Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Together
Five – Don't Leave Me
Mikey’s POV
Is it strange that I like listening to people breathing and feeling their heart beat tap out a Morse code message telling me that they’re alive?
Of course it’s fucking strange; I’m a strange person. A freak, a weirdo, a let-down. But that doesn’t stop me from liking it any less, especially when the person I’m listening to is my big brother, because if I can hear him breathing and feel his heart pounding away against his ribs then I know that he’s still here. That he hasn’t broken his promise and abandoned me like Dad did.
It was my fault that Dad left, he said so. He told me that it was bad enough having to put up with me as a weak little loser, but that having to live in the same house as a faggot? He refused to do it. So he threw me against a wall, banged my head against it by my hair and then Gerard punched him. At least I think he did, my vision was all blurry by that point, but I’m definitely sure I heard Gee screaming at our dad that he should be proud of me and to just leave me alone for once. So he did. Not for once; forever. He left us with nothing other than a falling-down home and a mom whose health was deteriorating by the minute. All because I’m a fucked up little fuck-up who can never get anything right.
Hence the fact that I’m in some kind stranger’s oversized bed, drowning in a sea of expensive-looking blankets and reeling from my meetings with the two new people in my life. I don’t want to think of them like that though; Gee’s the only person who’s ever not left me, an idea that terrifies me because my pathetic little heart skips a beat every time he leaves my sight, and I like Pete and Patrick too much to want to allow them in. If I do then it’ll only be fifty times more agonizing when they leave me.
Especially Pete.
Pete. Pete Wentz. The bass-playing, Green Day loving, bright eyed and friendly-smirked guy who seems to genuinely like me just because I’m me. But that straight away puts questions in my head; why on Earth would someone like him, someone who probably has more friends than the entirety of Facebook and MySpace put together, like me? Why would he flirt with me, with ugly little Mikey Way?
He was probably just taking the piss. I know I would be.
No. I don’t think he was. He seemed too sincere with me, too much like he cared, for me to actually doubt it properly. And he held my hand, squeezed it even. It didn’t matter that my palm was all clammy and sweaty, he still let me hang onto him like a leech and he hung right on back. He’s the first person, other than Gee, in a long time to actually touch me without the touch being violent or hurtful; it was just soft, like the wool of Patrick’s blankets, and full of more longing than I’ve ever seen in any other kid before. It was like he actually wanted to touch me and he wasn’t just doing it out of pity or because he felt like he had to.
But why?
He said I have pretty eyes too. Said it like he meant it and with a smile on his face that made my heart melt, the radiating heat from my melting heart floating up to burn my cheeks a bright red. When he said it he was looking into squinty little pupils, like a thief gazing at the world’s largest diamond, and when he was nice to me he seemed like he honestly wasn’t going to hurt me or turn it into some big joke later on. It’s easy to lie, though. Too easy.
Trust me; I should know.
Although I was tired last night when I snuggled into Gee’s arm to catch some sleep in a comfy bed, that wasn’t why I said no to the food. The real reason? The gnawing in my stomach, the dull ache of hunger corroding away at my insides and reminding me that I’m alive. That I must be worth something because Life’s taken the time to put me through the pain of being starving. Not to mention the fact that the last thing I need is to get fat; it’d just be one more thing for them to tease me about.
I guess you could say that I’m an anorexic. I don’t think I am though, not really. So what if I skip meals? Loads of kids do, just look at the school cheerleading team; when was the last time any of those girls went to McDonald’s? And nobody teases them, just smiles at them or flirts with them or is nice to them.
Just like Pete was with me.
I think I really like Pete, he’s nice to me and makes me feel less alone. Like being in a room with nobody but Pete in is the same as being in a room full of friends because Pete can make anyone feel loved. I think it’s something to do with the way he smiles and how it eats up the whole of his face when he does. Or maybe it’s his eyes, those bottomless wells of honest curiosity, that make the Mona Lisa look like a toddler’s hideous scribble. Or maybe it’s in his voice, deep and warm in a world that’s frozen me into a monster.
