FicWad

Pete popped the Ativan pills into his mouth, gulped his water and swallowed. He set the glass down on the counter and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His dark hair hung in his eyes, giving him an emo look. He raised his hand and tousled his hair slightly. He grinned. Perfect. He stepped out into the high ceilinged living room where his mother sat, reading. Pete passed her worlessly and stepped into the front hall. As soon as his moher heard the front door open, she looked up.
"Peter, where are you going?"
"Out." He snapped, slamming the door.
Pete's father came out into the living room.
"Peter left? At this hour?" he asked, looking at the clock, which read 11:42 p.m
Pete's mother nodded and sighed.
"I just don't know what to do with him anymore."

Pete knocked on Patrick's front door. No answer. He turned to the driveway and saw his car parked there. He knocked louder, harder. He heard soft, slow foot steps pad to the door. It opened a crack, and Devin peered out. She opened the door wide and ushered Pete in.
"Pete, what the hell are you doing here? It's nearly midnight." She said angrily.
She stood with her arms crossed in pink plaid pajama bottoms and a black cami, her dark brown hair tousled.
"Sorry, were you guys sleeping?"
"Oh, no, we just wander around in pajamas with messy hair for fun." She snapped viciously, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Sorry," Pete mumbled, looking away, "I was just wondering if you and Patrick wanna come with me to this club downtown, Panic! Is playing."
Patrick stumbled out into the hall, clad in blue plaid boxers, his sandy hair tousled.
"Who was it. Love?" he called to Devin. She stepped sideways and revealed Pete.
"Pete, what in God's name are you doing here this late?"
"He wants to know if we'd like to go see Panic! At the Disco play." Devin said dryly, crossing her arms. Patrick stared at Pete with blank amazment for a moment.
"Dude, you need a girlfriend."
Pete shook his head darkly.
"C'mon, Pete, what girl wouldn't want you?" Devin asked.
"You." He replied bluntly.
"That's different."
"Look, all the girls that want me are 16-year-old hormonal Myspace whores. All the girls that know me are...you and my mother, actually."
Patrick laughed joylessly.
"We'll discuss this tomorrow, Pete. You can have the couch." He took Devin's hand and the couple turned away.
"But-"
"Couch, Peter." Patrick snapped, and they dissapeared into their room.
Stupid asshole can't tell me what to do, Pete thought bitterly. He turned to look at the couch, and sighed. Might as well. He lay down and went to sleep.