your hot cocoa, and use your dryer, you're still sweeter than honey. Patrick, you are the greatest guy in the world, and I don't deserve to know you, much less have you as a roommate" you say. Patrick just sits there, a strange look in his eyes.
"Don't you think for a second that I'm some sort of Saint, and that you don't deserve to know me. You are a great girl, a great person. You just have a difficult family situation, okay? None of this is your fault" he said, stroking your hair. "Thank you so much, Patrick" you say, hugging him. He hugged you back, before standing up. "We're both exhausted. Come on, you can sleep in my bed. I'll take the couch" Patrick said, leading you back down the hall.
You stopped at his door, refusing to move your legs. "No, I refuse to take your bed. I already took your shirt and boxers" you said. But then you realized how that sounded. "I, uh, I mean-that didn't come out like it was supposed to" you stuttered. "You're blushing" Patrick said, poking your stomach lightly. You giggled nervously, looking away. Patrick burst out laughing.
"Nah, I know you didn't mean it like that. But yes, you will take the bed" he said with finality. "No, I'll take the couch" you say, and do a quick about-face and run to the couch. You jump on it and hold onto the soft green arm rest for dear life as Patrick tried to pry you off, saying something along the lines of 'it would be a shame to have to stab your finger out with sporks'. This caused you to laugh, but you still didn't let go. "If you don't sleep in the bed, I'll sleep on the floor" Patrick said in all seriousness.
"How about we both split the bed" you say. Patrick, too tired to argue, nodded and promised he be in as soon as he turned everything off. You nodded and climbed into the rather comfy bed, resting your head on one of Patrick's pillows. Or, rather, his only pillow. You sighed, how in the world was this going to work? You heard scuffling throughout the house until it became silent, aside from the hum of the refrigerator and washer. But you liked falling asleep to a little bit of noise.
You heard the door open and close, so you naturally knew Patrick had entered the room to go to sleep. You heard rustling and a soft thump, and when Patrick climbed under the covers next to you, you felt his bare chest press against your back. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and it sent shivers down your spine. Sure, you shared a bed a dozen times at sleep overs and such, but this was the first time he had ever touched you so intimately in so little clothing. 'No', you scold yourself, 'bad thoughts'. Just because you like him doesn't mean he feels the same way.
"Good night" he mumbled, already half asleep. "Goodnight, Patrick. Thanks so much" you said back, but he had already fallen asleep. "I love you" you whisper quietly to the dark. You glanced at the clock radio on his bedside table and saw it was already three in the morning. You sighed contently and snuggled up further to Patrick's chest, instantly falling into the most peaceful sleep you've ever had. But, what you didn't know was that Patrick was awake the whole time.
The next morning you woke up to the alarm clock screeching, saying it was time for Patrick to wake up and get to school. You mumbled incoherently as Patrick reached over you with his warm, muscular arm and smacked the snooze button. He brought his arm back down to your waist where it lay comfortably, before you came back to your senses. "Patrick" you mumbled, turning to face him. He made a grunt noise, obviously saying he was listening, but was half asleep. "We have to go to school" you say in a gravely voice from sleep. He sat up on his elbows, the sheets falling away and showing his torso.
"We don't have to go anywhere. We were up late last night, and you don't even have any clothes" he said in a tired tone. "Yes I do, they should be dry by now. But they'll suspect something if we're both gone" you said, but you were losing your morale fast and just wanted to sleep more. "No they won't. Come on hun, you got like three hours of sleep. Let's just go back to dreamland" he said. Okay, now you knew he was tired. "Well, maybe just a little longer" you say, relenting. He gave you a sleepy smile, kissed your cheek (making you blush) and lay back down. You practically collapse on top of Patrick, resting your head on his chest, and go back to sleep.
"Wake up, Melony" you heard Patrick's sweet voice whisper in your ear. "Yeah?" you ask sleepily. "It's almost noon, and the school just called" he giggled. "I told you" you answered testily. "Yeah, well whatever. Let's go for a walk or something" he said, standing up. You noticed him now fully dressed in a pair of dark jeans, a red and black pinstripe short sleeve shirt, a jean jacket, converse, and his "I Love Bingo" hat. You giggled before looking at your attire. "Uh, are my clothes dry?" you ask. Patrick looked a bit sheepish before replying, "Nah. I didn't set the dryer on high enough. Sorry!" he added quickly.
You laughed and sat up out of the bed. "It's alright, Patty" you said tauntingly. He growled playfully and tackled you back onto the bed. You both breathed slightly heavily, warming the other's face. Patrick looked unsure for about a moment before he started to lean towards your mouth with his. Your eyes closed and...the phone rang. Your eyes sprang open and Patrick quickly jumped off of you, all but running for the phone. You sighed and sat up.
"Patrick!" you yelled into the other room. He came back with the cordless clutched to his ear. "Can I wear some of your clothes?" you asked. He nodded and quickly walked out, still on the phone. You walked over to his closet and threw it open. Wow, there were a lot of clothes in here for a guy. You burrowed through the shelves and racks and hangars before pulling out a satisfying outfit. It was a pair of pinstripe vans, light jeans with a few rips, a dark blue shirt with random white streaks down the front, and a pair of black and red striped socks, which you assumed Pete had left sometime he was here.
