Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everybody Wants Somebody
“You only hold me up like this, ‘cause you don't know who I really am. Sometimes I just want to know what it's like to be you. We're making out inside crashed cars; we're sleeping through all our memories. I used to waste my time dreaming of being alive, and now I only waste it dreaming of you.
Turn off the lights, and turn off the shyness, ‘cause all of our moves make up for the silence. And oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase, like I'll never be the same.”
It’d been a few days since Sarah left Patricia’s house, and looking back she realized maybe she should’ve stayed and sorted out her emotions there, or at least call once she got back to her place. Instead, she turned on HBO, had a marathon of movies, and continually heated up Totino’s pizza rolls. She didn’t have any connection to reality until her first day of work Monday morning.
Her job was simple: ring up customers when they check out, and if it’s a slow day, walk the aisles and look for places to fit “new” records. On that first day, no one showed up for awhile, so her only co-worker for the day went home. Instead of force herself to sit behind a counter, Sarah decided to roam the store, occasionally going back to the cash register when the rare buyer walked in. Then a half hour before the second shift was supposed to arrive, she was alone in an aisle when a familiar face came up behind her.
“Well if it isn’t Speedy Gonzalez herself,” Patrick said with a chuckle; Sarah blushed deep red.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I work here,” she replied, attempting to avoid eye contact by looking at the music in front of her.
“Awesome place, isn’t it? One my all-time favorites, actually.”
“It’s only my first day,” she said rather curtly. She didn’t dislike Patrick; she just tried to shut down her emotions so that she didn’t end up like she was the previous weekend.
“I see.” Patrick exhaled rather deeply. “So why did you run out of my mom’s the other day?”
“I, uh, it’s kind of, um, a long story,” she stumbled out. He leaned against the stacks of records, smiling at her.
“Oh really? I’d love to hear it.” He looked at her attentively, waiting for a reply, and Sarah didn’t know how to explain what happened. What could she say, that hearing her mother described as anything other than the calm and simple woman she knew destroyed her acceptance of her death and compelled her to act like a child? Being seen like that was the last thing she needed after a new start.
“Did Patricia tell you anything?” Might as well find out what he knew so she didn’t embarrass herself.
“Basically that she talked with you about your mom. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”
“It’s fine.”
“Heard she was a great lady. Never got to thank her for what she did, though.”
“Hold on. You knew---”
“Who she was? I found out when my mom gave me the money. She explained their whole past to me.” Sarah could only nod, distracted with trying not to break down again. “So’re you going to explain what happened, or…?” A group of teens came into the store.
“I can’t right now. I have to work.”
“Oh,” Patrick responded, sounding a bit disappointed. He turned around and started looking through the records. “I was really looking forward to hearing it. But I understand. You’re busy.” He flashed a smile to show his kidding tone but once again turned back to the music. The group Sarah had her eye on were about to check out.
“I get off at four,” she said, and he looked at her. “If you wanted to get together and talk or something after that…” She kept getting distracted between making sure she remembered to breathe and feeling her cheeks to see how flaming they were. Why was she so nervous? It was just Patrick Stump, the voice behind and the composer of her greatest musical inspiration, who happened to be incredibly attractive and interested in her and standing right there. As if he could read her mind, he gave a reassuring laugh.
“So four, then? Right here?” She nodded, still blushing madly. “See you, Sarah.” He continued shopping the aisle while she rung up the group. After they left, a rush of people came into the store, and in the middle of it was Patrick, leaving. Luckily for Sarah, the rush signified the change in shifts, and as the second cashier took over she rushed out of Reckless Records hoping to catch Patrick; he was maybe a block down, so she jogged to catch up with him.
“Hey, stranger,” she joked, and he turned to her.
“Hey yourself.” He checked his watch. “I’m pretty sure it’s not four yet.” They stopped by a more deserted part of the sidewalk.
“Got off early.” He nodded slowly in response, the hint of a smile on his face. “So you ready for that talk?”
“Uh, sure. Where to?”
“Well I should probably get changed or something first, considering I’ve been at work all day. After that it’s up to you.”
“Is that an invitation?” Patrick asked, looking coyly at her. Sarah only grinned.
“Yes Patrick you can come inside my apartment.” He gestured his hand out.
“Then lead the way.”
“Before you commit yourself to that, you should know I walk basically everywhere and if you have a car you should probably use it now instead of later.”