No, it’s none of that and nor is it the way his toned body looks like a castle waiting to protect you; it’s just him. Just Pete Wentz as a whole. That’s the best way I can think of to describe it anyway.
It kind of scares me actually, how I’ve let myself relax with the idea of Pete so quickly. I know that people, friends in particular, are dangerous and most end up hurting you in the end but I just can’t stop myself from trusting Pete. He seems so genuine, so sweet; so able to make me smile when I thought Gee had left me like he should have whilst he still had the chance.
As childish as it may sound, that’s the reason why I insisted on using Gee as a human teddy last night. If he’s holding me and I’m snuggling into him, then he can’t leave me without me waking up. I know it’s selfish, forcing him to stay here with me, but I just can’t bear the thought of how much worse my life would be without my big brother in it.
Without Gerard to love me and care about me, even if it is just his blind sense of obligation that makes him, then I would die. I would die all alone, with tears hot on my cheeks.
“Mikey?” A gentle whisper seeps into my mind, thankfully taking me out of my line of thought before it can progress any further. “Mikes, you awake, Kiddo?” I just nod and keep my eyes shut, trying to not restart the pounding in my head that was playing havoc in it last night. “I need to go use the bathroom, can you let me up?”
I want to tell him that no, he can’t go; that he can’t leave me all alone because, for all I know, it might just be a trick to give him time to get away from me. Deep down I know that he won’t go, yet even deeper than that I have doubt chipping away at my insides, telling me that I’m a stupid little fuck-up and that Gee’s just waiting for the right time to make his escape. Sure, he just wants to go to the bathroom but what if he suddenly realises that he doesn’t want me anymore and never comes back?
Just, what if?
Instead of doing what I want, clinging onto him like a limpet and refusing to let go, I just nod again before slowly rolling off. In return his hand reaches down to ruffle my hair, tickling through it like the morning sun is tickling through the window and illuminating the room as I open my eyes.
“I’m just gonna take a shower and then I’ll be right back.” He sounds solemn, as though I’ve already managed to bring him down today without even opening up my stupid little mouth. “Promise.”
He only adds that last bit on as he’s walking out the door because he knows that I’ll ask him, beg him like a dog, to say it if he hadn’t. As he stumbles down the hall, hair tangled by the soothing hands of sleep, I notice that he’s left the door ajar to reveal the upstairs landing and hallway of my new home. Home. That’s a point actually; how long are we going to be bunking here for? I know that ‘Trick is one of Gerard’s best friends, but surely he won’t put us up forever. Definitely not when he finds out what a drain I am, a little leech that sucks the fun and happiness out of everything.
Everyone.
And that’s just one of the million reasons that my mind’s throwing at me as to why Gee could be ditching me right now. Not just why, but justified statements of why he should. Of why Dad did. Of why Mom probably would have if she hadn’t died before she got the chance to. Apart from Mom wasn’t like that; she made everything better with a smile and bedtime story simply because she’s my mom. And now she’s dead, left me too but in a different way to how everyone else has. Has and will. Like Gerard should do if he’s got an ounce of sense left in him to tell him how to make the best of his life.
The only thing I want is for Gerard to be happy, of course it is, but I can’t help wanting him to not leave me. He’s my big brother and best/only friend in the whole scary world, without him I have nothing. No family, no friends, no hope of ever not being as pathetic as I am right now.
To try to distract myself from the ugly thoughts that are always lurking in the back of my mind, I prop myself up against the headboard to test out my body after one of the most ache-filled nights I’ve ever experienced; headache, stomach-ache, heartache, hunger-ache, muscle-ache. I guess it’s what I deserve though for making Gerard stay with me through all of the aches I must have cause him over the years. It was just karma making sure that I learn my lesson.
Apart from I haven’t, because I still don’t want Gee to leave me. Not ever.
Much to my surprise, I’m only hit by a slight wave of nausea instead of a full on blast of agony telling me to slip back into sleep like I was last night. Now it just feels like a plain old stomach bug as opposed to my insides starting a mosh-pit against my muscles. But even the pleasant relief of waking up in relatively no pain in a proper, comfy bed as opposed to my old broken one back home, can’t wipe away the feeling of dread that drowns me whenever Gee isn’t here to stop my heart from exploding in a mass of pitiful anxieties and stupid ideas.
