Did you know that Donald Duck comics were banned in Finland because he doesn't wear pants?
We climb the four flights of stairs, Pete bounding ahead of me the whole way. I stand in front of the door marked "27B" and fish in my bag for my keys. Pete behind me still breathing heavily. I smile and unlock the door. We step inside and Pete collapses on the couch.
My room looks untouched. Except for my bed. I left it made with just my frog blanket tossed over it. I looks slept in. Strange. I pull an oversized duffel bag from under my bed and start shoving my life into it. I'll bring boxes later I guess. Clothes go first then shoes. Finally I walk over to my night stand and run my fingers over the silver frame. Patrick and I sitting on a swing set. In the park by my old house. Fifteen and sixteen then. Just before Fall Out Boy left to record Take This To Your Grave. Our hands clapsed together dangling between us.
Pete appeared behind me and points a tattooed finger at the photo.
"Its baby Ane. Hard to imagine my tough girl with out the ink and the hair dye." I take his hand and study it. Trailing my eyes along the tiny works of art. Tracing a few with my finger. I pull the sleeve of my own shirt up and put my arm next to his. The colors are brighter. Images smaller. But the meaning is no less.
I turn to face him and he looks at me strangely. I bite the corner of my bottom lip chewing nervously on the ring. What the hell? I've never in my life been nervous around Pete. This is stupid.
Before I know what I'm doing I grab his collar pulling him closer and lean up. Our lips meet. I think we're both confused. But that doesn't stop us from responding. My hand flattens against his chest and his hands go to my hips, I wrap my free arm around his neck my hand playing with the his hair. He backs me up against the door as his calloused fingers edge themselves under the hem of my t-shirt. I let an involuntary moan out at his touch and I can feel him smile against my lip. I need to breath. But that doesn't seem to matter at the moment. This is wrong. I know this is wrong. He must know this is wrong. God I don't care. His lips move from mine to the hollow of my throat. I let my hands fall to his hips and slide them under the hem of his shirt. I run them up his chest and back down before tugging it over his head. He returns the favor and pulls mine up and off . The door is cold on my bare back. But it didn't matter. I graze my nails up his back slowly and nestle them in his newly exposed hair as his hands work to unclasp my bra. I reach behind us and hit the lock on the door.
I push him back so that we fall on the bed. I sit up a bit and straddle his thighs before reaching up to undo his belt. We look at each other for the first time in twenty minutes. Neither of us move to stop the other. Soon my pants are on the floor next to his. He flips and hovers over me. Hands on either side of my waist, thumbs hooked into the top of my panties. My hands linger at the waistband of his boxers. We lock eyes and push our hands down together. Our hips meet at the same time his mouth crashes on to mine. Some very enjoyable time later he rolls off me and puts his head on my chest. We try to catch our breath to say something. But nothing is ever said. What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?
I look at Pete. He's sound asleep against me. I wonder if he realizes what just happened. How can he be sleeping? How is this not plaguing his every thought? How can this not bother him? I run my fingers through his sweaty hair.
This is still a big deal for me. Not even the fact that it was Pete. Just that it was sex. I've only ever slept with one other person in my life. Lane. A boy I dated for a year. He finally convinced me around my seventeenth birthday. He dumped me three months later for a Goth chick that worked at Hottopic. I don't regret it though. I loved Lane. He just didn't return the favor.
Pete I know has been with other women. But he's not the slut most people make him out to be. That would be Joe. A year ago. Pre-Makena. He's pretty much behaved himself since they started dating seriously. Cheated once to my knowledge. Warped 03' just before they made a month. With a merch girl. That's all I really know.
I look down again. Pete is still snoring lightly. He's kinda cute when he sleeps. So innocent and harmless looking. A major difference from the guy he looks like awake. He kicks me in his sleep. Hit him back involuntarily. He kicks I hit. it's a reflex. He props himself up on an elbow and looks at me groggily.
"I had the weirdest dream Ane. I was Ninja." He says waking up a bit more. I stare at him.
"Pete, did we just do what I think we just did?" I ask throwing a sheet over us. Suddenly I'm shy. This is so not right.
"Apparently." He replies draping his free arm over me.
"Next question, why does it not bother you that we did do what I thought we did?" I ask propping myself up and tugging the sheet up around my chest.