“Then we take my car to your place and you give me directions.” He led her further down a few more blocks to a parking garage and up a flight of stairs to the deck where he parked. Right in the middle of the floor was a grayish brown 2011 Civic Sedan; he promptly unlocked it when they were close enough. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m surprised our tastes are so similar,” she responded, opening the passenger door and sitting inside.
“Great minds think alike, I guess.” He joined her inside, and she plugged in her address on his GPS. The drive took maybe ten minutes, with the only sounds inside the car being the light radio station and the occasional voice of the navigator. Once they arrived and parallel parked out front, Sarah led him to her apartment.
“Wow,” he said as he took in the décor. “I don’t even know what else to say. I can’t find the right adjective for this, but it’s really cool.”
“Thanks, I think.” She dropped her things next to the door and pointed down the hall. “The first door on the left is my music studio, that back door right there is my bedroom, and the second door on the left is the bathroom.”
“You have a studio? I didn’t know you were musical.” She showed him the room and watched him gawk when she opened the door.
“I’ve played piano since I was four. Everything else I just picked up.” He went straight for the Gretsch in its stand, picking it up and sitting on the floor with it while he played some little tune. “I see you’ve got a friend.”
“Gretsch is by far my favorite. I have my own signature guitar there.”
“Really. What’s its name?”
“The Stump-O-Matic.”
“Original,” she commented, laughing a little. “I’m gonna go change. Make yourself at home. Don’t break anything.” He laughed too as she left the room.
Once the door shut behind her, the nerves from earlier started to set in again. Her musical idol was just in her apartment, playing her guitar; nothing to get overly worked up about. With a deep breath, she hurried through her closet to find something more suitable to wear than the work polo, faded straight-cut jeans, and Converse she had on. In about five minutes she’d changed into a pair of grayish green tights, dark blue shorts, and a white scoop-neck tee; she completed the outfit by throwing on a pair of white tube socks that she’d cover with brown military-style ankle boots later. When she was done with fixing her make-up and hair, making certain that her baby blues were perfectly lined and her hair wasn’t flat, Sarah joined Patrick again in the studio; she couldn’t help but notice him giving her a once-over.
“I, uh, I really like your studio,” he finally forced out, a bit flustered.
“I’m glad.” He gently laid the guitar back in its stand as she came into the room. “So where now?”
“Well, to be honest I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”
“Me neither, actually.”
“Yeah, so, any ideas? It is your place, and I don’t want to impose.” Sarah thought back to her old life in California and what she’d always wanted to do if she stayed in and had nothing to do.
“We could order in a pizza, I guess, if you want.”
“Pizza’s good with me so long as you know that Chicago’s pizza is different from anywhere else.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m up for it.”
“Okay. I’ll call for delivery. They’re one of my favorites in the city, but trust me you’ll love it.” His enthusiasm made her laugh. She went into the kitchen to pull out a couple of plates, napkins, and glasses as he called the pizzeria; they agreed on a medium, cheese only. “My guy said it’d be less than fifteen minutes.”
“Not bad. I’m impressed.” Patrick blushed and ruffled his hair. “Want anything while we wait?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” They stood together in the kitchen, leaning on the countertops. “You said you were musician?” He asked.
“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort, but yeah you could say I am,” she replied cleverly, and he released another smile.
“Do you write your own music or just play?”
“Write, mostly.”
“I’d like to hear some, if that’s okay.”
“Not a problem. Way to pass the time, right?” Sarah led him into the studio as she flipped open her Macbook and started clicking through her music folders. “I don’t have anything with drums. Never learned how to play, and I don’t believe in ‘drum machines’ or whatever.”
“Just show me what you’ve got,” he said, laughing to himself. Her finger trembled as she selected her favorite of all the songs: a piano ballad interlaced with fine electric guitar kinda-solos and constant acoustic strumming; the piano was supposed to be showcased with the guitars as accentuations. Her voice was heart-breaking.
“You couldn’t have told me so, couldn’t have said you’d be my direction. No one said, when we met, you’d make me fall in love, and steal my affection. Just like that, at the drop of a hat, we were head over heels.
*]
[*“And all, I wanted was you, and I thought, our love must be true. So we decided to take the leap, because our feelings were just too deep. I only wish I knew the truth.