So I just scrunch my eyes shut tight, blocking out everything in the room from the sky-blue ceiling towering above me to the impressively-adorned hat stand in the far left corner, just trying my hardest to forget everything until Gerard comes back.
If he comes back.
It’s never been this bad before, the feeling of being abandoned even if I haven’t, and I’ve never had to cuddle my knees to my chest like I am now over it just to muffle the pathetic little whimpers that are cascading like burning ants from my lips. Never before have I felt so alone and I just don’t understand why. Why I have to be this way; all fucked-up and frightened and alone. Why I have to be the unfortunate bastard cursed with being Mikey Way.
But then a sound breaks through my make-shift failure of a barrier that makes me uncurl myself and silence my whimpers so that I can strain to hear it just a little bit better. It’s a heavy, deep strumming that’s too low to be coming from an electric guitar and too alive to be coming from a speaker. It sounds like an almost flawless rendition of the bass line Mike Dirnt plays on Boulevard of Broken Dreams, one of my favourite Green Day songs of all time because it just feels so relatable. Like it was written about me, about every lonely kid with their dreams in tatters because life has taught that they’re never going to come true. I was trying to learn it just before we had to sell my bass in a last-ditch attempt to find some money from somewhere, but I never got to finish. This melodic strummer though, he’s almost got it sounding better than it does on my beloved CD, one of the few things that made it over here along with Gerard’s comic collection and an old family photo.
Far too quickly for my liking the final note resounds throughout the silent house, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in awe at the sound of an angel sighing through an amp, before the strumming picks up again. This time it’s unmistakably Basket Case, something that I used to be able to play quite literally with my eyes shut, and this time it sends a shockwave of yearning through my body. Yearning for the life I used to have before Dad turned nasty, before Mom got sick, before I was nothing but a worthless freak with no bass to play. Playing my bass used to make me feel important, like I was actually good at something, and that I was worth it just because I had one thing that I might actually be halfway decent at. But no, that got taken away from me and now I’m just a talentless freak with nothing waiting for me in later life other than stacking shelves at the local Wal-Mart and an untimely death.
Once more, I clamp my eyes shut to block out the memories when it dawns on me; it’s Pete. He’s playing the, in my opinion, best song on my favourite album of all time on an instrument I love and it makes me want nothing more than to dance around the bedroom along to it. Because a tiny little part of me wants to think that he’s playing it for me, no matter how ridiculous that thought might be.
As if Pete, gorgeous and friendly Pete, would ever waste time on a loser like me.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
I ping my eyes up to the open doorway, a flash-flood of panic dousing my veins at the sudden voice, to see Patrick stood there, already dressed and with a baseball cap on his head despite the fact that I’ve only just woken up. The sharp flash-flood quickly washes away into a steady current of calm upon seeing the warm smile on his face, telling me all that I need to know about his intentions. I like ‘Trick, not as much as I like Pete though, and for some reason I feel like I can trust him. Like he understands me in a way that nobody else ever really has; he doesn’t look at me with sympathy in his like Pete and Gerard do, he looks at me with empathy burning bright in his pupils. Because I think he understands.
Quickly telling myself how horrible it feels to be stared at like I’m currently staring at ‘Trick, I look down to my lap and nod exaggeratedly in response; no words can define just how I feel about Pete’s playing right now.
Patrick just chuckles, walking into the room at an even pace so as not to frighten me, something that makes me like him even more, and whistles the melody to the last six bars of the song, waiting for it to finish before he talks again.
“He’s playing it for you, y’know?” I simply gawp, feeling my heart race at the mere idea of Pete doing something so breathtakingly thoughtful just for a loser like me. “He told me so himself. Said that he thought you’d like it.”
I let that piece of information soak into my skin like saffron, everything about the statement making me think that Patrick and Pete are just playing a trick on me, but the person delivering it tells me that it’s true. Something that makes me beam like an idiot because, quite honestly, this is the nicest thing by far that anyone has ever done for me outside of Gee. For Pete to listen to what I say is one thing, but then to act on it is another. And I don’t think I could be any more pleased with myself for it.
