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Patrick was one of the only people you could turn to when things got bad. Between him and Pete, there was probably no one else you could rely on when everything was going to shit. Pete was great when he was nearby, always had been since you were young. He only lived a few streets away, so it didn't take much time for him to end up outside your bedroom after a panicked phone call. But when the band was on tour, Patrick was the best listener, his responses not always the most helpful, but always with the best intentions and he cared more than anyone you knew, which wasn't that hard, because as the years went on and the older you got, you found people stopped giving a shit about you, leaving you in the gutter when you needed them most. Not Patrick though, he knew what you were going through better than most, so even if he couldn't help, at least he could sympathize.
It was times like this when you'd dial his number, your subtle plea for help being ignored by all your so-called 'best friends'. When he answered, his slightly sleepy voice mumbled down the phone at you,
"Hullo?" he had obviously been asleep, making you feel even worse, but this time you needed him. You really fucking needed him. You just hoped he would understand.
"I'm just so done Patrick. I'm done. I can't cope anymore." Your breathing hitched.
His voice sounded more awake as you could hear the shifting of the bedsheets down the line "what's wrong y/n? Are you safe?"
That was always his first question. 'Are you safe?' It was rare to hear someone actually caring about your safety. There had been dozens of occasions where you put subtle calls for help directed toward your friends High school, not wanting to bother them for some fucked up reason; times when you were dizzy, lightheaded and scared, ready to pass out from blood loss, or from taking too many sleeping pills and they read them as drunken ramblings, brushing you off and laughing at their ignorance. Patrick always made sure you were safe, and if you weren't he was the voice of reason, talking and guiding you through, as best he could, the best ways to bring you into a safe space, whether it was forcing your to throw up whatever you ingested, or advising you what bandages you should cover your wounds with. Whether he was with you in person or just a voice down the telephone, he just knew how to help, and you were forever grateful for that.
"Yes, I am. Physically anyway. I just...I'm losing the ability to cope Patrick. I just can't do it anymore."
"Hey, it's okay sweetheart" he whispered, "give me two seconds to get out of this bunk."
You heard the thud as his feet landed on the floor. You felt bad for having to phone him whilst he was on tour; he was probably getting little enough sleep as it was, and you were certain your manic ramblings were the last thing he needed at the small hours of the morning.
"Okay," he said, his voice a normal level, "talk me through it" he began, preparing himself for you to let out all your feelings at once. It was the easiest option for both of you.
You sighed, "I'm just so fucking sick of feeling like this all the time. I'm so miserable right now Patrick and I don't know what to do anymore. And it's driving me over the edge.
"I'm sick of having this depression that won't allow me to function like a normal human being. I'm sick of being hated and ignored and overlooked by these people who are supposed to be my friends. I'm sick of feeling so lonely and isolated all the damn time. And then treated like it's my fault all of this shit happens. How the fuck is it my fault Patrick?! I didn't ask to be ignored like this. I didn't ask to open up my computer and see images of my 'friends' having fun and I'm left here sitting wondering why the hell was I not invited. Why am I never invited? What part of me makes me so abnormal that no one can stand being in public with me?"
You hated admitting some of the things you did. As best as you could, you tried to live in the denial that everything was fine. That this was normal, that everyone felt this way at least once in their life's. You tried your best to internalize your problems, hoping that maybe one day they'll just shrivel up and disappear. But if anything, they did the opposite. They grew. They consumed every fiber of your being; they overwhelmed you and quickly you lost control of them. Until they became too much to cope with, both mentally and physically.
"I hate the fact I have to slice up my own fricken body just to feel something that's real, and when I try to confide in people about them, they ignore it like it's nothing. And I hate the things I have to go through just to cope with the fact that they don't care. Why the hell don't they care? Why does no one in this fucking world care?! Jesus Christ, I could be dead in my fucking dorm room and nobody wouldn't even notice. Just a few days ago 'Trick, I actually thought, 'shit, this could be the night I don't wake up, and I sure as hell don't want my last message to my friends to be some rant about nothing', and when I told them how much I appreciate them and love them you know what thought? They thought I was sitting in my flat drinking and this was some drunken love message and not the message of a girl who took a weeks worth of anti-depressants and sleeping tablets in one go. And if that doesn't tell you everything then I just don't know"
Patrick remained silent the entire time as you took a deep sigh. He knew you had more to say, and he always wanted you to get everything off your chest before he offered advice of any kind.