*]
[*“No one could have told me so, couldn’t have said you’d leave me utterly broken. No one said, when you left, that I’d cry, attempt to die, and that my life would overall darken. Just like that, I became a goddamn doormat, and I wonder: will I ever heal?
*]
[*“But all, I wanted was you, and I still thought, our love must be true. In the end you decided to leave, and caused me to more than gently weep. I only wish that I had known the truth.
*]
[*“I think that you can’t hurt me; more drinks would make me lonely, but I’m on the brink of being more than tipsy. And I wish you’d just call me sweetie, because drunkenly I see…
*]
[*“That all, I want is you, and I know, our love had to have been true. To this day we have a chance in which I believe, and who knows what promises I’ll keep. If only I could tell you the truth.”
When Sarah turned around, she expected Patrick to let the song roll off his back, maybe criticize it and tell her right off the bat what she needed to do to fix it; instead, his mouth was mouth was open, but no words were coming out.
“You okay?” His mouth closed, but he still stared at the computer screen. “Patrick?”
“Who broke your heart?” Was all he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who hurt you to make you write all of that? Not just the lyrics, but the music, too.”
“Oh. Uhm, well, no one, actually. Guess I’m just deep.” Patrick was still mostly motionless.
“Anything else you have to say?”
“Hm?”
“You’re my biggest musical influence. Any critique you have would be greatly appreciated.” He pulled back a little, his eyes appearing like he was really trying hard to think of what to say.
“Well, at the most, your lyrics overall are a bit wordy, and the word choice is immature at places. The music itself is beautifully arranged.”
“Considering I don’t take pride in being a lyricist, that’s good to know. Thanks.” She put down the laptop as he sat beside her on the piano bench.
“Wanna play something with me?” Inside her heart skipped a beat, but outside she played it cool.
“Sure.” He grabbed the acoustic-electric closest to him, keeping his place next to Sarah.
“Are you familiar with Fall Out Boy’s ‘Chicago Is So Two Years Ago?’”
“From Take This To Your Grave? Yeah.”
“It’s one of my favorites. When we toured, we didn’t play it much, so it never became tiring to hear. It’s been a few years since we put out the album--”
“Eight years,” Sarah interjected, smiling with flushed cheeks.
“Eight years since we put out the album, and I think it needs a little refurbishing.” Patrick knelt to get her laptop. “Do you mind if we record this?”
“Oh, no, not at all.” She stood and placed two microphone stands at the piano bench, one for their voices and the other for the piano, plugging them into the side of the laptop as he pulled up the recording program. “I think it’d be best if we--”
“Do this impromptu?” He chimed in as he plugged in his guitar. “I think so, too.” He briefly tuned his instrument as Sarah’s mind swirled. She was about to play, live, in front of Patrick Stump. No do-overs. Do not fuck this up, she thought. “Ready?” She turned to face the keys and nodded as she began to play the beat in chords after he pressed “record”.
Patrick took over vocals first, singing the entire first verse by himself. He strummed the guitar strings in a more playful way, taking the more lead guitar stance. The speed of the lyrics was slowed down dramatically, with subtle pauses in between certain words to give them more impact. Sarah started singing at the pre-chorus, receiving an approving nod from her partner. They sung the chorus together, their voices perfectly harmonized, and she couldn’t help thinking that they were made to be with each other. Musically, anyway.
The remainder of the song gradually picked up pace, Sarah tweaking with the lyrics of the second verse to fit for a girl to sing until right after the second chorus; the duo decided to stop playing entirely and to keep the next part a cappella. Sarah continued on the piano while they sang the final section together. As the final ring of the keys faded into silence, Patrick leaned over the keyboard to stop the recording.
“I think that went well,” he said. Sarah could only smile shyly, both eager and terrified to hear the final product. He shut the laptop. “Let’s take a break before we listen. Need to get music off the brain sometimes.” They stood and left the studio, moving into the main area just as the doorbell rang with pizza.
A couple hours later, the sun had set, and the two of them were finishing the pizza. Throughout the evening, they’d shared a multitude of safe stories: how Sarah always wanted to be in the music industry, how Patrick felt music was his only outlet, how grateful Sarah realized she was of the way she grew up, how all Patrick wanted in the world was for people to appreciate his music. They told funny anecdotes about each of their childhoods and their friends, laughing uncontrollably. The stereo played the local jazz station: their favorite. Amidst their dying laughter, Sarah let slip how she’d never been this close to someone.