“Pete’s taken a shine to you, Kid.” He pauses as another song, this time the iconic plucking that sounds out the start of Where Eagle’s Dare by the Misfits, starts to fill in the silence. A small frown creases his face as he stops to think, letting me revel in the unbelievable feelings that his words prick into my soul. “You want some breakfast, Mikes? We’ve got pretty much everything other than pop-tarts, Pete eats them by the stack.”
Perhaps that’s why he’s so sweet.
No. Michael James Way, you will not start thinking like that. Don’t you dare. Just because he’s playing a few songs for you on his bass, it doesn’t mean that he likes you. It probably just means he had some time to kill and decided to do so by taking pity on the poor kid with week-old bruises speckling his skin. And Patrick’s just being nice to me about it.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t pretend.
“So, you hungry?” ‘Trick asks, eyes pleading with me to just agree because I think he can see it in me that I haven’t eaten properly in a good while. I don’t know how he can see it, it’s not like I’m all that skinny or anything, but he can. And it’s making a horrid sense of uneasiness hang over my soul, a feeling that makes me incapable of words. So I just shake my head. “Okay, Mikes. But know that you can ask me or just help yourself whenever you want to; the kitchen’s down the stairs, along the corridor and the second door to the left.”
I smile up at him gratefully, trying my best to stop my instincts from forcing me to run straight for the nearest source of food at the word “kitchen”. Whilst I may not want to eat for my own reasons, my body seems to strongly disagree with me, as announced to ‘Trick by it’s embarrassingly loud grumble of protest.
“Mikey, you really should ha-“
“I’m fine, Patrick, really.” I cut across, unable to stand hearing more offers of food. “Thanks, though. For everything.”
“You’re very welcome, Mikey. This is your home as much as it is mine now.” A pleasantly warm feeling wells in my chest at that, something akin to belonging and something that I haven’t felt in a very long time. “Oh, that reminds me. Your bedroom is two doors to the left of mine; this house is huge, but Gee said you’d want to share with him?” I just nod, still dazed by all the kindness that has been thrown towards me this morning. “Good. Pete and I moved your stuff in last night whilst you were sleeping.”
“I like Pete.”
Before I can consider my small trickle of word vomit, let alone try to conceal the blush it spreads across my face, I’m caught by the sound of Patrick’s soft laughter and even softer smirk. In front of anyone else I’d most likely be crying in shame at saying something so incriminatingly off-topic, but in front of ‘Trick it feels just a little bit alright.
Because Patrick’s my friend. Or the closest that I’ll ever get to having a real friend, anyway.
“I thought as much. You two really hit it off last night, didn’t you?” He taps his chin in thought for a few seconds, making me notice that Pete’s latest melody is nearing it’s end. “You’d make a cute couple.”
“Who’d make a cute couple?” Gee chimes in, strolling nonchalantly into the room with fresh clothes dressing his damp body.
I just blush in response, earning a knowing chuckle from ‘Trick who winks at me, letting me know that he won’t breathe a word to anybody.
“Nobody, Gee. Just some kids on that Jersey Shore crap.” Gerard grimaces at the thought of the programme he hates the most in the world, perhaps even more than I hate having to watch the news because it shows me how ugly the world really is, and ‘Trick throws me one last wink before turning to my brother. “So, you wanna go job-hunting? Saturday’s the best day to do it. I’m sure Pete won’t mind looking after Mikes whilst we’re out.”
And neither would I.
For once in my life the thought of Gee going out doesn’t scare me all that much. Because the thought of chilling with Pete Wentz overpowers that more than enough to make the worry just a brief background noise that can be solved by ringing Gee’s cell every half hour. Just like the clingy little bitch that I am.
That I have to be; Gee might leave me if I’m not.
A/N: Thanks for reading and sorry about this chapter, it just doesn’t feel all that good to me. Anyway, I hope that you liked it and please tell me what you think/how to improve! :)
Mikey’s POV
Is it strange that I like listening to people breathing and feeling their heart beat tap out a Morse code message telling me that they’re alive?
