Pete groes frustrated with Misery as he tries to "whoo" one of his many ex-girlfriends, desperate for attention. (I HIGHLY suggest getting Leonard Cohen out for this one)
Chapter 3- Dark Alleys Are For Secrets Are For Lovers
Saturday, December 20th, 2008
Misery looked curiously over at Pete as he sat at his kitchen barstool, staring down his phone as if it was a past enemy. His mouth had been unusually shut these past few weeks, only speaking to plead for forgiveness to the lord every night before he went to sleep. Misery watched over him as she was supposed to, her heart growing heavy in the process.
She had never been spiritual when she was alive, and she had learned as quickly as she was dead, praying doesn't do you any good. But she couldn't bring herself to tell Pete that he couldn't change the outcome of his future with a simple connecting of his palms or a kneeling next to his mattress. Pete needed to learn the harsh reality of reality, and Misery was going out on her last limb to make him see that.
"What are you thinking, Pete?" she asked. He didn't hesitate to answer.
"Why do you keep asking me that?" he hissed. Misery raised an eyebrow and leaned over the granite counter top and glanced down at his phone.
"Tell me," she somewhat demanded. Pete shook his head.
"I don't have to listen to you, you aren't real," he demanded.
Misery rolled her eyes and looked away and down at the wood flooring where Hemingway was playing with a squeaky toy shaped as a moose. She lightly smiled and switched her gaze back to Pete's doubtful eyes observing his phone in a worried gaze. He was starting to underestimate the power of Misery and she didn't like it.
"Whatever you think," she whispered and walked passed him, purposely brushing her hand over his un-zipped hoodie to expose his bare shoulder to the air in the room.
Pete turned and watched her go, her body slowly disappearing into the small guest bedroom she had claimed. Pete skewed his mouth to one side, nervous as he lifted his hoodie sleeve up and curiously looked down to check and see if Misery had caused another one of his metaphors to come to life. Sighing, relived, Pete stared down at his phone again and finally picked it up and went through a mental list of people who he had known to give him comfort. But it was a certain kind of comfort; sex.
After crossing off the women who would defiantly never step near him again, he gulped and thought of the first one whose number he knew he still had in his phone. Pete had heard Misery's deep sigh from somewhere behind him, but he did not care any longer. He needed company for once, and being that it was Christmas soon, he needed it even more.
"Walker residence, Evie speaking," Pete cleared his throat and blinked hard.
"Walker?" he asked. The soft gulp was heard.
"P-Pete?" he smugly smiled and he felt something drop on his arm. He looked down to see a small water droplet, but shrugged it off.
"Yeah, I was just..." she cut him off.
"Why do you still have my number?" she asked in a sharp whisper. Pete chuckled lightly.
"What's with the whispering, baby?" Evie groaned.
"I am not your baby any more, Pete," Pete frowned for only a moment and paid no attention to another water drop to his forearm.
"Well, I was just... you know," she make a disgruntled sound.
"I am not a booty call, Peter," she hissed. Pete gulped.
"Then how about a companion on Christmas?" he asked. Evie sighed deeply.
"I can't," she simply replied. Pete creased his eyebrows together.
"Why?" he asked. "You don't have to stay for long, and I know that most of your family doesn't live in Chicago," Evie cut him off.
"Listen," she muttered. "A couple of hours, but then I'm flying back to Arizona for New Years," Pete nodded and sighed deeply.
"I really appreciate it, Ev...it's been really rough for me this year," Evie cut him off again.
"Save it for Thursday," Pete was about to reply when he heard the dial tone and turned around curiously to see Misery shaking her head. Pete raised an eyebrow as she closed the door again and jumped slightly as his phone vibrated again and he instantly brought it to his ear.
"Hello?" he croaked.
"Peter," he raised a quizzical eyebrow.
"Mom?" Pete felt his lungs contract and his heartbeat speed up. For once in his adult-hood, he missed his mother more than he did as a child; he was alone in the world right now.
"Are you joining us for Christmas this year?" Pete took a deep breath.
"I uh..." he stammered for a moment. "I don't know, ma," he admitted.
"I'm having an old friend over and..." his mom cut him off.
"Oh," there was a long pause and he already felt like a complete ass. "I was just... wondering because I need to make enough food and room for you at the dinner table," she paused. "All your friends are joining us, I don't see why you don't want to come," Pete shook his head to himself.
"We aren't' friends anymore, mom!" he yelled.
"Don't raise your voice at me, Peter Lewis," Pete gulped as his mother scolded him.
"Sorry," he breathed. "It's just, I'm not over the band breaking up and..." his mother cut him off.
"You either show up, or you don't," Pete took a deep breath and was about to speak without thinking but felt those water droplets again and looked up to see multiple ones pouring from the ceiling and widened his eyes.
"Uh, mom, I kind of..." he blinked hard at the dial tone and threw his phone to the ground before running towards Misery's room, his house suddenly turning into a rainstorm.
"What did you do?" he yelled, his hair drenched in front of him as he screamed at her. Misery stood there, dry as ever and standing in a simple red knee-length dress with an umbrella in her right hand. Pete sneered at her as her ruby-red lined lips parted.
"/Need umbrellas on the inside/,"
Thursday, December 25th, 2008
"Merry Christmas, Peter,"
Pete glared at Misery as she waltzed into his living room where he was attempting to tidy up his house for his guest that morning. His eyes were already filled with no sleep, his week filled with pure Misery. His mind was racking the ways to get rid of her. If she really was his guardian angel, did that mean she could read his mind, or could he plot a way to disconnect her from him? It wasn't like he could kill her, she was already dead.