“You’re kidding, right?”Patrick asked, barely getting the words out; she shook her head.
“I never really had friends,” she admitted, calming down and becoming more serious. “I just had people that it would look good to be with.” She then elaborated by explaining how the only times she got together with friends was to study for school.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never done anything crazy?”
“I never said that,” she said defensively.
“Okay then tell me what you’ve done.” She bit her lip as he looked at her.
“I got wickedly drunk after my parents died.” He nodded slowly, mulling it over.
“But nothing with other people?” She remained silent, and when she never responded Patrick got up and moved towards the door.
“Hey where are you going?”
“To help you get crazy.” He winked and walked out, and she cleaned up their dishes from pizza. He came back some short time later with a six-pack, a couple bottles of red wine, and whiskey.
“That is a hell of a lot of liquor,” Sarah commented.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“What do you plan on doing with it all?”
“Drinking with you.”
“I’m under twenty-one.”
“Which is why you’re not leaving your apartment tonight. I, however, will sleep in my car.”
“I can make up the couch if you want.”
“Sounds lovely.” He placed the bags on the kitchen counter and took out a couple of the beers, taking off the tops and handing one to Sarah. They sipped in silence.
“So what’s the point of this?” She asked him.
“You’ll see. Just keep drinking.” Having no choice but to accept the answer, Sarah turned up the stereo.
Hours later, the moon was high and not only was the beer finished off, but they were half into the whiskey. They’d maneuvered their way from sitting on the couch to the floor.
“God I love whiskey,” Patrick slurred. “Whiskey is the best. That’s why I sung about whiskey: ‘whiskey I’m tryin’ to c-c-cut back’ or somethin’ like that.” Sarah giggled drunkenly, noting how he still sang rather well even when under the influence.
“You are turning me to this from vodka. That’sh what I used to forget after I lost my parents.
Vodka. Didn’t go down this easy.” She finished off her glass and poured more from the bottle for herself and Patrick.
“I’d love to work with you on your whole musical stuff, Sarah.”
“Really? You mean it?”
“Yep. You got talent, kid.”
“Aw thanksh Patrick. Meansh a lot to me.” She kissed him on the cheek before settling back down.
“You know, I’ve alwaysh been alone. No siblingsh, no friendsh, just me me me me me.”
“Not alone now, because now it’sh you and me.” He scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders; she nestled into his half-embrace subconsciously.
“Never even had a boyfriend.”
“Not possible.”
“Nope, no boyfriend. Had sex once with this guy at this one thing and it was pretty decent I guess for a first time I mean. He was at my school but he never talked to me after because I ignored him.”
“My first time I think I was in my middle teens and after a show with one of my earlier bandsh and she just kinda walked up to me and then before I knew it BAM we fucked in a bathroom stall.”
“Shit that’sh crazy.”
“Yeah.” The glasses were three-quarters empty once again.
“Patrick I’m horny.”
“How long has it been for you?”
“A year. You?”
“Roughly the same.”
“We should do it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” As Sarah turned to him, he smashed their lips together, and that’s all she could remember.
The following morning, she awoke naked in her bed with a massive migraine and strong nausea. Vision blurred, she made her way into the bathroom with barely enough time to find the toilet. When she picked herself up, she shielded her eyes from the blinding sun coming from the windows but not enough to hide having Patrick in her bed, who was joining her in her hangover state. She threw him his boxers from the floor before she found a long shirt and underwear. While he groaned from pain, she mumbled about making coffee: a normally simple task that became exponentially harder whilst unable to make anything out because of the hangover. Ten minutes later, she was pouring coffee into two mugs, black, and Patrick came out to meet her at the kitchen table; she passed him his glass as he mumbled a sigh of gratitude.
They downed the first cup in silence, but halfway into the second they started to speak. The room surrounding them was a mess of clothes, bottles, and pillows.
“So, last night,” Sarah began, “we--”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we did.”
“Me too.” More sips. “Do you remember anything about it?”
“I have vague, warped flashes. Otherwise, no.” She nodded, running her fingers through her messy hair. “I meant what I said about helping you,” he added after finishing the second cup.
“Seriously?” She picked up the pot and topped off both mugs.
