FicWad

Chpt 2: First impressions almost never lie.

The next three days passed slowly and without much event. Once again I found myself on the phone with Pete attempting to get flight information. They were coming in on the bus, but it has to be left in North Carolina for repairs at the factory which means the guys come in by plane today.

"The 1:24pm flight?" I asked for the fifth time to be sure he's reading it right.

"Yes, and before I get trampled, here is Andy." I sighed, another game of pass Ane, the phone whore.

"Hi Andy!" I said cheerfully.

"Ane, my love!" He gleefully relied and giggled like a child. That's what I loved about most about Andy. He was the biggest kid of all of us.

"Were you a big boy? Did you ride on the big plane?" I smiled using my best baby voice. I could picture him grinning broadly and nodding at me over the phone. There were a few shuffling noises and names called before I was handed, rather wrestled back by Pete. After a few more moments of confusion the flight schedules were straight and I'd headed out to work.

Four hours later I slid into my car, still in my Sam Goody staff shirt, and drove off in the direction of the airport.
Standing in front of the coffee stand near the terminal seems to take forever to pass as I nibbled on the bagel I'd call lunch.

* *
Pete followed a rather giddy Andy off the plane and down the narrow hallway leading to their gate. Joe walked behind his band mate, followed by Dirty and Patrick, who was accompanied by Nanette.

Patrick squeezed Nan's hand suddenly nervous about Ane's reaction. What if she hated her? Hated him? How would he deal with that? He wasn't sure he could. And now questioned if Nan was in fact worth it. He shook the thought from his head and made the rest of the way into the gate area before heading toward the terminal. This was too complicated to deal with right now. Possibly ever.

* *

I looked up from throwing my empty espresso cup away to see Andy charging at me full force. I stood straight up and braced myself for impact. He threw his arms around me in a friendly embrace and held on tightly spinning me in a circle and setting me back down. I laughed and kissed his cheek, " I missed you too Andy."

Peter appeared next. We hugged and he was pushed aside by Joe who hugged me also. I was charged for second time, as Dirty wrapped his arms around me from behind.

Out the corner of my eye I caught sight of Patrick and the "girl". I'm not ready for this. I can't do this. I can't play nice. Pretend I'm O.K. That I like her. That I don't love him. Not fair. Completely not fair.



The introductions were fake and painful. Just as I had expected them to be. I had been civil. I don't think I could have been anything less. I'm not that kind of person. I thrust my hand forward and smiled a smile more fake than Britney Spears' breasts as Patrick said my name. She's smiled the same forced smile and exchanged the clichéd "I've heard so much about you" And I replied cheesily with " Don't believe a word of it." , insert forced laugh.

Dinner would be no better I was convinced. Joe had the bright idea for everyone to go home for a while, relax and then meet up again at Cicely's. Home at the time didn't sound like much of a place to relax. She would be there, and the guys or Jilly wouldn't. I ended up spending the afternoon in my room. Cleaning. I don't clean. This girl was getting to me. Under my skin and I'd said no more than three words to her since we'd met.

I pushed the hair out of my eyes and opened the door to see Patrick behind it looking at the floor. I opened it further and motioned him inside. He took a seat on the clear space on my twin size bed, and pushed aside some of the clutter allowing me a space also. I took this as my cue to sit and turned to look at him expectantly. He wrung his hands and held a starring contest with his shoes for a few moments before his head shot up and he looked at me closely. Almost studying me. Like he didn't want to forget me. Like he was going to lose me. I didn't want him to look at me like that. I didn't want to lose him. I turned my head and he turned it back and opened his mouth to speak.

It feels like the phone three days ago all over again. Anticipating his every word. Only now I can see him. I doesn't help. I want him to speak. Tell me everything. Tell me nothing. Tell me anything.

"Ane, I..." His voice catches, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry Ane."

I don't look at him, I'm not sure I can, "Sorry for what Trick?" I remember when I was the only person who called him that. He looks at me glassy eyed, and I don't know if even he knew what he was apologizing for.

These short emotion filled moments were getting us no where. But I'm not sure where I wanted to go, so maybe it's for the best. He threw himself at me, and I held him for a moment before he calmed down and left me to get ready for dinner.

I walked into the hall bathroom and ran myself a shower. I let the warm water run over me, half hoping all of this would wash away. And things could go back to before I loved Patrick. Before this all got complicated. Twenty minutes passed before I stepped out and wrapped a towel around my body and walked back into my room only to emerge later clad in a knee length jean skirt and vintage Iron Maiden T-shirt. I held my red-blond hair off my neck with a clip. I waited in the living room for Nanette and Patrick to come out and leave.

Nanette came out first, in a jean skirt that looked like a misplaced belt and Clandestine hoodie unzipped to just above her bra. I never was one to hate some one for the way they dressed. People should be comfortable. And if she was comfortable looking like a whore far be it from me to tell her any different. She had been nice. I had no reason to dislike her. I'm just a little bitter I guess.

Dinner went off with out a hitch. We laughed about old times. I was filled in on the tour, and even how Nan and Patrick met. She called him Pat for some reason. I hated it. I don't know how he can stand it. He hates to be called Pat. But she insists. The whore. I am defiantly bitter.

After dinner I was made fully aware that there are a few more downs to sharing an apartment with Patrick now. Paper thin walls. I don't see the need to elaborate on what I heard. Let's just say Nan has something over Patrick, and at the moment it's her.

I don't think I've reached hate yet, just deep resentment. I kind of like it. Its becoming my not so happy medium.

Patrick emerged from their room fifteen minutes later, shirtless and clad only in boxers. I wonder if he knows how cruel he is being. Probably not. It doesn't matter, I turn my head in disgust and my attention back to the lifetime movie I was previously watching.

"You heard?" he asked. I turned back to him and rolled my eyes. His face fell momentarily, as if he were guilty for what he'd just done. Then a spark of anger ignited. " You have no right to be angry with me Ane. I did nothing wrong in bringing Nan home with me." he spat and walked briskly back into his room slamming the door behind him for effect.

In a way he was right. I didn't have a right to be angry with him. I am though, and he chooses to ignore it. Passing it off as spite. Which it is, but it goes much deeper than that. To something he may never see. And for that I hate them both and every happy moment they have.


Twenty-four hours later I find myself behind the counter of Sam Goody's plastering a fake smile across my face as I hand another Fall Out Boy cd to a giggling twelve-year-old. I'm happy for the success, but it nauseates me that pre-teens and looks are the reasons they ever got noticed. I remember being sixteen and watching the guys practice he was so into it then. It never mattered who heard, just as long as someone did. I don't think it does now, I know the guys love the fans just not always the fame. Forty-five more minutes before lunch with Andy and Joe. At least they won't cause a riot to erupt in my store. God bless Pete and Patrick, but they are under no circumstances allowed in my store. The outcome is deadly.