Patrick woke up in the bathtub of his home at 3:00 pm. He had tried to kill himself. Again. That person, always talking to him, all day every day would never leave him, no matter what he did. He knew he was in big trouble when he heard his cell phone ring. 'How many times have they called me?' he thought nervously, picking up the phone on the bathroom counter.

To his surprise, it was Pete calling him.

'Oh God, anyone but him' he thought, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. Pete could never know about any of this.

"H-Hello?" Patrick answered.

"Patrick! Where have you been?!" Pete asked. "We were all supposed to meet up for lunch today."

"I-I'm sorry P-Pete. I got s-sick." Patrick winced at his own voice. He could hardly stutter out a sentence.

"You're always sick!" Pete replied. Patrick could hear the disappointment in his voice.

"I-I'm sorry Pete. I'll make it up to you." Said Patrick, finally regaining some composure. "I'll take everyone out to dinner tonight. I'll pay for everything, okay?"

"Sounds great to me!" said Pete. "We should go to that new Italian place me and Andy were talking about."

"Okay! Whatever you guys want." Patrick replied. "I really owe it to you guys."

"Patrick?" Pete asked.

"Yeah?"

"If anything is wrong, anything at all, please let me know, okay?"

"I will." Patrick lied. "You're a great friend Pete."

Patrick ended the call.

"You have: 15 unread messages" the phone alerted him in a monotone voice. Patrick stared at the screen, mortified, until he mustered up the courage to read them.

"I told you that you wouldn't be able to kill yourself this time. You didn't cut deep enough. You didn't take enough pills. Good effort though. This is the closest you've gotten. You certainly look dead.

-Anonymous"

Patrick didn't bother to read the rest of the messages. Tears welled up in his eyes and he began to cry. It was all he could do. There was no way to stop this… person, if you could call them that. Every time he blocked the number, they just came back, angrier, more malicious, and demented. He could change his number, buy a new phone, call the police, it wouldn't matter.

His phone alerted him of a new message.

"Aww, don't cry dear. You don't want your friends to know you're sad, do you? Speaking of friends, if you go out again without my permission, you can say goodbye to your little dog Penny. If you still don't listen, you can say goodbye to one of your friends. I'll pick at random.

-Anonymous"

Patrick read the message and sobbed harder.

He got another message.

"I told you not to cry, didn't I? Now go get ready and I'll give you the directions. You'll want to get there early if you want a table.

-Anonymous"

Patrick wiped away the last of his tears and went to go take a shower. He needed one anyway. He was covered with blood and sweat.

He walked into the bathroom and slowly removed his clothes. He took a good, long look at himself; something he hadn't done in a while. There were cuts and scars on his thighs, his stomach, and all over his arms marking his porcelain skin. Some were fresh, some were old, and they were all layered on top of each other. He couldn't even hope to have his skin look normal again.

He hopped in the shower and washed himself, the soap stinging his wounds horribly. He watched the blood run down the drain. There was so much.

He disinfected his wounds and wrapped gauze around his arms and put on his most loose-fitting sweater. Luckily, it was almost winter time and he could get away with such heavy clothes. He shaved his face (leaving his sideburns untouched), finished getting dressed and put on some concealer to cover up the almost black dark circles under his eyes and headed out the door, almost tripping on the empty bottles of alcohol that littered the floor.

"You've received a message" said the automated voice on his phone.

"The restaurant is on sw Lancaster rd. It's in a rather gaudy building, so you can't miss it. Your "friends" will be there in about 30 minutes.

P.S: You should really clean your house.

-Anonymous"

Patrick sighed and walked out the door.

"You've received a message."

"Again?!" Patrick shouted. He was starting to grow impatient with all of the notifications.

"Hey Patrick! We're all heading over to the restaurant soon. Do you need the directions?

-Pete"

"Nope! I looked them up online.

-Patrick"

"Oh okay! See you there then! I've missed you. L

-Pete"

Patrick closed his phone and got into his car. He sat there for a while, his knuckles white as he tightly gripped onto the steering wheel of his car.

"It's not that far of a drive. I can make it. I can do this." He reassured himself.

With a deep breath, he started up the car and drove to the restaurant. He didn't turn on the radio like he normally would. Even the slightest sounds gave him a headache that day. His head was spinning and his vision blurred. He barely even made it to the restaurant.

By the time he arrived, he could hardly stand. His legs wobbled and he felt so heavy. His stomach was in knots. He looked drunk, but he knew for sure he wasn't. If he were, he'd be much happier. He took a minute outside to regain his composure before he slowly walked into the restaurant.

"Hello." Patrick greeted the woman at the counter.

"Hello!" She replied. "Would you like a table for one?"

"No. I'm actually here to reserve a table."

"Oh okay! How many seats?" She asked.

"Uhh… five please." Patrick requested, just in case Pete brought Ashlee.

