Wentz´s death does not stop the world from going round. It´s a shocker.
After the countdown was up the TV switched to channel 1. I wondered what I would see now.
Three young guys and a middle-aged man dressed in a suit in an office.
"So if youÂ´d just sign here and here," the lawyer indicates it on a set of papers, "then we are pretty much set."
He looks at the man wearing a trucker hat. He seems unsure of what he should do or say.
"Tell you what," the man gets up from his chair behind the massive oak desk, "IÂ´ll let you folks discuss this on your own now. IÂ´ll be back in a bit."
"Thank you," the red-haired bearded one replies as they watch the lawyer disappear through the door.
As it closes behind him, the curly haired guy puts a hand on the hat wearing one whoÂ´s sitting between him and their other friend. "Patrick, I think this is what Pete would have wanted. You guys were so close. This is the right thing to do."
"I think so too," the other man nods vehemently. "Even his parents want you to do this."
The one in the middle rubs his thighs with his palms and finally brings his hands to his face, rubbing them aross his eyes and cheeks a couple of times. "I donÂ´t think itÂ´s right to take that away from PeteÂ´s parents. It should go to them, not me."
"They donÂ´t want it."
"They want you to take care of the business."
"Maybe itÂ´s too much pain for them to do it on their own. ItÂ´s a constant reminder of the void heÂ´s left in their lives," the hat wearer sighs.
The man with the curls takes his hand away, "Is that why youÂ´re hesitating? Do you think it will be too painful for you as well?"
"Maybe," he replies.
In response the red-head pats his knee, "Joe and I will help you. YouÂ´re not alone in this. We lost somebody we loved too, you know."
The man whoÂ´s just been addressed has a look of shock on his face, "IÂ´m sorry... I must sound so selfish. I know you guys suffer too... ItÂ´s just hard to not drown in a sea of self-pity. IÂ´m sorry."
The curly-headed one gives him a warm smile, "ItÂ´s ok, Patrick. You donÂ´t have to apologize. WeÂ´re there for you."
"Yeah," the other one confirms strongly.
"Alright, then," he picks up the pen and signs the two blanks on the papers. "Patrick Stump, owner of Clandestine Industries and Decaydance Records... I really hope Pete wouldÂ´ve wanted that."
The lawyer returns. They shake hands and leave the office.
Pete would have wanted you to head his businesses. Bullshit. Pete wants to head his businesses. Pete wants his fucking life back!
"ItÂ´s not fair!" I yelled, fully aware of the ineffectiveness of such an action. But my anger needed a vent. That insincere bastard. That snitcher.
Patrick was completely lost when it came to running a business. He didnÂ´t even comprehend the most basic economic principles. "Why do we have to have these dolls, Pete? Why would we want to give up even more of our private lives for these OCK meetings, Pete? DonÂ´t you think our fans would still love us anyway?"
Clueless, that kid. It had been the best for the band that I handled the majority of the commerical aspects of Fall out Boy. If you want to get into the spotlight and stay there, you have to sacrifice a lot. Your private life being only one of many sacrifices. I didnÂ´t want to be one of those mayflies in AmericaÂ´s mainstream culture. I wanted to be part of something big. For the music mainly, yes, but what normal person would mind the fame and money that came with it?
IÂ´m not gonna lie. I need a certain living standard and once youÂ´ve reached that you ask yourself if there isnÂ´t more that you could do to improve your current situation. ItÂ´s only natural that humans strive for perfection, to become better, to take risks and push themselves to the limit. Some call that sell-out but most of them are only envious of your success. Fuck them all. None of that shit-talking could take anything away from me.
I looked back at the screen. 23:42:31.
Patrick. I could see he was missing me like hell. His pain was written all over his face. ItÂ´s one of those things that sometimes made it hard to promote our positive tongue-in-cheek attitude in the media. That guy constantly wore his heart on his sleeve. If his girlfriend broke up with him he walked around with a face as if the world had just ended. If he wasnÂ´t content with our latest song nothing could cheer him up.
His perpetual uptightness, his goddamn insecurities. "Man, if you donÂ´t believe in yourself, noone else is going to," I had attempted to open his eyes. All the time I had to remind him to smile for the camera, to repress his negative feelings, at least for the time while we were in the publicÂ´s eye. Honestly, after a few months of doing that, it doesnÂ´t even take a lot of effort anymore.
Then again, look where itÂ´s taken me. Being famous does wreak havoc on your mental health. IÂ´m probably damned to spend my afterlife in this cell and watch everybody get on with their lives. Even taking over my affairs.
If I could only have some sleeping pills to shut off my brain from thinking. IÂ´d do it again.