Of course it’s fucking strange; I’m a strange person. A freak, a weirdo, a let-down. But that doesn’t stop me from liking it any less, especially when the person I’m listening to is my big brother, because if I can hear him breathing and feel his heart pounding away against his ribs then I know that he’s still here. That he hasn’t broken his promise and abandoned me like Dad did.
It was my fault that Dad left, he said so. He told me that it was bad enough having to put up with me as a weak little loser, but that having to live in the same house as a faggot? He refused to do it. So he threw me against a wall, banged my head against it by my hair and then Gerard punched him. At least I think he did, my vision was all blurry by that point, but I’m definitely sure I heard Gee screaming at our dad that he should be proud of me and to just leave me alone for once. So he did. Not for once; forever. He left us with nothing other than a falling-down home and a mom whose health was deteriorating by the minute. All because I’m a fucked up little fuck-up who can never get anything right.
Hence the fact that I’m in some kind stranger’s oversized bed, drowning in a sea of expensive-looking blankets and reeling from my meetings with the two new people in my life. I don’t want to think of them like that though; Gee’s the only person who’s ever not left me, an idea that terrifies me because my pathetic little heart skips a beat every time he leaves my sight, and I like Pete and Patrick too much to want to allow them in. If I do then it’ll only be fifty times more agonizing when they leave me.
Especially Pete.
Pete. Pete Wentz. The bass-playing, Green Day loving, bright eyed and friendly-smirked guy who seems to genuinely like me just because I’m me. But that straight away puts questions in my head; why on Earth would someone like him, someone who probably has more friends than the entirety of Facebook and MySpace put together, like me? Why would he flirt with me, with ugly little Mikey Way?
He was probably just taking the piss. I know I would be.
No. I don’t think he was. He seemed too sincere with me, too much like he cared, for me to actually doubt it properly. And he held my hand, squeezed it even. It didn’t matter that my palm was all clammy and sweaty, he still let me hang onto him like a leech and he hung right on back. He’s the first person, other than Gee, in a long time to actually touch me without the touch being violent or hurtful; it was just soft, like the wool of Patrick’s blankets, and full of more longing than I’ve ever seen in any other kid before. It was like he actually wanted to touch me and he wasn’t just doing it out of pity or because he felt like he had to.
But why?
He said I have pretty eyes too. Said it like he meant it and with a smile on his face that made my heart melt, the radiating heat from my melting heart floating up to burn my cheeks a bright red. When he said it he was looking into squinty little pupils, like a thief gazing at the world’s largest diamond, and when he was nice to me he seemed like he honestly wasn’t going to hurt me or turn it into some big joke later on. It’s easy to lie, though. Too easy.
Trust me; I should know.
Although I was tired last night when I snuggled into Gee’s arm to catch some sleep in a comfy bed, that wasn’t why I said no to the food. The real reason? The gnawing in my stomach, the dull ache of hunger corroding away at my insides and reminding me that I’m alive. That I must be worth something because Life’s taken the time to put me through the pain of being starving. Not to mention the fact that the last thing I need is to get fat; it’d just be one more thing for them to tease me about.
I guess you could say that I’m an anorexic. I don’t think I am though, not really. So what if I skip meals? Loads of kids do, just look at the school cheerleading team; when was the last time any of those girls went to McDonald’s? And nobody teases them, just smiles at them or flirts with them or is nice to them.
Just like Pete was with me.
I think I really like Pete, he’s nice to me and makes me feel less alone. Like being in a room with nobody but Pete in is the same as being in a room full of friends because Pete can make anyone feel loved. I think it’s something to do with the way he smiles and how it eats up the whole of his face when he does. Or maybe it’s his eyes, those bottomless wells of honest curiosity, that make the Mona Lisa look like a toddler’s hideous scribble. Or maybe it’s in his voice, deep and warm in a world that’s frozen me into a monster.
No, it’s none of that and nor is it the way his toned body looks like a castle waiting to protect you; it’s just him. Just Pete Wentz as a whole. That’s the best way I can think of to describe it anyway.
