Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > , carnival graveyards
“Hi, I’m Daisy, how may I take your order?” A strawberry blonde bombshell chirps at the front of the table. Her shirt was the standard uniform for iHop, oxford button-down kind with a collar and neatly pressed. She seems to be overly enthusiastic about her job, and Patrick admits to himself that on the surface it annoys him, but deep down it actually makes him feel better. At least someone is enjoying his or her life…
His blue eyes glance down briefly at the coffee stained menu as if to remind him of what he’s ordering again.
“Two cheeseburgers, a coke and a coffee, please.” He speaks for Pete, whose forehead is resting against his hands. The two hadn’t exactly been best buds their whole life, but as of now they were so close it felt like it. He knows what Pete does and doesn’t like, the band had eaten at countless iHops together.
“Alllll-right!” The waitress drags out the l in the word, finishes writing down their order on the pad, and smiles brightly at Patrick. The shorter male takes note that her teeth are blindingly white and he has the urge to slap her dentist for the bad job.
“Do you want cream?” She asks, before she’s about to turn.
“No, but thank you, though.” Patrick replies politely to the girl.
“My pleasure.” She leaves, and Patrick’s mood heads south quickly.
“Is she gone?” Pete mumbles from the table, hoodie over his dyed hair to provide his poor eyes some shelter. The light was giving him a headache.
“Do you hear her?” Patrick replies smartly, almost wishing he hadn’t.
Pete sits up, his eyes closed, and stretches. He slumps back down so that his arms are resting on the fairly new looking wood table, but doesn’t return to his previous position. “No.”
There’s a period of brief silence. Neither of the boys knows what to say to each other after what happened. It has been a rough week, not just for Pete and Patrick, but everyone in their immediate social circle. Dealing with a suicidal bi-polar mess is not how Patrick pictured his life- he always though that he would be an indie rocker on stage, playing drums for his band… Not singing. Alas, that’s another story.
“P-Pete, I don’t know how to say this but… I’m going to be frank: you need help. You refuse to help yourself, and every time you do something bad happens!” Patrick raises his voice some, but not enough for anyone to notice. The restaurant is almost empty, anyways.
Pete looks up at the boy in the hat, his jaw twitching and flames in eyes. “You know what, Patrick, I thought you were my friend. I thought you could understand what I’m going through, but obviously you don’t. You’re just like everybody else- fucking pushing on me ‘Why’d you do it, Pete?! Are you an idiot?!’ ”
Patrick’s eyes show minimal fear, but he tries to think about what he’s here for. He remembers Pete’s doctor telling him that people with personality disorders cannot differentiate between someone being genuinely concerned for them from someone actually being mean to them. “Pete, I love you! You’re my best friend, and I’m gonna stay by your side and help you! That’s what you want, yeah?” He lowers his voice, looking Pete in the eye through his glasses.
Pete blinks back at him, his rough exterior softening some. “I-I… I don’t…”
“No one wants to hurt you. If we hated you, we wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about you, and could you please name someone malicious enough to hurt you?”
Pete does not respond to Patrick, instead he blinks, and lowers his eyes to the table.
“Tomorrow, your mom and I are going to call Dr. Sinclair and set up an appointment. You’re going to go to him, we’re doing this because we love you.”
Author’s note: I lied; I suddenly got a burst of creativity for this, and made it into a story. I plan to continue it now that I have somewhere to go with it so don’t worry :3. By the way, if you haven’t already, go check out Chicago, the fang-like thorn in my side by Xnataliex. Here is it’s link: http://ficwad.com/story/123542 . It’s pretty cool ‘cause it stars some fellow Ficwadians, (including myself) and we’re a cool bunch :].
His blue eyes glance down briefly at the coffee stained menu as if to remind him of what he’s ordering again.
“Two cheeseburgers, a coke and a coffee, please.” He speaks for Pete, whose forehead is resting against his hands. The two hadn’t exactly been best buds their whole life, but as of now they were so close it felt like it. He knows what Pete does and doesn’t like, the band had eaten at countless iHops together.
“Alllll-right!” The waitress drags out the l in the word, finishes writing down their order on the pad, and smiles brightly at Patrick. The shorter male takes note that her teeth are blindingly white and he has the urge to slap her dentist for the bad job.
“Do you want cream?” She asks, before she’s about to turn.
“No, but thank you, though.” Patrick replies politely to the girl.
“My pleasure.” She leaves, and Patrick’s mood heads south quickly.
“Is she gone?” Pete mumbles from the table, hoodie over his dyed hair to provide his poor eyes some shelter. The light was giving him a headache.
“Do you hear her?” Patrick replies smartly, almost wishing he hadn’t.
Pete sits up, his eyes closed, and stretches. He slumps back down so that his arms are resting on the fairly new looking wood table, but doesn’t return to his previous position. “No.”
There’s a period of brief silence. Neither of the boys knows what to say to each other after what happened. It has been a rough week, not just for Pete and Patrick, but everyone in their immediate social circle. Dealing with a suicidal bi-polar mess is not how Patrick pictured his life- he always though that he would be an indie rocker on stage, playing drums for his band… Not singing. Alas, that’s another story.
“P-Pete, I don’t know how to say this but… I’m going to be frank: you need help. You refuse to help yourself, and every time you do something bad happens!” Patrick raises his voice some, but not enough for anyone to notice. The restaurant is almost empty, anyways.
Pete looks up at the boy in the hat, his jaw twitching and flames in eyes. “You know what, Patrick, I thought you were my friend. I thought you could understand what I’m going through, but obviously you don’t. You’re just like everybody else- fucking pushing on me ‘Why’d you do it, Pete?! Are you an idiot?!’ ”
Patrick’s eyes show minimal fear, but he tries to think about what he’s here for. He remembers Pete’s doctor telling him that people with personality disorders cannot differentiate between someone being genuinely concerned for them from someone actually being mean to them. “Pete, I love you! You’re my best friend, and I’m gonna stay by your side and help you! That’s what you want, yeah?” He lowers his voice, looking Pete in the eye through his glasses.
Pete blinks back at him, his rough exterior softening some. “I-I… I don’t…”
“No one wants to hurt you. If we hated you, we wouldn’t give a rat’s ass about you, and could you please name someone malicious enough to hurt you?”
Pete does not respond to Patrick, instead he blinks, and lowers his eyes to the table.
“Tomorrow, your mom and I are going to call Dr. Sinclair and set up an appointment. You’re going to go to him, we’re doing this because we love you.”
Author’s note: I lied; I suddenly got a burst of creativity for this, and made it into a story. I plan to continue it now that I have somewhere to go with it so don’t worry :3. By the way, if you haven’t already, go check out Chicago, the fang-like thorn in my side by Xnataliex. Here is it’s link: http://ficwad.com/story/123542 . It’s pretty cool ‘cause it stars some fellow Ficwadians, (including myself) and we’re a cool bunch :].
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