FicWad

When Patrick got home, he ran up the stairs to his bedroom. Opening the door, he collapsed onto the bed, barely having enough time to flip on his stereo before the tears came.
Crying was like a nightly ritual. He would listen to Welcome To The Black Parade a million times as he sobbed into his pillow. He wished he had a different mother and father, different siblings....and friends. He couldn't count on one hand how many friends he had because he had NONE. No one in school liked him. They picked on him constantly.He wasn't smart, he wasn't physically fit, didn;t play sprts, wasn't a nerd...he was a loser. Just another guy who didn't fit in. He didn't have anyone. His parents were never there for him. Neither was his girlfriend. No one was there for him....that was what echoed through his mind and made him want to die. He really thought he had no purpose....no reason to live. Everyone hated him. He barely felt his cell phone vibrate in his pocket he was so numb.
"What?" he said answering Penelope's call. She was barely heard over the music.
"Wanna join me and Collin?" she said enticingly. Patrick knew what she was talking about.
"No Penelope. Fuck that bastard by yourself." he said before hanging up. He ran to the kitchen. He knew what he needed and what he had always needed. A punishment. Something other than mental instability. He cut his wrists, two long slashes down them. Blood spattered to the floor, looking eery against the white tiles. He felt dizzy for a moment but found himself taking the knife upstairs with him. In his bedroom, he made more cuts over the two large ones. He barely felt it. The pain was like love he never had, He hoped this was better than love. He needed nothign more than this. Why would he need love? red is the color of love. Red is his blood. Blood for love. He slashed more and cried. He cried so hard. He sobbed and screamed into his pillow. The music came to a climax and he kicked the wall. He was angry and sad at the same time. Finally after hitting the wall with his fists twenty or so times, getting blood everywhere, he colapsed to the floor gasping for air. A second wave of tears washed over him. The clear, sparkling tears stung more than the cuts.His clothing was ruined, but he didn't care. His rant was invisable now, no one had been home. And when they did get home, they woudln;t care...
Patrick fell into a daze, mostly thinking about Wentz.
He suddenlyfelt bad he had yelled at him so viciously. He wished to apologize right this moment, but couldn't find the energy to move. Hstayed slumped against the blood-stained wall but pulled a sheet over himself. His eyes closed as he surredered to sleep.

Pete and Jon had spent the night bonding. But it was finally time to close up.
"Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Jon."
"Oh...Pete can you put Patrick's Walkman into his mailbox? He'll be upset if he doesn't have it when he drives to work, his car radio is broken." Jon replied.
"Uhm, sure." Pete said.
"Great. You know where he lives, right?" Jon asked.
"Yeah. I 'lldrop it off." Pete said smiling bleakly and exiting the shop.
He drove up the road to Patrick's house, three blocks from his own, and got out of his car. He walked slowly and precariously across the lawn, as if it were made of glass. A light was on upstairs and people inside were shouting. Pete stopped to listen.
"What have you don to the walls!" a woman screached.
"YOU DONT CARE!!!!" shouted Patrick. Pete frowned.
"I CARE ABOUT MY WALLS THAT ARE STAINED NOW!!!" the woman replied.
"NOT ABOUT ME!!!!" he replied. A tear fell from Pete's eye and he dropped the Walkman into Patrick's mailbox. He started back across the lawn, screaming still coming from the house, and heard a crash. He didn't look back for fear he would make matters worse.
So this is truly what this poor sixteen year old boy has to deal with...
Pete shook his head in sorrow and got into his car.