It kind of scares me actually, how I’ve let myself relax with the idea of Pete so quickly. I know that people, friends in particular, are dangerous and most end up hurting you in the end but I just can’t stop myself from trusting Pete. He seems so genuine, so sweet; so able to make me smile when I thought Gee had left me like he should have whilst he still had the chance.
As childish as it may sound, that’s the reason why I insisted on using Gee as a human teddy last night. If he’s holding me and I’m snuggling into him, then he can’t leave me without me waking up. I know it’s selfish, forcing him to stay here with me, but I just can’t bear the thought of how much worse my life would be without my big brother in it.
Without Gerard to love me and care about me, even if it is just his blind sense of obligation that makes him, then I would die. I would die all alone, with tears hot on my cheeks.
“Mikey?” A gentle whisper seeps into my mind, thankfully taking me out of my line of thought before it can progress any further. “Mikes, you awake, Kiddo?” I just nod and keep my eyes shut, trying to not restart the pounding in my head that was playing havoc in it last night. “I need to go use the bathroom, can you let me up?”
I want to tell him that no, he can’t go; that he can’t leave me all alone because, for all I know, it might just be a trick to give him time to get away from me. Deep down I know that he won’t go, yet even deeper than that I have doubt chipping away at my insides, telling me that I’m a stupid little fuck-up and that Gee’s just waiting for the right time to make his escape. Sure, he just wants to go to the bathroom but what if he suddenly realises that he doesn’t want me anymore and never comes back?
Just, what if?
Instead of doing what I want, clinging onto him like a limpet and refusing to let go, I just nod again before slowly rolling off. In return his hand reaches down to ruffle my hair, tickling through it like the morning sun is tickling through the window and illuminating the room as I open my eyes.
“I’m just gonna take a shower and then I’ll be right back.” He sounds solemn, as though I’ve already managed to bring him down today without even opening up my stupid little mouth. “Promise.”
He only adds that last bit on as he’s walking out the door because he knows that I’ll ask him, beg him like a dog, to say it if he hadn’t. As he stumbles down the hall, hair tangled by the soothing hands of sleep, I notice that he’s left the door ajar to reveal the upstairs landing and hallway of my new home. Home. That’s a point actually; how long are we going to be bunking here for? I know that ‘Trick is one of Gerard’s best friends, but surely he won’t put us up forever. Definitely not when he finds out what a drain I am, a little leech that sucks the fun and happiness out of everything.
Everyone.
And that’s just one of the million reasons that my mind’s throwing at me as to why Gee could be ditching me right now. Not just why, but justified statements of why he should. Of why Dad did. Of why Mom probably would have if she hadn’t died before she got the chance to. Apart from Mom wasn’t like that; she made everything better with a smile and bedtime story simply because she’s my mom. And now she’s dead, left me too but in a different way to how everyone else has. Has and will. Like Gerard should do if he’s got an ounce of sense left in him to tell him how to make the best of his life.
The only thing I want is for Gerard to be happy, of course it is, but I can’t help wanting him to not leave me. He’s my big brother and best/only friend in the whole scary world, without him I have nothing. No family, no friends, no hope of ever not being as pathetic as I am right now.
To try to distract myself from the ugly thoughts that are always lurking in the back of my mind, I prop myself up against the headboard to test out my body after one of the most ache-filled nights I’ve ever experienced; headache, stomach-ache, heartache, hunger-ache, muscle-ache. I guess it’s what I deserve though for making Gerard stay with me through all of the aches I must have cause him over the years. It was just karma making sure that I learn my lesson.
Apart from I haven’t, because I still don’t want Gee to leave me. Not ever.
Much to my surprise, I’m only hit by a slight wave of nausea instead of a full on blast of agony telling me to slip back into sleep like I was last night. Now it just feels like a plain old stomach bug as opposed to my insides starting a mosh-pit against my muscles. But even the pleasant relief of waking up in relatively no pain in a proper, comfy bed as opposed to my old broken one back home, can’t wipe away the feeling of dread that drowns me whenever Gee isn’t here to stop my heart from exploding in a mass of pitiful anxieties and stupid ideas.
