Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Peterick: The Pete and Patrick Chronicles
~ A FEW WEEKS LATER ~
Patrick stood up and stretched. He walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He laughed at what he saw: Gruff, prickly stubble covering his chin and lower cheeks, dim eyes, matted hair.
This was not the usual Patrick, who was cleanly shaven, hair nicely combed and with bright curious eyes.
Patrick laughed some more and left the bathroom. He hadn't even bothered to get dressed today. No. Not today nor yesterday nor the day or week before.
Of course what did it matter? Thats what he thought. He'd only be sitting at home, staring at the TV screen. Or really, just staring. The truth was Patrick didn't really watch the shows on TV, he sort of just saw the colors and the light changing, for he was lost in thought, but with no thought to think. All of his most precious memories had been stowed away at the VERY back of his mind, were he wouldn't hink about them. He didn't want to think about them, they would only make him cry, and his eyes were already red and puffy from the weeks upon weeks of crying, but he stopped and vowed not the cry again.
He plopped down on the couch and flipped the television on. He sighed. Nothing good on.
He left the TV on and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.He hadn't even slept in his bed for ages it seemed, he had just slept on the uneven couch, too depressed and lazy to go upstairs. But there he went. He entered his room, turned his small radio on that was on his nightstand and spied the bottle of sleeping pills. He grabbed the bottle and shook one pill out onto his hadnd. He gobbled it up and swallowed hard. While waiting for the sleeping pill to take effect, he walked around the other side of the bed.
His accoustic guitar sat there, leaning against the wall, collecting dust. He walked over to it and brushed the backsides of his fingers against the strings. Suddenly every memory that pained him so much to think about flooded back into his mind.
"Pete, oh Pete." he thought.
He picked up the guitar slowly and brought it over to the bed. He slid himseld onto the bed and began strumming a few ameless chords. He heard the radio still playing next to him, and flipped off the stupid love song that was playing.
He started playing the chorus to a song, it was to the song 'So Sick' by Ne-Yo. It was a few years old by now, but he used to love to play it. He hesitated then began singing, his voice still beautiful and after the first verse was when the tears came, slowly slipping down his cheek as he layed there strumming and singing. He sang the whole song, and by the end, he was crying so hard he couldn't take it anymore.
Like a mood swing, hot anger flashed across his face. He threw the guitar into the corner grabbed the sleeping pill bottle. He poured out six....seven...ten...soon the whole thing was in his han, and he was downing the pills three by three. Then he headed for the kitchen, still angry at some unknown source. Then he saw it. The knife rack.
Patrick stood up and stretched. He walked into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. He laughed at what he saw: Gruff, prickly stubble covering his chin and lower cheeks, dim eyes, matted hair.
This was not the usual Patrick, who was cleanly shaven, hair nicely combed and with bright curious eyes.
Patrick laughed some more and left the bathroom. He hadn't even bothered to get dressed today. No. Not today nor yesterday nor the day or week before.
Of course what did it matter? Thats what he thought. He'd only be sitting at home, staring at the TV screen. Or really, just staring. The truth was Patrick didn't really watch the shows on TV, he sort of just saw the colors and the light changing, for he was lost in thought, but with no thought to think. All of his most precious memories had been stowed away at the VERY back of his mind, were he wouldn't hink about them. He didn't want to think about them, they would only make him cry, and his eyes were already red and puffy from the weeks upon weeks of crying, but he stopped and vowed not the cry again.
He plopped down on the couch and flipped the television on. He sighed. Nothing good on.
He left the TV on and walked up the stairs to his bedroom.He hadn't even slept in his bed for ages it seemed, he had just slept on the uneven couch, too depressed and lazy to go upstairs. But there he went. He entered his room, turned his small radio on that was on his nightstand and spied the bottle of sleeping pills. He grabbed the bottle and shook one pill out onto his hadnd. He gobbled it up and swallowed hard. While waiting for the sleeping pill to take effect, he walked around the other side of the bed.
His accoustic guitar sat there, leaning against the wall, collecting dust. He walked over to it and brushed the backsides of his fingers against the strings. Suddenly every memory that pained him so much to think about flooded back into his mind.
"Pete, oh Pete." he thought.
He picked up the guitar slowly and brought it over to the bed. He slid himseld onto the bed and began strumming a few ameless chords. He heard the radio still playing next to him, and flipped off the stupid love song that was playing.
He started playing the chorus to a song, it was to the song 'So Sick' by Ne-Yo. It was a few years old by now, but he used to love to play it. He hesitated then began singing, his voice still beautiful and after the first verse was when the tears came, slowly slipping down his cheek as he layed there strumming and singing. He sang the whole song, and by the end, he was crying so hard he couldn't take it anymore.
Like a mood swing, hot anger flashed across his face. He threw the guitar into the corner grabbed the sleeping pill bottle. He poured out six....seven...ten...soon the whole thing was in his han, and he was downing the pills three by three. Then he headed for the kitchen, still angry at some unknown source. Then he saw it. The knife rack.
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