Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Watching from the Closet

Chapter Twelve: The truth hurts worse

by prettypoizon 6 reviews

Hannah's middle name should be 'Trouble'. Some days she drinks herself sick, some days she doesn't eat, and some days she wastes all her money on things her parents would so not approve of. Afte...

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama, Humor, Romance - Warnings: [!!] [R] [V] - Published: 2007-03-14 - Updated: 2007-03-15 - 1247 words

Sorry I haven't been writing much lately =/
But this chapter is nice 'n long ^^
But, come ON, guys, this story has been read so many times and I have hardly any reviews. Please do me a favor and review? Point out typos, even. It makes my day.


Hannah stood on the sidewalk, barely thirty feet from Jack's house, starring at the small package in her hands with bewilderment. Her mind was telling her to run, but her body stayed put. She had taken the cocaine; Jack had won. She should have just left it, gotten out of the house, showed Jack that she wasn't that kind of girl. She might as well be a hooker now. She snapped back to reality, shoving the drugs into her pocket and taking off running. She couldn't go to the cops; she had drugs. She'd be in trouble, too.
"I have to get home, no, don't go home yet, I need- ice cream. Now. Ice cream." She murmured to herself.
Her foot hooked into a crack in the pavement, and she tripped. She let out a small cry of pain as the right knee of her jeans tore, exposing and scrapping the skin underneath.
"Oh, Miss, let me help you-" a man carrying a briefcase, clad in a smart business suit bent down to aide Hannah. He grabbed her gently by the arm, pulling her up, but Hannah viciously shoved his hands away.
"Don't touch me!" she yelled, picking herself up. Men. Dirty, filthy men.
She stalked off, and caught a woman and a young child staring at her.
"What the fuck are you lookin' at?!" she snapped.
The woman and the little boy scurried off looking frightened.

Hannah stormed into the grocery store, heading for the frozen goods aisle. Her head was spinning, her knee was bleeding and her chest hurt. She grabbed a small tub of Dutch chocolate ice cream off the shelf and marched up to the till. The cashier couldn't have been more than fifteen, and her brown eyes were wide with fear of Hannah's ruffled appearance. Hannah looked at her with disgust as the girl totaled up Hannah's purchase.
"Six ninety-five." The girl squeaked.
Hannah threw down a ten-dollar bill.
"Keep the yourself some cover up." She muttered.
With that, she grabbed the ice cream and stormed off, leaving the girl near tears as she ran her fingers over her acne.

Hannah burst through the front door, tears fresh in her eyes and blood staining the fabric around the tear in her jeans. She stomped into the kitchen, shoving the ice cream into the freezer. She huffed and cried for a few minutes, then noticed the silence of the house.
"Hello?" she yelled.
Silence. Where was everyone? And then she heard soft, acoustic guitar music floating down the hallway; she wiped her eyes half-heartedly, smearing her eyeliner, and she limped slowly down the hall, following the music to the door of Joe and Patrick's room. She listened for a moment;
" I more than you- ow, motherfucker...bargained for yet?...BITCH! Damn arm..."
Hannah pushed open his door slowly.
"Patrick?" she asked.
Patrick jumped and fumbled with his guitar and some papers sitting in front of him. He stuffed the papers under his pillow and looked up.
"Hannah? Hannah, you're a mess, what happened?!"
Hannah limped slowly over to Patrick' s bed, crawling onto the cotton blankets and afghan throws. She lay her head gently in Patrick's lap, and he stroked her hair lovingly.
"What happened to you?" he whispered.
Hannah bit back tears, and whispered in a strained voice;
"Where is everyone?"
"Mark's working, and the rest went down to the label, they're trying to change lyrics again..." Patrick whispered.
The barriers Hannah had forced up broke, and she began sobbing.
"Hannah..." Patrick whispered, "Please, please tell me what's wrong."
Hannah shook with tears, her makeup running down her cheeks and her eyes bloodshot.
"Patrick...he...Jack, he..."
"Jack? Who's Jack, Hannah?" Patrick asked patiently.
"My ex boyfriend and my...m-my d-dealer." She stuttered.
Patrick's hand momentarily paused from stroking Hannah's hair, but he said nothing.
"What did Jack do, Hannah?" he whispered.
"Patrick, you can't tell anyone, we can't go to the police or anything..."
"Hannah," Patrick's voice was frantic now, "Hannah, I won't tell anyone, please tell me what happened, Hannah, please..."
Hannah took a deep breath, and buried her face into Patrick's thigh.
"I...I needed drugs. I needed it, Patrick. I didn't have enough he...he took out a gun and...made me take off my jeans..." Hannah broke off, her voice crumbling and she started to sob once again.
Patrick was ghost white; he didn't move. His hand stopped in midair, and Hannah missed it's reassuring stroking. He hardly breathed as he whispered;
"And then what, Hannah?" but he already knew the answer.
"He...raped me." Hannah said, her voice high and quiet.
Hannah continued sobbing, and Patrick took a shaky, troubled breath.
"Hannah, you didn' didn't take the cocaine, did you?" he asked.
Hannah nodded shamefully.
"Oh, Hannah, now we can't go to the police or'd get in trouble, too, wasn't your fault, Hannah..."
"Yes it was. I shouldn't have been there in the first place, I'm supposed to be straight fucking edge."
"Hey!" Patrick snapped suddenly, and he pulled Hannah up with his one good arm, taking her cheeks in his hands, "Look at me. It's not your fault, Hannah, you got it? Yeah, you shouldn't have been there, but what he did to you...that's his fault, not yours, got it?" his voice was sharp, even though his heart had hardly moved since she told him the horrible truth.
Hannah looked slightly frightened at his assertiveness; she nodded her head timidly. Patrick felt uncomfortable and dropped his hands, ignoring the pain in his right arm.
"Now...take a shower."
Hannah nodded.
"Patrick...thank you."
"For what?"
"Keeping my secret."
Patrick smiled, and tears stung his eyes.
"Maybe...maybe you should tell Pete-"
"No! Patrick, he'd beat the shit out of Jack, and then we'd be in even more trouble!"
Patrick sighed and nodded.
"Now go clean up, Hannah."
"I bought ice cream," She muttered, "We'll have some when I'm clean."

Hannah's hair was wet, dripping onto the baggy tee shirt she now wore. She lifted the spoon to her mouth, savoring the rich chocolate.
" bought ice cream after this?" Patrick asked, looking at his bowl with disbelief.
"Yeah...I told Pete that's where I was going, so..."
Patrick smiled lightly and kept eating.
"So what's going on at the label?"
Patrick swallowed and waved his hand impatiently.
"They're trying to change some of Pete's lyrics, something about copyright infringements, I dunno. I couldn't care less, so I just stayed home."
"To work on that song?"
Patrick's face went bright red.
"Ah...yeah." He mumbled.
"Will it be on this record? The bit you were singing was pretty..."
", I don't think so, this record is so close to being done. Maybe if we get big enough to do another one, it'll be on there..."
Hannah smiled at Patrick.
"Sing me some of it?"
Patrick shook his head vigorously.
"I hardly even have the music done, and the lyrics aren't finished..."
Hannah mock pouted, and reached across the table, loosely entwining her fingers with Patrick's. Patrick shivered slightly.
"I'll sing it to you. Someday." He murmured.
Sign up to rate and review this story