So I just scrunch my eyes shut tight, blocking out everything in the room from the sky-blue ceiling towering above me to the impressively-adorned hat stand in the far left corner, just trying my hardest to forget everything until Gerard comes back.
If he comes back.
It’s never been this bad before, the feeling of being abandoned even if I haven’t, and I’ve never had to cuddle my knees to my chest like I am now over it just to muffle the pathetic little whimpers that are cascading like burning ants from my lips. Never before have I felt so alone and I just don’t understand why. Why I have to be this way; all fucked-up and frightened and alone. Why I have to be the unfortunate bastard cursed with being Mikey Way.
But then a sound breaks through my make-shift failure of a barrier that makes me uncurl myself and silence my whimpers so that I can strain to hear it just a little bit better. It’s a heavy, deep strumming that’s too low to be coming from an electric guitar and too alive to be coming from a speaker. It sounds like an almost flawless rendition of the bass line Mike Dirnt plays on Boulevard of Broken Dreams, one of my favourite Green Day songs of all time because it just feels so relatable. Like it was written about me, about every lonely kid with their dreams in tatters because life has taught that they’re never going to come true. I was trying to learn it just before we had to sell my bass in a last-ditch attempt to find some money from somewhere, but I never got to finish. This melodic strummer though, he’s almost got it sounding better than it does on my beloved CD, one of the few things that made it over here along with Gerard’s comic collection and an old family photo.
Far too quickly for my liking the final note resounds throughout the silent house, leaving me with my mouth hanging open in awe at the sound of an angel sighing through an amp, before the strumming picks up again. This time it’s unmistakably Basket Case, something that I used to be able to play quite literally with my eyes shut, and this time it sends a shockwave of yearning through my body. Yearning for the life I used to have before Dad turned nasty, before Mom got sick, before I was nothing but a worthless freak with no bass to play. Playing my bass used to make me feel important, like I was actually good at something, and that I was worth it just because I had one thing that I might actually be halfway decent at. But no, that got taken away from me and now I’m just a talentless freak with nothing waiting for me in later life other than stacking shelves at the local Wal-Mart and an untimely death.
Once more, I clamp my eyes shut to block out the memories when it dawns on me; it’s Pete. He’s playing the, in my opinion, best song on my favourite album of all time on an instrument I love and it makes me want nothing more than to dance around the bedroom along to it. Because a tiny little part of me wants to think that he’s playing it for me, no matter how ridiculous that thought might be.
As if Pete, gorgeous and friendly Pete, would ever waste time on a loser like me.
“He’s good, isn’t he?”
I ping my eyes up to the open doorway, a flash-flood of panic dousing my veins at the sudden voice, to see Patrick stood there, already dressed and with a baseball cap on his head despite the fact that I’ve only just woken up. The sharp flash-flood quickly washes away into a steady current of calm upon seeing the warm smile on his face, telling me all that I need to know about his intentions. I like ‘Trick, not as much as I like Pete though, and for some reason I feel like I can trust him. Like he understands me in a way that nobody else ever really has; he doesn’t look at me with sympathy in his like Pete and Gerard do, he looks at me with empathy burning bright in his pupils. Because I think he understands.
Quickly telling myself how horrible it feels to be stared at like I’m currently staring at ‘Trick, I look down to my lap and nod exaggeratedly in response; no words can define just how I feel about Pete’s playing right now.
Patrick just chuckles, walking into the room at an even pace so as not to frighten me, something that makes me like him even more, and whistles the melody to the last six bars of the song, waiting for it to finish before he talks again.
“He’s playing it for you, y’know?” I simply gawp, feeling my heart race at the mere idea of Pete doing something so breathtakingly thoughtful just for a loser like me. “He told me so himself. Said that he thought you’d like it.”
I let that piece of information soak into my skin like saffron, everything about the statement making me think that Patrick and Pete are just playing a trick on me, but the person delivering it tells me that it’s true. Something that makes me beam like an idiot because, quite honestly, this is the nicest thing by far that anyone has ever done for me outside of Gee. For Pete to listen to what I say is one thing, but then to act on it is another. And I don’t think I could be any more pleased with myself for it.
