In Pete's P.O.V. // Written by Sam. R&R?
Paper and pens, and two pepperoni pizzas sounded fitting.
I sprawled out on my back on the couch, resting my notepad against my knees and my feet on the armrest of the couch.
“You are a getaway car, a rush of blood to the head, but me, I’m just the covers on top of your bed. We‘re friends, we‘re friends.”
It was ridiculous, attempting to write something when it would just turn out like everything else on TV and radio: typical love song.
But boy-boy instead of boy-girl. A typical love song was far from what I had in mind, I was everything but loving right now. I was so fucking pissed I didn’t think I could scrawl shit down in the form of a song.
“Some secrets weren’t meant to be told, just so you know, you’ll never know.
They call kids like us vicious, and carved out of stone, but you‘re the only place that feels like home. For what we‘ve become we just feel more alone.”
I picked up my red pen and scrawled a title: - “Feeling Borrowed - rough draft.”
The doorbell rang and I went to answer; later devour the pizzas in tow.
But it was Patrick.
“Is he here?” he muttered, not looking me in the eye. I shook my head and slipped tense hands into my back pockets.
“Right then,” he continued, stepping inside and fixing his hat.
We talked as friends. In front of the fire. We talked about music and Arma and school and summer. We were approaching that topic. Really close. The sex. The lies. The love.
“What did you do with Joe?” I asked.
He snorted, “nothing. Literal nothing. Make out, that was it.”
“That’s so weird,” I whispered, hugging my knees, and he laughed.
“I know dude. Think of how I felt.”
“Was it the same as with me?” I wondered aloud, a whisper.
“You’re special. Your curves, your words, flaws, strengths, thoughts. You’re you. You’re Pete. You’re mine.”
“I’m just a hungry animal.”
My voice broke and I rubbed my eyes.
“Let’s make this real, Pete. For God’s sake you want it, and fucking hell I know I want it.”
He breathed, his breath making me squirm.
“B-but Brendon-” I began, tears surpassing.
“FUCK. BRENDON.” he yelled, jerking up and throwing my cell onto my lap. “CALL HIM. TELL HIM. BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T, I WILL PETE. I WILL.”
I started to sob, baby-like, and looked up at him.
“I just want to hold you. I don’t want anyone to hurt.”
The sun was setting and it bathed everything in a golden light. He stood looking at me for a few minutes, arms spread, angry.
He dived for the phone resting on my knee, but I was too fast for him; I pressed my lips onto his, and his body turned rigid.
He tore away and shouted, “NO! WE’RE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING UNTIL YOU FINISH IT, PETE. NOTHING.”
He left. The suns strong rays infected my vision, stopped my thoughts.
I dialled Brendon’s number.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hi,” I replied, sniffling. Playing with some loose denim on my jeans.
“Hey Pete,” he smiled, emphasizing on the e’s like he does.
“There’s someone else,” I blurted out.
Before he had a chance to say anything -