“Sarah, you had the talent, the looks, and the personality to make it when you got here. You just needed the connections, and now there’s me.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be grateful. How could I make it up to you?” He half-smirked.
“You can start by saying thank you.” She chuckled some, holding her coffee.
“Thank you.” Their third cups were gone in silence, and as they picked up the room and cleaned the dishes, he turned to her.
“We should probably put the sex behind us if we’re going to work together. It wouldn’t be good to let things like that happen.”
“Well, we were drunk and lonely, so there’s no reason why it should happen again, right?”
“Right.” They finished tidying up after getting dressed, setting dates for when and where they could meet to work on the music. Even though she couldn’t remember most of the night before, being in his presence sparked this feeling inside of her, though she didn’t know what to call it. Around two that afternoon, following a brief lunch ordered in, she walked him to her door; he stuck out his hand for her.
“Friends?” She shook it.
“Friends.”
“Best friends; ex friends ‘til the end. Better off as lovers, and not the other way around…”
Turn off the lights, and turn off the shyness, ‘cause all of our moves make up for the silence. And oh, the way your makeup stains my pillowcase, like I'll never be the same.”
It’d been a few days since Sarah left Patricia’s house, and looking back she realized maybe she should’ve stayed and sorted out her emotions there, or at least call once she got back to her place. Instead, she turned on HBO, had a marathon of movies, and continually heated up Totino’s pizza rolls. She didn’t have any connection to reality until her first day of work Monday morning.
Her job was simple: ring up customers when they check out, and if it’s a slow day, walk the aisles and look for places to fit “new” records. On that first day, no one showed up for awhile, so her only co-worker for the day went home. Instead of force herself to sit behind a counter, Sarah decided to roam the store, occasionally going back to the cash register when the rare buyer walked in. Then a half hour before the second shift was supposed to arrive, she was alone in an aisle when a familiar face came up behind her.
“Well if it isn’t Speedy Gonzalez herself,” Patrick said with a chuckle; Sarah blushed deep red.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I work here,” she replied, attempting to avoid eye contact by looking at the music in front of her.
“Awesome place, isn’t it? One my all-time favorites, actually.”
“It’s only my first day,” she said rather curtly. She didn’t dislike Patrick; she just tried to shut down her emotions so that she didn’t end up like she was the previous weekend.
“I see.” Patrick exhaled rather deeply. “So why did you run out of my mom’s the other day?”
“I, uh, it’s kind of, um, a long story,” she stumbled out. He leaned against the stacks of records, smiling at her.
“Oh really? I’d love to hear it.” He looked at her attentively, waiting for a reply, and Sarah didn’t know how to explain what happened. What could she say, that hearing her mother described as anything other than the calm and simple woman she knew destroyed her acceptance of her death and compelled her to act like a child? Being seen like that was the last thing she needed after a new start.
“Did Patricia tell you anything?” Might as well find out what he knew so she didn’t embarrass herself.
“Basically that she talked with you about your mom. I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.”
“It’s fine.”
“Heard she was a great lady. Never got to thank her for what she did, though.”
“Hold on. You knew---”
“Who she was? I found out when my mom gave me the money. She explained their whole past to me.” Sarah could only nod, distracted with trying not to break down again. “So’re you going to explain what happened, or…?” A group of teens came into the store.
“I can’t right now. I have to work.”
“Oh,” Patrick responded, sounding a bit disappointed. He turned around and started looking through the records. “I was really looking forward to hearing it. But I understand. You’re busy.” He flashed a smile to show his kidding tone but once again turned back to the music. The group Sarah had her eye on were about to check out.
“I get off at four,” she said, and he looked at her. “If you wanted to get together and talk or something after that…” She kept getting distracted between making sure she remembered to breathe and feeling her cheeks to see how flaming they were. Why was she so nervous? It was just Patrick Stump, the voice behind and the composer of her greatest musical inspiration, who happened to be incredibly attractive and interested in her and standing right there. As if he could read her mind, he gave a reassuring laugh.
“So four, then? Right here?” She nodded, still blushing madly. “See you, Sarah.” He continued shopping the aisle while she rung up the group. After they left, a rush of people came into the store, and in the middle of it was Patrick, leaving. Luckily for Sarah, the rush signified the change in shifts, and as the second cashier took over she rushed out of Reckless Records hoping to catch Patrick; he was maybe a block down, so she jogged to catch up with him.