"I just want to know what the hell I'm doing wrong to piss everyone in this God damn world off?!" You sobbed down the phone, lying down on your back, running your hand across your forehead, "Why am I just so abnormal and repulsive that all this shit has to happen to me? Why can't I just be happy for one fucking day where I have friends who actually care and people who I can confide in and I don't feel the need to kill myself? Why!?"
By this point, tears were streaming down your face as your breathing became erratic. Your heart pounding frantically. You wanted to escape, though of what you didn't quite know. The feeling of confinement was consuming you, and even though you had long since flung the covers off your bed you still felt as though something was wrapped around you, slowing tightening and restricting your body.
There was silence for some time and you let yourself cry down the phone. Until Patrick softly called out your name,
"Okay, so the first thing I want you to do right now it sit up, get out of bed, and open the window. Can you do that love?"
You nodded, knowing he wouldn't have realized that. You reluctantly got off the bed and shuffled your way to the window, unhooking the latch and letting it swing open. The cold air hit you immediately.
"Now take a deep breath," the voice down the phone hummed. You did so, letting the cool air fill your lungs, the breeze gently washing over your face.
"Okay, now get back into bed".
You clicked the window shut and returned to your bed. Sitting crossed legged you leaned your head again the wall and waited for Patrick's voice to start once again. The tears had stopped briefly, your eyes stinging as you tried to pay attention to Patrick's voice.
"I know it's hard sweetheart. It's so fricken hard. And absolute no one deserves to go through even a small piece of what you're going through right now. Especially not you. And right now all I want to do is fly halfway across the freaking world to be beside you and hug you and take all this pain away from you."
He continued, "but you know what? Even after all you've been through, you're still here aren't you? You're still alive and breathing and you will get through this y/n. It may not be today, or tomorrow, or this time next year, but one day, and I swear to god this will happen, one day you will find the light at the end of this tunnel and you will look back and be so damn happy you're alive.
"You are so damn strong love, and if anyone can get through this, you can. Sure you may not come out unscathed, and yes there will be pitfalls and setbacks, but ultimately it will get better and you'll thank yourself for fighting. You're a fighter y/n. And if you can't fight for yourself, fight for me. Because I sure as hell know that a world without you is not something I want to experience."
You chucked through your tears. This god damn perfect little man.
"I suppose", you replied. You didn't really know how to respond. Your internal monologue conflicted between accepting what he was saying or just completely rejecting it. Part of you not wanting to believe any of it, the other trying to reassure and reassert what the singer had just said.
"No y/n" he asserted. "You know. You know as well as I do that you're strong as fuck. No one could have gone through what you are and made it this far. You're freaking wonderful kid."
"I just don't know if I can deal with this isolation. I'm so lonely all the damn time."
"I know love. I know", he began, "but you always have us, remember that. That's probably not much use considering you don't see us much, but the guys, we're a here for you. Wherever. Whenever. We're just a phone call away.
"We finish this leg of the tour in a month and then we have a six-week break and you're gonna see us so much you'll be sick of our dorky faces."
He chuckled down the phone.
You did too as you began to cry harder, a mixture of sadness and comfort flowing through you. To wonder that someone could care so much and provide you with such hope and comfort. Two of the things you were lacking most in your life.
You both lay there in silence for some time, your eyes closed as you absorbed his words, your tears began to wane as you focused on the soft sound of his breathing.
"Hey Patrick?", you finally said, opening your eyes and running your hands through your hair.
"Yeah, sweetheart?" He whispered.
"I'm so sorry I woke you. But thank you. Thank you so much."
He chuckled, "don't ever worry about waking me up. You're worth it. You know I'm always here for you kid."
"It's just so hard y'know..." you began, not sure if you had the effort to continue speaking.
"I know it is kid. I know".
You moved more comfortably into your bed. Fixing the quilt back over you and nestling down into your pillow.
"Are you in bed now?" Patrick asked.
"Yes," you replied. "Will you stay here until I fall asleep?"
"Of course sweetheart. Close your eyes. Deep breaths."
You did so and focused on your own breath. In. Out. Repeat. In. Out. Repeat. You tried to put everything else outside of your mind as you recognized the rise and fall of your chest. Your eyelids began to feel heavy. Patrick hummed gently down the phone, songs you knew, soft and gentle and full of the best intention.
"Y/n? he whispered. You couldn't form words but merely mumbled from your end of the reviver.
He sang to you, almost whisper like, with such a high level of emotion it made you want to start crying again, not out of sadness, but out of sheer appreciation,
"How rare, and beautiful, it is, to even exist."
You smiled against your pillow, "Thanks, Patrick. I love you, you know that?" you mumbled, almost incoherently as you felt yourself drifting into sleep.
"You two sweetheart. You too. Sweet dreams."