You were about to walk out the door, when Patrick's giant hat rack came into view. You smiled and grabbed one off of it, the camouflage one. You plop it on your head and smile happily. You walk out into the living room where Patrick just finishes hanging up the phone. "Who was that?" you asked. Patrick turned around and smiled. "It was Pete. He said we got a gig tonight" he said, smiling. You squealed and jumped into his arms. You both laughed until Patrick took on a very serious face. "He said one more thing..." he said, looking at his feet. "What?" you asked, now nervous. When Patrick looked up, he was smiling. "He wants his socks back" he said, and you both burst out laughing. So maybe he was looking at your feet.
You both walked out of the small house giggling. "So, what are you going to do about your parents?" Patrick asked as you walked around the corner. "I dunno. Why don't we go get the rest of my stuff from the house? That is" you added hastily, "If you'll let me stay with you." Patrick casually slung an arm over your shoulder and pulled you slightly closer, making you gulp.
"Of course you can stay!" he said happily. "We'll get you someplace to sleep, and we can share the bathroom, and you can cook for me, and clean for me, and we can be the best of roomies!" he said, totally hyper. "Pat, what did you have for breakfast?" you asked. "Absolutely nothing! And don't call me that" he responded back. He was the only person you knew who could get hyper off of nothing. Well, besides Pete. But Pete is almost always hyper, anyway.
You walked in a friendly silence for a few minutes until Patrice nonchalantly grabbed your hand. You glanced down quickly, blushing. You steal a glance at Patrick's face, but he looked perfectly happy. You smiled a small smile and walked for another ten minutes until you reached your house. You stare regretfully at the two cars parked in the driveway. Apparently, your parents had decided to stay home. You felt Patrick give your hand a reassuring squeeze before dropping it, and you headed into the house.
As you opened the door, the loud sounds of the television filled your ears. You and Patrick quietly snuck up the stairs, giving you a glance into the family room. Your father was staring at the T.V. screen, apparently pleased with something while your mother sat on the couch, crying. Well, they had obviously found out you had left. Patrick pulled you away gently, and you continued up the stairs, any noise being blared out by the T.V, turned up almost as far as it would go.
You quickly scurried into your room and shut the door, making sure it was locked. "Okay, what do you want?" Patrick whispered. You dug out two messenger bags, red and black, and threw the black one to him. "Get as many of my clothes as you can in that. I'll look around for other things" you hissed back. He quickly nodded and the pair of you raided the room.
Patrick began to throw all of the clothes you had into the bag as you put in all of your makeup, jewelry, books and journals and whatever (you liked to write), and by the time you were finished, a blushing Patrick was furiously trying to shove your last bra in to the bag. You giggled, and quickly dove under your bed, coming up with a shoebox. Patrick looked at you strangely until you pulled out all the money you had saved over the years, a total of six hundred dollars saved from jobs and such, all in fives, tens, or twenties. He smiled slightly as you shoved it all into an envelope and shoved it in your bag. Before leaving, you wrote a note to your mom saying you were sorry and you loved her and you were safe with a friend.
"You okay?" Patrick whispered before you left the room. You nod and brush away a tear that had managed to leak from your steely brown eyes. He pets your soft shiny brown hair for a moment before wrapping one of his arms around the small of your back and leading you out of the room. The television was still up loud, so you stepped downstairs quiet as mice and slipped back out the door. After you got down the block, you both let out a breath that you had apparently been holding. Patrick chuckled, and you giggled slightly.
After you arrived back and ate something, you didn't really feel like unpacking. So you and Patrick decided to walk to the lake. The walk there was nice, you and Patrick just joking around. It was too nice of a day to drive the few miles to the body of water. As you stepped onto the flat sandy bank, you kicked your shoes off and walk down to the water. Rolling the jeans up to your knee, you wade into the water, Pete's socks and all. Consider this payback for the time he stole your favorite eyeliner.
"What are you doing?" Patrick laughed as he came down by the water. "What's it look like?" you asked. Surprisingly, the sun was shining and the water was warm, despite last night's rain storm. Without warning you walked back onto the shore and took Patrick's jeans off. Next was his hat, and then the socks, all of which you piled next to one another. Turning around, you found Patrick staring at your hardly clothed body. "W...what are you doing?" he stuttered slightly, his whole face turning red.
You smiled seductively, hormones taking over you. You walked down the sand towards him, hips swaying slightly for more emphasis on your good figure. You swaggered until you were but a foot from him and said, "Why, going for a swim. Care to join me?" Without waiting for a response, you ran and jumped into the water. Your hormonal moment was gone, and you felt like being playful. You swam around a little before looking back at the shore. Patrick had already kicked off his shoes, socks, hat and shirt, and was working on unbuckling his jeans.