"Yeah, what did you get me?" he asked. Pete turned around and saw that she had a simple piece of paper in her hand. "What is that?" he asked. Misery glanced down at it before lightly leaving it his fingertips. Pete held it in his hands and observed the address; it was his, addressed to himself.
"Got postcards from my former self saying..." Misery trailed off and Pete felt his heart race increase.
"How've you been," he whispered before ripping up and throwing it into the lit fireplace. "Yeah, Merry fucking Christmas," Misery shrugged and turned her head to his front door. "What?" he asked. She smiled and shook her head.
"Have fun," Pete raised an eyebrow, followed by his eyes widening as the doorbell rang. He slowly walked to the door and checked himself in the small mirror, brushing a few of his bangs to one side. Upon opening the door, he smiled cockily.
"Hey Ev," she raised her eyebrows and his eyes trialed down her body and then his expression faltered and he pushed himself off from leaning against the doorway and stood up straight.
"This is my three year old daughter, Pete," Pete watched as Evie lightly laughed at his expression.
"But...what?" he asked, looking back up at her. Evie rolled her eyes as he let them in. "What's your name?" he asked, crouching down to her level. Her little brown eyes widened and she scurried away from him. Evie frowned.
"Annabelle, be polite," the little girl shook her head and moved to stand next to the door.
"I want to stay away from him," Pete winced slightly and looked away as he felt something prod his mind.
"/And all of the mothers raise their babies to stay away from me/,"
Evie reached out to comfort him.
"Are you alright?" she asked. Pete nodded and gulped as he pointed to his bedroom.
"Annabelle can go in there and play with Hemingway if she wants," before Evie could talk to her daughter, he small body was rushing past Pete and down the hall. Pete sighed and turned back to his ex-girlfriend.
"So when did this happen?" he asked.
"Around the time you dumped me," she simply said, offering herself a seat on his sofa and keeping her eyes glued on his as he took a seat next to her.
"She isn't...uh," Evie rolled her eyes.
"I would have gotten an abortion if she was yours," Pete flattened his lips and lowered his eyes as he slowed the process of pouring the two of them champagne.
"I'm sorry," he gulped. "So is he still around or... are you single for the taking?" Evie took her glass and sipped it calmly.
"I'm engaged," Pete had been drinking as well and couldn't stop himself from spluttering out all of the liquids he had just sipped.
"/What/?" he yelped, grabbing a napkin and drying his leg of any moisture. Evie closed her eyes and shook her head.
"We've been dating for a while," Pete cut her off.
"Then where is your ring?" he asked. She responded quickly.
"He proposed yesterday and it was a little small, so we are going tomorrow to get it fixed," Pete raised an eyebrow.
"Why not today?" he asked. Evie pulled a face.
"It's Christmas, dumbass," she turned and placed her glass down before rummaging through her oversized purse and pulling out a thin package. Pete frowned.
"I didn't get you anything, Ev," she shrugged.
"You deserve at least one Christmas present," she paused. "Even if it's from an ex-girlfriend from years ago," Pete smiled softly and took the present into his lap and ripped the paper away to reveal a black composition notebook. His lips tugged into a smile.
"What are you trying to tell me?" Evie shrugged.
"Regardless of if the band has broken up, maybe you should write," Pete nodded and leaned over, wrapping her in a small hug.
"You've been the only one to actually be nice to me lately," Evie nodded and Pete stared back at the notebook.
Maybe this was the sign Misery was talking about.
Wednesday, December 31st, 2008
Another year had gone by and Pete had never thought he would still feel so alone. Regardless of the fact he was getting in contact with past flings, he was still dark and alone inside his heart. He was still the same old Pete that wrote those lyrics that he knew now, ruined the outcome of his life. Misery was driving him away from the chaos of fireworks and happy people and right now, he didn't care; all he wanted was silence.
"Where are we going?" he asked, turning his head towards her. She took her eyes off the road and reached over to grasp his hand.
"I couldn't bring this metaphor to you, Pete,"
Pete already felt his temperature rising but calmed as he saw the calmness in her eyes. He switched his gaze back to his feet and squeezed her hand back as she drove on, his mind racing trying to make a list of his lyrics, but finding there were just too many. He closed his eyes as the car slowed to a stop, but refused to look up at where they were. Misery began to fumble with his stereo and soon a familiar sound hit his ears and he shot his head up.
"NO!" he shouted, writhing in the seat as he tried to stop the song coming from his car.
Now I heard there was a secret chord, that David played and it pleased the Lord
Pete's eyes began to spill tears and he hyperventilated and looked outside to see an abandoned parking lot and turned to see Misery gone from the driver seat, and desperately tried to open the door, but found even with the locks open, he couldn't push open the door. He was trapped in the cruelest thing Misery had ever done to him. His body shook with more tears and he continued to slam his body against the door, hoping that a window would break and he would be saved by this.
You're faith was strong, but you needed proof...
Pete's paranoia, depression and all other mental instability began to haunt him and he suddenly was back in the dark and lonely prison of his mind. February 2005; when he had given up completely. And this was the song that had to be playing to bring him back to this place. This was worse than the first time they played "Hum Hallelujah" on stage.
The feelings ripped through Pete like a thousand volts of electricity and he let out a strong cry as he pushed himself against the door one last time, it finally opening and his body falling to the ash fault next to his car, and yet he felt no physical pain. He curled his body into a ball and sobbed into his form and knew that Misery was watching him break down. And even though her eyes were watering, she knew this had to be done. Her head tilted up to the sky and she closed her eyes as the song played on.
Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hallelujah...