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beebomeebo · 8 years ago

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Song Challenge #1

Song: Holding Onto You by twenty one pilots

Artist: Patrick Stump

(A/N) lmao this was really fun to write and im sorry all the Patrick stans out there but just remember, it’s a fic for a reason. I love Patrick and I know he would NEVER do this. I will probably be posting these in between fics when I’m having writer’s block so send in more requests! Anyways, I hope you guys like it ((:

Warnings: !!no smut!!, physical abuse, choking, fainting, very abusive Patrick, name calling, ANGST, blood, cursing,

Word Count: 2K

CHALLENGE DESCRIPTION

I slowly woke up as the familiar softness of my sheets surrounded me. The oaky aroma of my bedroom filled my senses as I sat upward. Light footsteps emerged from the hallway and my attention turn toward them. Patrick emerged from behind the wall and smiled at me. My heart dropped and my wrist stung.

“Hi, baby,” He whispered, approaching me as if nothing had happened. My body flinched as he set into the empty space next to me. His arm wrapped around my shoulder and pulled me closer. “How did you sleep?”

“Good,” I answered unsurely. Something was off but I couldn’t quite pin down what it was.

“Good,” He whispered into my hair before planting a kiss on my temple. I didn’t react, only focused on the pain that my wrist was giving off. When I looked down to see a bruise, Patrick rubbed my arm. “Why don’t you go get ready?” He patted his lap and got up to leave the room. I stared at the floor for a bit, trying to find out why my wrist hurt.

I finally decided to wash up and I made my way into our bathroom. Turning the faucet on I glanced up to view my reflection. But instead of my usually clear skin, there was a giant bruise painted across my throat. My eyebrows furrowed as I trace the broken skin. Where the hell did this come from?

Curious of the origins of these bruises, I make my way to the kitchen. When I step onto the cold tile I see Patrick making breakfast.

“Hey, babe?” I said quietly.

“Hm?” Patrick kept his back to me and his attention on his eggs.

“What happened last night?”

“What do you mean?”

I glanced down at my wrist and then rubbed my throat. “Well, I have these bruises,” I trailed off as he turned around. He gently reached out for my wrist and examined it. “I just can’t remember what happened.”

Patrick chuckled. “Uh, well we went out to that new club that you’ve been wanting to go to.” He turned back to his eggs but I followed his voice. “You got a little drunk and were acting really flirty.” He nudged my side. I giggled. “You were all over me: giving me kisses and whispering into my ear. So, when we came home, we tried something . . . new.”

I closed my eyes and attempted to picture what he was talking about.

You are mine. Understand?

Patrick pulls me out of my thoughts as he kisses my forehead. “C’mon. I made your favorite.”

We both made our way to the dining table and Patrick placed a plateful of food on the mat in front of me. Terribly hungry, I nearly attack my breakfast.

“Slow down, babe,” Patrick laughed.

I giggled, a piece of egg following out of my mouth. “What happened when we got home? Like, go into detail.”

Patrick’s lip quivered slightly before he stuffed his face with bacon. “Well,” Patrick went on to describe how we tried bondage and choking. His words were romantic. “But I think I may have done it a little too hard.”

I giggled, running my fingers across the bruises.

“You know,” Patrick said sweetly, “No one loves you like I do.”

No one loves you like I do.

His words echoed through my head and my heartbeat kicked up. Club music was throbbing in the back of my mind. My hands started shaking and my vision went blurry. Tears were streaming down my face and I had no idea why. I quickly excused myself before Patrick could notice my behavior. I sprinted to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. The oxygen was slowly leaving my lungs and I grasped the edge of the sink for support.

I began to sing my favorite song to myself to calm my nerves and soon enough, my heartbeat slowed to its regular pace. That was weird…

When I left the bathroom, Patrick was sprawled across the couch watching TV.

“Babe?” I said approaching him cautiously.

He didn’t say a word, keeping his attention on the show.

“Can you tell me more about last night?”

Patrick’s attention finally turned back to me and he patted the spot next to me. I sat down and Patrick went into great detail of the events that took place the night before.

“Wow,” I breathed, “we really did that?”

Patrick nodded. “It was so hot.”

I giggled, cuddling up to his chest to continue watching the show.

-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-

After a while, Patrick fell asleep and I covered him with a blanket we kept on the couch. Just as I was about to start cleaning, a vibration catches my attention. I grabbed my phone off the coffee table and answered the phone call.

“Y/N! Hey, girl!” The girl on the other line said.

“Hey, Sarah,” I laughed.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing. Was just about to clean. Oh, my gosh, girl. I have to tell you about what happened last night.” My voice hiked up a pitch.

I went on the repeat Patrick’s words that were told to me not long before. We both giggled and laughed at the new, kinky events.

“Choking? You actually tried it?” Sarah laughed.

“I guess! I was too drunk to remember it.”

“Oh, my gosh, Y/N! I cannot believe how much of a slut you are!” Sarah giggled.

I cannot believe how much of a slut you are.

“I cannot believe how much of a slut you are,” Patrick spat. His fingers latched onto my wrist like a snake slowly squeezing the life out of its prey. He dragged me out of the damp club we were just in and yanked my body to face his, still holding onto my wrist. “You just let him grind all over you and you didn’t do a thing.” Patrick’s hot breath washed over my face as he closed the space between us.

