Set in Season 2. When Eddie admits he likes her.

Patricia's POV

I need to stop. I can't do this anymore. C'mon Patty, just do it. They don't care. If they did, they notice your pain and make it go away... I looked down at the razer, and as I tear escaped my eyes, I made a huge deep cut, then another, then another. I want to stop. The pain feels so good though.

Then I turned to the pack. It was calling my name, trying to lure me. Just one smoke. It can't hurt. Besides, who's here to tell you to stop, to tell you, "It's okay. You won't get through this, but we will."? Once again, old bad habits returned. I want to stop. It feels so good.

Now the vodka. And whiskey. The taste was already in my mouth. Think of the conquinces. C'mon, that's the best part. You are in your own little world. Everything is perfect. Just a few sips, maybe the whole bottle.

Here I am. A bleeding arm, cigg in one hand, a mixed drink with vodka, and whiskey. All alone. Joy is flirting with Fabian, Nina's jealous, Jerome and Alfie are doing who knows what, Amber is going through her magizine and most likely talking shit about Joy that she would never say to her face, and Eddie's probably hooking up with some bleach blonde whore.

Eddie's POV

Is that smoke? From Yacker's room? Please Yacker, don't be smoking. I walk up to her room; she's in the conner, smoking, drinking and bleeding. Shit! She seems to be in deep thought then she notices me.

"Eddie, promise you won't tell anyone!" she basically begs. I ignore her and grab the ciggerate out of her hand and put it out then dump her drink out too. "What the hell, Eddie!" she said. "Why?" I asked, softly.

"Nobody cares! I'm not like anyone here, I can't do anything. I'm worthless!"

"I care"

"Yea right, please"

"Yacker, I do. I told you, I like you, and I mean bit of it. Patricia," I said as I started to cry a bit. I wish she knew how much I love her, she means the world to me. I'd tell her that I actually don't like Yacker, that I love her, but I'd scare her off. "This is all my fault," I thought, out loudly.

"How is it your fault. I'm the one doing it. I'm the screw-up"

"Because I noticed your pain. Instead of doing anything, I just wish that it would go away, that you wouldn't lead to this. I couldn't helped you!"

"You still can," she said, looking down at her feet. I pulled her chin up, and she looked at me. No make up. No straightened hair. No contacts in. She had her natural face, her natural curly hair, and her big, black glasses. I leaned in and gave a peck on her lips. "I am," I said. "I'm so short," she said randomly. "What?" I questioned her.

"I'm so short. You're, like, bending down as far as you can."

"You know, being short means your easier to pick up," I said giving her a devious smile. "You wouldn't even da-" I picked her up bridal style. I carried her to the bed, and we didn't do it; we just cuddled.

Patricia's POV

Maybe someone does care. I can stop.

I know it sucked. Also, so sorry for the errors in my story Their Story I didn't catch 'em before it was too late. Please ignore them. :( Review. Please read my other stories, Their Story and His Yacker. Byyyee.