“Hey, stranger,” she joked, and he turned to her.
“Hey yourself.” He checked his watch. “I’m pretty sure it’s not four yet.” They stopped by a more deserted part of the sidewalk.
“Got off early.” He nodded slowly in response, the hint of a smile on his face. “So you ready for that talk?”
“Uh, sure. Where to?”
“Well I should probably get changed or something first, considering I’ve been at work all day. After that it’s up to you.”
“Is that an invitation?” Patrick asked, looking coyly at her. Sarah only grinned.
“Yes Patrick you can come inside my apartment.” He gestured his hand out.
“Then lead the way.”
“Before you commit yourself to that, you should know I walk basically everywhere and if you have a car you should probably use it now instead of later.”
“Then we take my car to your place and you give me directions.” He led her further down a few more blocks to a parking garage and up a flight of stairs to the deck where he parked. Right in the middle of the floor was a grayish brown 2011 Civic Sedan; he promptly unlocked it when they were close enough. “What do you think?”
“I think I’m surprised our tastes are so similar,” she responded, opening the passenger door and sitting inside.
“Great minds think alike, I guess.” He joined her inside, and she plugged in her address on his GPS. The drive took maybe ten minutes, with the only sounds inside the car being the light radio station and the occasional voice of the navigator. Once they arrived and parallel parked out front, Sarah led him to her apartment.
“Wow,” he said as he took in the décor. “I don’t even know what else to say. I can’t find the right adjective for this, but it’s really cool.”
“Thanks, I think.” She dropped her things next to the door and pointed down the hall. “The first door on the left is my music studio, that back door right there is my bedroom, and the second door on the left is the bathroom.”
“You have a studio? I didn’t know you were musical.” She showed him the room and watched him gawk when she opened the door.
“I’ve played piano since I was four. Everything else I just picked up.” He went straight for the Gretsch in its stand, picking it up and sitting on the floor with it while he played some little tune. “I see you’ve got a friend.”
“Gretsch is by far my favorite. I have my own signature guitar there.”
“Really. What’s its name?”
“The Stump-O-Matic.”
“Original,” she commented, laughing a little. “I’m gonna go change. Make yourself at home. Don’t break anything.” He laughed too as she left the room.
Once the door shut behind her, the nerves from earlier started to set in again. Her musical idol was just in her apartment, playing her guitar; nothing to get overly worked up about. With a deep breath, she hurried through her closet to find something more suitable to wear than the work polo, faded straight-cut jeans, and Converse she had on. In about five minutes she’d changed into a pair of grayish green tights, dark blue shorts, and a white scoop-neck tee; she completed the outfit by throwing on a pair of white tube socks that she’d cover with brown military-style ankle boots later. When she was done with fixing her make-up and hair, making certain that her baby blues were perfectly lined and her hair wasn’t flat, Sarah joined Patrick again in the studio; she couldn’t help but notice him giving her a once-over.
“I, uh, I really like your studio,” he finally forced out, a bit flustered.
“I’m glad.” He gently laid the guitar back in its stand as she came into the room. “So where now?”
“Well, to be honest I don’t really feel like going anywhere.”
“Me neither, actually.”
“Yeah, so, any ideas? It is your place, and I don’t want to impose.” Sarah thought back to her old life in California and what she’d always wanted to do if she stayed in and had nothing to do.
“We could order in a pizza, I guess, if you want.”
“Pizza’s good with me so long as you know that Chicago’s pizza is different from anywhere else.”
“So I’ve heard. I’m up for it.”
“Okay. I’ll call for delivery. They’re one of my favorites in the city, but trust me you’ll love it.” His enthusiasm made her laugh. She went into the kitchen to pull out a couple of plates, napkins, and glasses as he called the pizzeria; they agreed on a medium, cheese only. “My guy said it’d be less than fifteen minutes.”
“Not bad. I’m impressed.” Patrick blushed and ruffled his hair. “Want anything while we wait?”
“Nah, I’m good, thanks.” They stood together in the kitchen, leaning on the countertops. “You said you were musician?” He asked.
“I don’t recall saying anything of the sort, but yeah you could say I am,” she replied cleverly, and he released another smile.
“Do you write your own music or just play?”
“Write, mostly.”
“I’d like to hear some, if that’s okay.”
“Not a problem. Way to pass the time, right?” