Remember me || Patrick Stump

Chapter Nineteen

TRIGGER WARNING!

Apparently violence is bad for people in comas. It gets them worked up, and puts them In cardiac arrest.
They probably should've warned me about that before I stepped into a room with brendon, practically alone. Before I stopped into a room with my girlfriends rapist.
But then again, how could they have known?
"I think you both should take a break from visiting miss Lee," the doctor had said, once he had started questioning us.
I argued about how she was my girlfriend, and how brendon had caused this.
The doctor had no intrest in our personal life. Just the interest in the recovery of Annabel. I guess I should've respected that.
"Listen," he had said, his voice stern. It was like he was punishing a five year old. Sending them to a corner.
"Both of you should take a two week break from visiting her. If I catch you in her hospital room, I will call the police, and have you arrested."
We'd both nodded simultaneously, but inside, my anger was boiling in my blood.
I was trying to protect her, and now I couldn't even be near her? Just as I was getting ready to accept this. To start to be love this could get better. Of course this kind of shit would happen.
After the man had let us go, we'd both walked to our cars in silence. I'm not going to lie, I expected an apology of some sort. But he probably did too.
Neither of us got what we wanted that day.
Anyways, later that day I called Judah.
He said that after the cardiac arrest stopped, her heart best dropped dangerously low. She was hardly breathing. They had to pump oxygen into her.
So now as I lay in my bed, my new blonde hair a matted mess, all I can hear are her screams.
I thought he first time I heard her voice again, if be filled with joy, and overwhelmed with happiness. But instead, I had felt like knives were pricing through my ears, and my lungs had been ripped out.
It was like she was screaming for me, screaming for my help, but I couldn't deliver it. I had been stuck in place, not moving, the only sound escaping me had been a noise I couldn't even explain.
It had been quiet, but I heard it myself.
A sob maybe? A cry? I didn't know.
So now tears roll down my face, a constant drip, and leave paint splattered teardrops on my shirt.
She's not going to wake up, I tell myself.
How can she? Her heart rate is beyond dagerous, and she can't even breathe by herself. She can't even fucking breathe.
I punch my pillow a few times, and let out frusturated groans.
When my tantrum is over, I walk to the bathroom solemnly, and splash cold water in my face.
My eyes sting from crying so hard, and I feel greasy, and dirty.
Finally I look up at myself, and cringe. Oh god, I thought. This is me? His is the person who Annabel loves? This is the person who Judah accepts? This is the person that Lizzie looks up too?
No. This can't be.
My own red eyes stare into the reflection.
I pushy hair back, my hand shaking.
Trembling, I look at my arm.
Since when have I gotten so skinny?
When was the last time I ate?
I stare down at my arms, and I can see my bones easily.
My skin seems almost translucent, as I can see my veins as if I were looking through glass.
I stare in the mirror now, and realize the darkness under my eyes, which seems almost pitch black compared to my pale skin. It looks like I've been punched. I look like a ghost. When was the last time I was outside? Four weeks? Four days? And when was the last time I'd slept?
I remember not sleeping much. Not after the nightmares.
I heard her screaming in my dreams. For help, for me, for death... I didn't know.
Who am I?
What have I become?
Suddenly, I slam my fist against the mirror, sending pickles of pain through my arm.
And again. And again. Until my fist is numb.
I'm bleeding. It's running found my arm, and I shake terribly.
Who cares.
I take a piece of glass from the sink, and hold it in my hand, creaking more pain. Who cares?
I look at my left wrist, and lay my eyes on the scars.
Then I drag the glass across one of the scars, tracing exactly where the cut had been.
There's blood.
I do it again, until all of the scars have been reopened.
Then I throw the glass onto the ground, and sob. There's blood on the floor but I don't care.
I slump down, cowering on the ground, and run my hands through my hair. There's blood all over me.
Who am I, and what have I become?

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A/N
Well hi there! Alright I know this chapter was a little disturbing, and dark, but I just wanted to say a few things. First is this: please do not say anything about how dark this chapter is, because I put a trigger warning, and made it clear that it was up to you, if you wanted to read this chapter. Please do not tell me that this is disturbing or complain about ruining the way you see patrick irl. That's completely put of my hands, and once again, I put a warning.
Second thing is: I know a lot of people are going to ask why I included this chapter. The main idea of this chapter is to explain that patrick is going crazy. The love of his life is I a place somewhere between life and death, and she's the only one who makes him feel wanted. With out Annabel, all of PATRICKS flaws seem to stick out at him as if he were wearing a big neon sign, pointing them out.
Third thing is: most of you know this all ready, but about a month ago, my Instagram was deleted, so I made a new one @fueledbyweekes and it's mean a lot if you followed. Thanks so much :)