Breathe Me Back To Life •Patrick Stump+Fall Out Boy•

Chapter Forty Four: Sometimes Quiet Is Violent

||Cole Wentz|| First Person||

After that, I ran off stage, covering my mouth to hold back the painful sobs clawing their way up my throat. I felt like puking because it all just hurt too much to have to revisit my attempt so quickly. I sped past Hayley, ignoring her and barely letting my sneakers touch the floor. I sprint in no general direction, finding myself losing my footing eventually. I trip on my shoelace and fly forward, slamming into the tiled floor. By then, I'm choking on my tears, my lungs burning intensely. I gasp and splutter for air, feeling like someone was suffocating me; like some invisible force was squeezing my chest and everything in that general area to the point of my ribcage feeling like it might break. Anxiety and respiratory issues do not go together well.

My inhaler. I need my inhaler.

I realize that my backpack isn't with me, but rather in the dressing room. I'm in unfamiliar territory, and I have no idea of where I ran to because no room looks familiar to me.

My lungs will fill and then deflate

They fill with fire

Exhale desire

I know it's dire

My time today

Inhaler. Need. Inhaler.

I can't breathe.

I double over, clutching my stomach tightly as I cough heavily, dry heaving in pain, rocking back and forth. My head feels like my brain had just rocked around in my skull, and I just want my head to shut up forever. I clamp my hands around my head and press inwards, just wanting my head to shut up, shut up, SHUT THE HELL UP. I
let out a scream, pounding my fist on the tiled floor, but the sound is choked and it dies out instantly.

"Cole!" I hear Patrick shout, worry clear and evident in his tone. I glance up just to see him turn the corner and come to a stop in front of me. "Holy smokes." I cough again, my throat closing and my head getting worse. The voices in my head are all speaking at once, turning into a garbled mess that sounds like high pitched screaming. One after the other after the other, a chorus of words and self inflicted insults screaming to the point I have to resist the impulse to slam my head into the ground to silence the noise. My stomach churns and cramps with the thought of bashing my head into the ground.

You don't want to die, Cole.

Remember, remember, remember.

What would it take for things to be quiet?

Quiet like the snow

And I know

This isn't much,

But I could, I could,

I could be better.

"Help-" I cry, shaking my head. "I don't want this. Make it stop, please. It hurts." I don't think Patrick knows what I'm saying, but he's wrapping me up into a hug and stroking my hair carefully. I sink into his embrace, inhaling his scent as the words get to a louder volume, a buzz of untimed screaming and shouting that feels like my skull is splitting open. It doesn't make sense, but I don't care because it hurts so much.

It's-

You-

If-

Fault-

Your-

Die.

"Make what stop?" He asks, and all I can do is shake my head.