Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Press Play

pictures of you

by killxsmile 2 reviews

history lesson.

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Drama,Romance - Published: 2009-01-17 - Updated: 2009-01-17 - 1256 words

Author's Note: Sorry for lack of updates on this, but I was crushed by a speeding writer's block, and for the past few weeks, I've been in the hospital recuperating. Thanks go out to xFallxOutxBoyxFanx, x_slowdown, and Tissamy for their feedback. It led to a speedy recovery.

THREE: pictures of you


I’ve been looking so long at these pictures of you that I almost believe that they’re real…

Groaning, I opened my eyes and wondered whether or not I really wanted to get out of bed. For a few minutes I laid there weighing the pros and cons while my neighbor’s stereo seeped though the seemingly paper-thin walls.

If I get up:
+ Lacey will be off my back
+ Boss can’t yell at me for being late to work
- I’d rather stay sleeping
- I’ll have to defrost my car, then deal with traffic

I was too lazy to come up with a tiebreaker, so I just stared at the window with hopes of putting off decision making for a little longer.

I’ve been living so long with my pictures of you that I almost believe that the pictures are all I can feel…

Lifting my head, I spotted Bella strolling along the windowsill. After scaring away the pigeons on the opposite side of the glass, she gracefully jumped down and padded around my floor, disappearing from sight.

A bright 1:47 glowed in the corner of my eye, but quiet meowing brought my attention to the side of the bed. Looking down, I saw that the grey kitten was pawing at a pair of my panties.

“Hey, those aren’t for playing with,” I said, quickly retrieving my underwear. She nuzzled against the back of my hand before scampering off toward another adventure.

Reluctantly wrapping the sheets around my body, I swung my legs over the side of the bed then made my way to the dresser. Reaching to open the top drawer, I found myself tracing a Polaroid taped to its side. It was perfect timing as The Cure continued to play in the background.

The picture was taken at Navy Pier last June. Fresh from a ride on the Ferris Wheel, Cameron was feeding me some of his cotton candy.

With a half-hearted smile, I slid the drawer open and proceeded to pick an outfit. After getting dressed, I reluctantly trudged toward the bathroom.

The reflection I saw was anything but pretty.

“No wonder he leaves before I wake up…” I said, absentmindedly running my fingers along the edge of the mirror.

Mascara was smeared, lining my already tired eyes with even darker rings.
Pathetic as it seemed, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

After gathering my hair in a messy ponytail, I splashed water onto my face. Staring into the sink, I watched as the water slowly trickled down into the drain.

Looking up at my reflection, I grabbed a towel and wiped the cosmetics from my face. A sudden crashing sound caught my attention. Metal against tile. After tossing the towel back on the rack, I made my way to the kitchen and saw Bella scampering away from the scene.

“What did you do this time?” I asked as the tiny ball of fur circled my feet. A sigh left my lips as I surveyed the damage: silverware that had been on the counter now littered the floor.

“You love knocking stuff over, don’t you?”
The kitten just cocked her head and looked up at me with innocent eyes.

I picked up the forks, spoons and butter knives while Bella played hockey with a fallen dishtowel. The utensils went in the sink and I ran the water. Splash. Clink. Splash. Clink.

After rinsing the last of the forks, I opened the refrigerator in search of something edible.

Half-eaten chicken parmesan. Chinese takeout. Weird tofu thing. Another weird tofu thing.

I grabbed the box of fried rice and emptied its contents onto a plate. The plate went into the microwave. The microwave was set for 1:30.

While my lunch was simultaneously rotating and heating up, I pulled some CatChow from the cabinet and filled the metal bowl at my feet. Within seconds Bella came running.

Soon enough, a shrill beeping sound indicated that my meal was ready. But before I had the chance to open the microwave door, the phone started ringing.

“Hey, Juliet.”
“Oh, hey,” I said, instantly recognizing his voice.
“Just wondering if I left my watch at your apartment.”
“Umm, lemme check,” I said, walking back to my room.

Nothing was on the floor or underneath the bed.

“No, it’s not here. Sorry.”

He sighed.

“Thanks anyways, babe.”
“No problem.”

Placing the phone back on the receiver, I couldn’t believe this is what our relationship came down to: meaningless phone calls and meaningless sex.

It all started two years ago. Cameron was one of those sensitive, sarcastic boys. I was one of those cynical sweethearts. We read the same books, made fun of the same D-list stars, and ordered the same things at restaurants.

Dates at Baskin Robins. Late nights at Subterranean. Making out on roller coasters. We had it all. In Lacey’s words, we were “perfectly imperfect for each other.” I mean, we met at the Disney Store. We were practically destined to be the cliché cute couple.

Then something changed. I’m not sure exactly when or why it happened, but somewhere between then and now, we drifted apart.

He drinks. I smoke.
We fight. We fuck.

It’s been like this for a while. But we’re both too stubborn to admit that we’ve changed. Too proud to let go of what used to be and what could have been. Too dependent on each other to let go. Too broken to fix things.

The term ‘love/hate relationship’ didn’t describe what we had. It was more like ‘in love/out of love,’ and he made up the latter half of it.

Every so often, he’ll stop by the apartment with a bag from Starbucks. We’ll talk about music and watch cheesy action movies on my couch. He’ll whisper a witty comment in my ear while holding me in his arms, and it would be like we were a functioning couple again.

Then he’ll reach for a beer and I’ll tell him to tone down the drinking. And the madness would begin. We’d both end up screaming at each other. He’d storm out. I’d slam the door. Then the next day I’d get apologies on my phone. With a simple “I’m sorry,” and a promise of a tall vanilla latte, we’d be good as new.

He’d come over, and we’d stumble into my bedroom. Conversation consisted of random expletives, leaving the mattress springs to do most of the talking. He’d leave in the morning, before I woke up. And we’d go on pretending that this is what all couples do.

No longer in the mood for eating, I opened the microwave door and scooped the rice back into the small white carton. Then back to the refrigerator it went.

The clock read 2:10. Remembering that my shift at the restaurant was going to start in an hour, I grabbed my purse and headed toward the door.

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