One Shots and Shit

What A Catch

High-school Sweethearts. One with depression and anxiety. The other with abusive and alcoholic parents. When those two combine, a bond is formed. A bond stronger than anyone could ever come across.

TW: okay there's some stuff in here but I'm writing the TW before I write the story so just take caution

***

"You can't die, okay? Promise me you won't die." Pete looked at the ground, avoiding the promise he was expected to make.

Patrick and Pete had been together for months. And the couple enjoyed every second of it. They were inseparable.

Pete and Patrick met in high school. I want to say they met in some romantic way, but they met when Pete got busted smoking weed in the boys' bathroom. Patrick also happened to be in the restroom when the principal walked in. So they both got ISS. They ended becoming friends, and eventually more than that. They graduated together. They kissed when they threw their caps in the air. They started college together. They did couple-y things.

"Pete?" Patrick had started crying again. Pete has troubled thoughts and the self esteem to match. He is constantly haunted by reoccurring thoughts of killing himself. Patrick has trust issues and an abused childhood. He's always making Pete promise stuff, even if it's something small like picking up a pizza.

Pete couldn't make this promise. He couldn't promise not to die when that's the thing he wanted most.

Patrick was tired of asking and not getting an answer. He didn't want to hear Pete say he wouldn't promise. So he got up and walked away, thinking of anything other than Pete.

***

"Pete?" His mom asked as he walked through the door, pretending like she didn't know her son wasn't okay. Of course, he didn't answer. Pete didn't know if she was drunk or not. And he didn't want to find out. It's like they say. Sometimes we take chances and sometimes we take pills.

Tonight, Pete was taking pills.

***

Pete wanted to die. But Patrick was his anchor. Patrick was what kept Pete alive. And Pete wanted those pills to work. He really did. But there weren't enough to cause permanent damage, or even to make him sick. Just enough to make him fall asleep.

And when he woke up, he felt even worse than he did before. So he decided to stay in, and have Patrick come over. Maybe that'll help him feel better.

When Patrick said he'd be at Pete's place in 10 minutes, he lied. Patrick was there in 7. But, hey. The sooner the better, right?

"Let's watch a movie." Patrick said happily, cuddling next to Pete. And so they did. They watched Ghostbusters and spent time in each others presence.

But Pete wasn't watching the movie. Pete was thinking about what the doctor said when he first tried to kill himself.

He's too far gone. No amount of treatment can help. It's like he's a robot, incapable of feeling anything other than constant pain, nagging at him. Eating him away until he can't handle it. I'm sorry, but your son won't get better. We can't stop him from hurting himself. When you find someone who can, let us know.

'Patrick can.' Pete thought. 'And I do feel something. I feel love. Love for Patrick.' Of course Pete wanted to say this out loud. But he didn't. And it's too late now.

Soon, Pete heard a small, small sound. Like when steam comes from boiling water. Like a quiet metronome, keeping a steady beat for Pete. Repeating itself. Eventually growing louder, until that's all Pete heard.

thump thump. thump thump.

20 minutes pass and Pete realizes it's his own heartbeat. And, as much as Pete hated living, he wanted to hear his heart more often. He wanted to find that sound during all the pain and selfhatred. He wanted that sound to remind him that he's alive.

That Patrick had gotten him that far.

Then, his feelings towards that sound changed.

That sound reminded him that he didn't want Patrick devoting his whole life to taking care of him.

That sound reminded Pete of how Patrick would cry and reject everything when Pete was gone, for real this time.

Soon enough, Pete hated the sound of his heartbeat, thumping like everything was okay.

IT"S NOT OKAY. Pete yelled in his head. IT WILL NEVER BE OKAY.

He needed to do something, to make noise, to distract himself from the evergrowing sound of his heart, forcing him to remember he was alive and breathing. Forcing him to remember what the doctor said. Forcing him to remember that he hated being alive with everything in him.

***

"Hey buddy." Patrick's dad said as he entered his son's room. Without permission.

"Hey." Patrick hated his dad. He beat Pat so bad he got a head injury and needed glasses to see again. But his dad's response was "You deserved it."

"Pete's mom is here to see you. And she's crying. What'd you do?" Patrick just sighed. He got up and walked towards the front door, wondering what Pete's mom was doing here.

When Patrick got to the door, Pete's mom looked up and the emotion on her face changed. It changed from heart-break to anger. Before Patrick knew what was happening, Pete's mom was yelling at him, pointing her finger in Patrick's face.

"YOU! YOU DID THIS! YOU MADE HIM DO THIS!" By now, Pete's mom was so close Patrick could smell the saltiness of her tears.

Patrick didn't even have to ask. He shoved the angry woman out of his way and ran to Pete's house, telling himself that he's overreacting. But, if he was really overreacting, would Pete's mom be crying?

Patrick ran through the front door of Pete's house and up the stairs to Pete's room. Patrick started banging on the door, begging Pete to answer, but he never did. He didn't want to wait. He opened the door and instantly fell to his knees.

The man he loved, the man he spent his whole life with, was laying on the floor, next to an empty bottle of Ativan.

Patrick couldn't stop the sobs that escaped his tiny body. He couldn't stop the tears, overflowing from his already puffy eyes.

But he did stop feeling. He stopped thinking of what was to come next. He just stopped.

***

Hours pass, and Patrick was still crying. The paramedics had come and taken Pete to a hospital, even though everyone knew it was too late.

Patrick couldn't stay by Pete's side anymore. So he took off, out of the hospital doors, and ran. He ran until he couldn't anymore. He ran until he reached the one room that always gave him some consolation.

Pete's room.

***

Eventually, Patrick stopped looking for Pete in the hallways. He stopped passing by Pete's locker; he started taking the longer path. He stopped thinking of Pete's smile.

Patrick stopped listening to his favorite songs. The words didn't mean the same thing. School didn't feel the same. And that caused Patrick to stop going to school. Patrick lost all motivation to do anything. His favorite person on Earth was gone, and now he hated this place.

He hated the perfectly crisp grass in front of his house. He hated his bed, the bed that Pete would cuddle Patrick in. He hated his house, because suddenly every part of Pete lingered in it.

He hated himself, for letting all of this happen.