I attempted an apology but my words clumped into the pit of my throat. Patrick’s jaw twitched and his nose flared. The longer I choked on my words the tighter Patrick’s grip became. Until a yelp escaped my lips.

“Patrick,” I whispered. “M-My wrist.” I glanced down to a bruising arm.

Patrick’s attention glued to my face as he inched closer. “I don’t give a fuck about your wrist,” He hissed. Needles began to poke at the tips of my fingers and soon my whole hand was tingling. “What I give a fuck about is how you let that douchebag dance on you like that.” Patrick’s voice raised. “You are mine. Understand?”

Tears were now falling down my face, smearing my mascara to create rivers of stained skin. The salty liquid rapidly flowed over the curves of my cheeks and rolled down my chin where they would fall off and plunge to the concrete below. The finger nails of my free hand dug into Patrick’s fingers, trying to peel his hand off my wrist. But his grip was too strong and this only fueled his anger.

“UNDERSTAND?” Patrick’s body lunged at me and the fist that was holding my wrist was now wrapped around my throat, pinning me against the club wall. My lungs reached for air but the oxygen was too far away. I couldn’t sob anymore; Patrick’s fingers were too tight around my throat. Flames were roaring in Patrick’s eyes and I could barely see my reflection from how cold they were. Patrick’s lips were moving violently but I could only barely make out what he was saying. “No one loves you like I do.” My body was thrown into a panic as shadows crept to cover the corners of my vision and a ringing sensation filled my hearing. I tried to scream but Patrick’s fist had already taken the small bit of voice I had left. My lungs battled with the shadows, fighting for any oxygen it could get to keep me conscious. But they eventually lost, the shadows engulfing my vision as the feeling of my body escaped.

My body froze. My breathing was shallow and I couldn’t feel my face. The phone slipped from my fingers and bounced off the hardwood floor. My head turned to Patrick- who was still sleeping on the couch. I turned my attention to my wrist and I traced the outline of the bruises. Rivers flowed from my lashes and dripped down to cover the purple, black and blue skin. The marks that I thought were created out of passion turned to a child of hatred and pain. “Patrick,” I whispered to myself. The moment the last syllable escaped my lips, Patrick’s eyes began to flutter. Panicking, I sprinted to our shared bedroom. I made sure to lock the door before crashing my back against it. I slowly slid down the wood and curled up into a ball, pulling my knees to my chest. The memory of last night replay constantly in my head and I tried to sob out all the bad thoughts.

I thought he loved me. Why did he lie? Why would he hurt me?

Patrick’s cold voice was the only thing I could hear. I covered my ears with my hands, pressing them hard in hopes to muffle his voice- but it only got louder. I tried to scream but nothing came out. The spider of Patrick’s ghost wrapped my words tightly into his web. I couldn’t even sob anymore. My body went numb and the tears stopped falling from my cheek. The back of my head hit the door behind and I stared at the empty wall across from me.

After numbly reminiscing on the good memories of Patrick, I decided to talk to him. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, summoning all the courage I had. Swiftly, my body leaped up and I threw the door open, making my way to the kitchen.

Patrick was standing there, cutting what looked like a tomato. I pursed my lips, starting to regret this decision. No, you need to do this. I took another deep breath.

“Why did you lie?” My voice was curious but stern.

Patrick turned around confused. “What?”

I straightened my spine. “Why did you lie, Patrick?”

“What are you talking about?” His face read confusion but his eyes read fear.

“Last night. I didn’t get these bruises because we had sex, I got these bruises because you hurt me,” I choked on my words.

Patrick’s expression fell and his eyes scanned my face.

“Why did you do it?” I asked rigidly.

Patrick’s mouth gaped open but he didn’t say anything.

“Why, Patrick?” I raised my voice. My finger nails dug into my palm.

“I-I don’t know, Y/N,” He whispered.

I sighed, pulling back the tears that were hinting at my lashes. “I don’t think we should be together.”

“What?” Patrick snapped. “You can’t leave me.” He stepped closer.

“Patrick,” My voice lowered.

“What, Y/N?” Patrick’s tone hardened and his face inched closer to mine. “You . . . can’t . . . leave . . . me.” His words were staccato as they hissed between his teeth.

I swallowed hard.

“You need me and I need you.” Patrick’s chest was pressing against mine and I stepped back. I tried to push him back but he wouldn’t budge, pinning me against the kitchen wall.

The salty taste of my tears rolled over my lips. “Patrick, please put the knife down.”

“What?” Patrick raised the blade, poking it into the soft skin under my jaw. “This knife?”

I tilted my head to relieve the pressure and shut my eyes, terror rushing in my veins.

“You don’t want to leave me. I love you, Y/N.” Patrick whispered, tears forming in his eyes.

“Patrick, please.”

“NO.” The knife dug deeper into my skin and I felt the already damaged surface break. I whimpered.

The tip of the knife slowly cut down to my throat where he pressed the middle of the blade to the main artery.

“If I can’t have you,” My eyes opened enough to watch his as he whispered. “No one can.”

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