"I don't know. It felt right. I know it felt good. But it felt right too." He says leaning into my lips again. The kiss offers the same electric shock the first one did. He pulls me closer to him. I roll on my back and pull him on top of me not breaking our kiss. I know where this leads. Why am I not stopping? His lips move from mine to my jaw up to my ear and down my neck. I pull him back to my lips and we enjoy a repeat performance of before. I whimper his name into his shoulder and he collapses against me. We catch our breath and I look at him.
"Why does that keep happening?" I ask genuinely curious. He looks at me with soft eyes and traces the tattoo of a sparrow above my right breast.
"When did you get this one?" he asks pointing to the tattoo and avoiding my question.
"When you left for the tour. Now answer my question."
"Because this keeps happening," He leans over and kisses me softly "and because I think I might be in love with you Ane."
Did he just say what I think he said? He notices the look on my face, "I mean it. I think I'm in love with you Anmarie Harris."
I gulp. Pete loves me, I love Patrick, Patrick loves Nan. This can't get any worse.
The once locked door bursts open to reveal Patrick. Oh god.
It got worse.
I inhale sharply. This cannot be happening. This all just one insane dream. It has to be.
The door closes just as quickly as it was opened. I look at Pete. I want to stay here with him. I want to go after Patrick. I throw the sheets off and haphazardly pull on some clothes. With my hand on the door knob I look over my shoulder at Pete. I run back to the bed and press my lips firmly to his. Its not so much a kiss as a promise I'm coming back. But I don't know why I'm going back to him.
I half storm out into the living room. I'm angry and I don't know why. Patrick is seated on the couch opposite the blank TV just staring at it.
"What happened to New York?" I ask. Not sure what else to say.
"Came home early. I wanted to surprise you. But you beat me to it." He says coyly. He chooses now to be a sarcastic asshole? I ball my fists up. Biting my lip to hold in a scream.
"Damnit Patrick. This is so stupid. Why can't we just say what we really want to?" My voice higher and more emotion filled than I meant for it to be.
He looks at me and stands. Please god don't let him kiss me. I don't think I can handle that today. He crosses the three feet that separates us. "That would be too easy I guess. And when have we ever done anything the easy way."
I swallow hard and nod. "I love you Patrick."
"I know that." He says taking my hand and fiddling with the ring round my middle finger.
"No Trick. I am in love with you."
He drops my hand and a somber look passes over his face. He is almost unrecognizable. "Ane. I...I don't know what to say."
I can feel the tears forming, the all too familiar sting. I run to the door not caring that I'm only wearing Pete's shirt and a pair of gym shorts. I grab my bag and keys off the table and hurry down the stairs. I get to my car and pull out of the complex parking lot. My hand on the blinker. Left is home. Right is Kentucky. Fuck it. I can't leave the state. They'd have the fucking FBI on me in two days. Left it is. The hour drive to my mother's house seems longer than it should. I hit random on my CD player.
Its raining now. I turn down East street. I see an all to familiar blue two story house with a Fall Out Boy sign on the mail box. Patrick's mom was always so proud of the guys. For the first year she'd invite fans in for dinner if they found the house. When they had normal. Competent fans. Who didn't cry and ask if she could have his babies. I pull into the drive way of the big white two story house with red shutters and big brown door next door. I turn off the car and run up the front steps. I pound on the door. I'm wet and cold. Jilly opens the door and looks at me strangely for a second be for pulling me in the house.
"Jesus Ane. What happened to you? You look like hell and then some." she asks dragging me behind her to the hall bathroom. She sits me down the side of the bathtub and grabs a few towel. She wraps one around my shoulders and takes the other to wipe the make up off my face. "You can talk now you know." she says setting the towel in my lap.
"Jilly. I had sex with Pete." I say letting it register. "Twice."
I nod, "I had sex with Pete. Twice. In an hour."
She giggles and blushes, "What was it like?" I glare at her. This is not the time to be a nosey sister.
. "Patrick saw us." Her face falls.
"Ok. Two questions. Why did you have sex with Pete? And How did Patrick find out?"
"I don't know. I was packing some stuff to go back and stay with him and Joe for a few days when I found that picture of me and Patrick. The one in the silver frame. Well, Pete came in and pointed to my face saying something about it being a baby me. I just started staring at his arm and comparing our tattoos. The next thing I know we're kissing and I'm up against the door without a shirt. And Patrick was supposed to be in New York with uber bitch. He came home early. And unlocked my door."
"Oh." She says, "Is there anything I can do for you?"
"Yeah, if anyone calls. I died." with that I walk out of the bathroom and up the stairs to my room. I walk to the window and pull down the shade. I flop back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. God hates me.