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

Chapter Four: It's Not 'Speak Or Forever Hold Your Peace'

Hey guys. I think I'm going to alternate Point of Views in this book a little. I tend to like having my book set in one person's point of view, but I realized that to have you guys fully experience the character's thoughts and feelings, it will have to change. Thanks for reading!

|| Cole Wentz || First Person's PoV||

I never used to have frequent nightmares. At least not until Derek Skinner assaulted me.

The nightmares were just another thing that pushed Pete and my parents off the edge. It was like the straw that broke the camel's back, as some might say.

Typically at two AM, they'd hear me bolt up in bed, either screaming bloody murder or simply bawling my eyes out. Whenever my parents came along to try to coax the terrifying dream out, I wouldn't calm down unless Pete was there. Of course, I wouldn't let Pete know that. He'd think he could fix me if he could easily calm me down, and when his arrogant ass finally realizes that he can't do everything, he'll get all pouty because he raised his hopes up too high.

But the thing is, it isn't necessarily a dream. It's a memory. And you can't really feel better when everyone who tries to calm you down says it isn't real, because that's what it is. Real. And there's that feeling in the pit of your stomach that just makes everything worse, practically making your conscience burn alive. It's my fault. All my fault, and it will never stop disrupting me.

So when it's two AM and everyone is supposedly asleep, the memories of Derek Skinner weave their way into my mind with absolutely no permission whatsoever from me. I wish I had some sort of dream filter that would keep the topic of him out of my mind. I deal with the memories enough already during daytime and they're horrible. At nighttime, in the dark, they're more than horrible. They're terrifying.

All I could really remember from this particular dream is the drugging. I remember my boyfriend(ex now), Derek, sitting down next to me, breath tickling my ear, whispering uncomfortable words to me. And then, he apologizes when I yell at him. Tell him that I am not some sort of whore. He smiles and gives me the drink. Spiked. It all becomes hazy as Derek takes me off to one of the empty bedrooms at the house party. To get what he wanted without anyone stopping him.

And then I wake up.

I shoot up in bed like a rocket, tears streaming down my red cheeks. I sit there, staring into the dark hotel room, trying to calm my breathing rate down. Still, I'm panting like I held my breath underwater for five minutes. I entangle both hands into my messy hair and pull my knees up, rocking back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth.

I see the lumps underneath the sheets across from me in their beds. Pete's sleeping form is slung across the bed, the covers half on and half off. He must have been trying to fall asleep and recently did. On the bed next to him, Patrick is... not in bed.

"Here, drink this." Patrick walks up the small step to where my bed was, sitting at the edge. I'm confused (almost had a heart attack because he came out of nowhere, too), but I take the water anyways.

I take a small sip of the cold beverage before setting it down on the nightstand. Patrick looks at me and sees the tears, reaching out and brushing them away with the flick of his thumb.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Patrick asks me. I don't want to say no. I want to bury my face in Patrick's shoulder and cry like the little baby I am. I want to tell him everything that happened with Derek Skinner. But still, I only shake my head slightly and look away.

"It's okay if you don't want to talk about this. I can wait until you're ready. We all can." He smiles at me, brushing away some strands of hair away from my forehead. I feel a shock on the very place his fingers brushed, and I have no idea why. My forehead has a slightly annoying tingly feeling now.