You couldn't help but stare at his perfectly formed body once again. He had a nice torso and arms, slightly tanned and muscled. His hair was framing his beautiful flawless face perfectly, with his properly shaded skin, plump lips, and straight nose. He could be a male underwear model, honestly. And you'd buy a whole magazine just for one picture of him. Snapping back to reality like a rubber band, you saw Patrick, in only his red plaid boxers, jump into the water.
You shriek as a hand grabs your ankle and drags you underwater. You see the blurry image of Patrick trying not to laugh underwater, just grin. You manage to wriggle out of his grasp and start to swim as fast as you can. But, sadly, the shirt you hadn't taken off for lack of a bra slowed you down considerably. You felt his soft hands wrap around your thigh, making you shiver, before he pulled you backwards, grabbed your arm, and pulled you up above the water.
You had unintentionally swum out to the sand bar out in the middle of the lake. You both backed up, Patrick still holding onto your arms, until the water was at about your waist. You were both laughing and breathing heavily from the hard swim. Without warning, Patrick stopped and looked into your eyes. You stopped laughing as well, seeing something you had never seen in Patrick's eyes before. It was what you had always wanted him to feel, and you undoubtedly knew it shone through your eyes every time you saw this man, especially now. It was complete and total adoration and ardor. It was love.
And, before you knew it, your tongues were enthralled in a battle for dominance, your hands feeling the other's scantily clad body, both gasping between lips, moans and whimpers echoing deep from within your throats. Before long, you were making out underwater, a rather nice new experience. You both broke the surface of the shimmering water when the need for air became so great you thought your lungs would explode, smiling at each other. "Will you be my girlfriend?" Patrick asked, no insecurity in his voice whatsoever after you little "public display of affection". "Of course! I've wanted you to ask that for so long" you said, wrapping your arms around his neck as his arms encircled your waist.
You had eventually gotten out of the water, laid out in the sun to dry, and were now dressed once again, except the shoes were slung over your shoulder, leaving you killing Pete's favorite pair of socks. Patrick's arm was slung around your waist, his hand stroking your side comfortably. When you eventually got back, it was starting to get dark. "Patrick, I still need a place to sleep" you said as you came out of the bathroom, finally dressed in your own clothes. He was making dinner, which was spaghetti. Where he learned to cook that, you had no idea. He was frying meatballs when you came up behind him and stirred the sauce.
"Well" he started, sounding nervous. "If you felt comfortable enough with it, we could, you know, share a bed" Patrick said, staring intensely at the boiling noodles. "Patrick, I would love to" you said happily, wrapping him in a hug which he was quick to return. You happily ate your spaghetti in the living room, watching "The Nightmare Before Christmas" because you adored it, and Patrick adored you. Finally, as the movie ended and your plates were empty, you both decided you weren't sleepy at all.
"Hey, stay here while I go and get something" Patrick said as he picked up the plates and carried them into the kitchen, where you heard them promptly clatter into the sink. You stared around the semi-lit room, with only a table lamp illuminating your new living room. Patrick had obviously gone to his bedroom without you noticing, because when he came back he had an acoustic guitar around his neck.
"Hey, um, Pete and I wrote a song, and I wanted to know your opinion on it. It would sound better on electric, but that's Joe..." Patrick rambled nervously. "Patty Cakes" you said, using a very annoying nickname to get his attention. "What?" he said, shooting you an annoyed look for using that specific nickname. You had given it to him the first day you met. "I'm sure the song will be great. Just go for it" you say, giving him an encouraging smile.
He smiled before he started to sing:
"I hope this is the last time, cause I never say no to you"
"This conversation's been..."
"Dead on arrival"
He sang the rest of the song beautifully, and by the end, you had a small smile on your face. "That was really nice" you said, still partially dazed from his face. "It's called 'Dead on Arrival' isn't it?" you asked smartly. He smiled shyly and nodded. Patrick slung the guitar from his neck and onto the couch. He held his hand out, and you took it as he led you to the bedroom. "Get changed" Patrick said while stripping his shirt. Next were his shoes, but before you saw anything else you headed to the bathroom, a blue nightshirt and a random pair of Patrick's boxers clutched in your hand.
When you came out, Patrick was already in the bed, half asleep. Looking at the clock, you noticed it was eleven o'clock, and tomorrow was only Wednesday. You climbed into bed, thoughts running through your cluttered head, before you felt Patrick wrap his arms around you protectively and loving and kissing your lips then cheek. Then all was well. As you lay there, half asleep, feelings of love and whatever coursed through your passion-struck veins.
So what if before you were eighteen you were forced to move out of your house. So what if your father was a drunk and abusive person. So what if your mom had chosen him over you. So what if Pete hadn't been home. So what if the school was suspicious and had probably already called your parents.
Your parents forcing you to leave had led you here; to the man you had and will always love. You were happy, and Patrick was happy. You had a place to stay, you had ruined Pete's favorite socks, and your parents would be forced to cover for you, lest they be discovered. A feeling of comfort washed over you, Patrick's scent, which smelled like lake water, filled the air around you and you knew you truly did love him. This was no crush. So you went to sleep that night, completely and totally happy and in love all because of your dysfunctional family. What an oxymoron.