“Pete’s taken a shine to you, Kid.” He pauses as another song, this time the iconic plucking that sounds out the start of Where Eagle’s Dare by the Misfits, starts to fill in the silence. A small frown creases his face as he stops to think, letting me revel in the unbelievable feelings that his words prick into my soul. “You want some breakfast, Mikes? We’ve got pretty much everything other than pop-tarts, Pete eats them by the stack.”
Perhaps that’s why he’s so sweet.
No. Michael James Way, you will not start thinking like that. Don’t you dare. Just because he’s playing a few songs for you on his bass, it doesn’t mean that he likes you. It probably just means he had some time to kill and decided to do so by taking pity on the poor kid with week-old bruises speckling his skin. And Patrick’s just being nice to me about it.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t pretend.
“So, you hungry?” ‘Trick asks, eyes pleading with me to just agree because I think he can see it in me that I haven’t eaten properly in a good while. I don’t know how he can see it, it’s not like I’m all that skinny or anything, but he can. And it’s making a horrid sense of uneasiness hang over my soul, a feeling that makes me incapable of words. So I just shake my head. “Okay, Mikes. But know that you can ask me or just help yourself whenever you want to; the kitchen’s down the stairs, along the corridor and the second door to the left.”
I smile up at him gratefully, trying my best to stop my instincts from forcing me to run straight for the nearest source of food at the word “kitchen”. Whilst I may not want to eat for my own reasons, my body seems to strongly disagree with me, as announced to ‘Trick by it’s embarrassingly loud grumble of protest.
“Mikey, you really should ha-“
“I’m fine, Patrick, really.” I cut across, unable to stand hearing more offers of food. “Thanks, though. For everything.”
“You’re very welcome, Mikey. This is your home as much as it is mine now.” A pleasantly warm feeling wells in my chest at that, something akin to belonging and something that I haven’t felt in a very long time. “Oh, that reminds me. Your bedroom is two doors to the left of mine; this house is huge, but Gee said you’d want to share with him?” I just nod, still dazed by all the kindness that has been thrown towards me this morning. “Good. Pete and I moved your stuff in last night whilst you were sleeping.”
“I like Pete.”
Before I can consider my small trickle of word vomit, let alone try to conceal the blush it spreads across my face, I’m caught by the sound of Patrick’s soft laughter and even softer smirk. In front of anyone else I’d most likely be crying in shame at saying something so incriminatingly off-topic, but in front of ‘Trick it feels just a little bit alright.
Because Patrick’s my friend. Or the closest that I’ll ever get to having a real friend, anyway.
“I thought as much. You two really hit it off last night, didn’t you?” He taps his chin in thought for a few seconds, making me notice that Pete’s latest melody is nearing it’s end. “You’d make a cute couple.”
“Who’d make a cute couple?” Gee chimes in, strolling nonchalantly into the room with fresh clothes dressing his damp body.
I just blush in response, earning a knowing chuckle from ‘Trick who winks at me, letting me know that he won’t breathe a word to anybody.
“Nobody, Gee. Just some kids on that Jersey Shore crap.” Gerard grimaces at the thought of the programme he hates the most in the world, perhaps even more than I hate having to watch the news because it shows me how ugly the world really is, and ‘Trick throws me one last wink before turning to my brother. “So, you wanna go job-hunting? Saturday’s the best day to do it. I’m sure Pete won’t mind looking after Mikes whilst we’re out.”
And neither would I.
For once in my life the thought of Gee going out doesn’t scare me all that much. Because the thought of chilling with Pete Wentz overpowers that more than enough to make the worry just a brief background noise that can be solved by ringing Gee’s cell every half hour. Just like the clingy little bitch that I am.
That I have to be; Gee might leave me if I’m not.
A/N: Thanks for reading and sorry about this chapter, it just doesn’t feel all that good to me. Anyway, I hope that you liked it and please tell me what you think/how to improve! :)
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