"Okay! You shouldn't have to wait long. We're not quite at the dinner rush yet."

"Thank you." Patrick replied as he took a seat at the bench by the counter.

'It feels so nice to sit down again' Patrick thought. 'I'm not so dizzy anymore.'

Patrick sat for a while before Pete, Joe, Andy, and Ashlee showed up. He was so disoriented he didn't even notice them walk through the door.

"Hey Patrick! What's up?" said Joe.

Patrick stared blankly for a moment.

"Uh, are you okay?" Joe asked.

"Oh! Y-Yeah, I'm fine." Patrick replied, realizing who he was talking to. "Sorry, I'm just a bit tired."

"I can tell." Pete added.

"Sir, your table is ready!" said the woman at the counter.

"Oh okay! Thank you." Patrick replied, getting up from the bench, trying his best not to fall.

"Are these people with you?" The woman asked, walking over to Patrick.

"Yes."

"Okay then! Let me show you to your table."

The woman showed them to their table and gave them their menus.

"Someone will be with you in a few minutes to take your order." She said.

Patrick only nodded in response, feeling too weak to talk.

Everyone began conversing with each other as the world around Patrick became fuzzy again. He sat completely still in his chair, looking down at the floor, silently praying to God no one would notice how sick he was.

"Patrick?"

He heard a faint voice.

"Patrick!?"

Patrick's head shot up.

"Y-Yeah?" he asked.

"Our waitress is here to take our order." Pete told Patrick.

"O-Oh okay. I'll just have a small salad." Patrick told the waitress.

Everyone else proceeded to order as Patrick stared down at the floor again.

"Here Patrick, you should have something to drink." said Andy, pouring Patrick a glass of water.

"Thank you." Patrick replied, before taking a small sip of water.

"So Patrick" Ashlee started "Are you feeling better now? Pete told me you were sick."

"Yeah, I'm feeling a bit better now." he replied "I had the flu and I caught a couple other things and I've just been really burnt out this month."

Patrick felt so bad for lying, but he knew he had to.

"Aww, I understand." Ashlee replied. "I'm glad you're feeling better now though!"

"Me too." Added Andy. "I know you said you're feeling better, but try and take it easy okay? I don't want you getting sick again."

"Thanks guys" said Patrick. He hadn't felt so warm and loved in a long time.

"Don't take it too easy though." Pete interjected. "We still have lots of work to do for our next album!"

"That's true" said Patrick. "I'm really excited about Infinity on High!"

"Me too!" added Joe. "Patrick, I want you recording again asap."

Patrick giggled. "I'll try and get there as soon as I can then!"

"Here's your food!" said the waitress cheerfully as she arrived at their table.

"Thank you!" said Pete.

"No problem" replied the waitress "Enjoy!"

As she walked away, Pete glanced over at Patrick's plate.

"You only ordered a salad?" Pete remarked. "Who are you and what have you done with Patrick?"

"Yeah, you're not the Patrick I know." Joe added.

"I'm just not feeling that hungry tonight, that's all" Patrick replied, slightly sinking in his chair.

He finished about half of his salad before receiving a message.

"You look like such a fat ass. You're eating that salad like a pig! Your friends don't wanna be seen with you and your disgusting beer gut. Go to the bathroom, throw up your food, pay the bill, and leave; or else.

-Anonymous"

"I'll be right back" said Patrick, quickly getting up from his seat.

Without thinking, Patrick rushed to the bathroom, went into a stall, and threw up all he could; puking everything he possibly could until he saw blood.

'Oh God' he thought, staring into the toilet mortified. 'What have I done?'

He quickly flushed the toilet and cleaned himself off the best he could. His vision was so blurry he didn't notice any of the blood on his clothes. He just wiped off all of the blood he could from his face and hands and stumbled back to his table. He was so glad no one was in the bathroom with him.

It felt like an hour before he got back to his table. His vision failed him and he was so shaky he could hardly stand. Luckily, there were a lot of ornate furnishings in the building he could use for support. When he finally got back to his table, his thoughts were drowned out by mortified remarks.

"Oh my God is that blood?!" Ashlee yelled.

Everyone seemed to be concerned, but Patrick's vision was too blurry for him to tell for sure.

"N-No, I just spilled some… wine on myself." Patrick was too disoriented to think of a good lie.

"Then why is there so much red on your teeth?!" Pete added.

"I… I don't k-know" Patrick replied.

Patrick took his wallet from his pocket and dumped out all of his cash and loose change. He hoped it would be enough. It was all he could do.

"I have to go." Said Patrick; and without another word, he was gone. He heard his friends shouting, but it was all so muddled he couldn't make out a thing. The only thing on his mind was escape. He wasn't sure when or if he'd see them again, or if it really mattered. He wasn't even sure he'd be alive the next day. In that moment all he wanted was the sanctuary of his car. He could lock it, no one could get in, and he'd be safe.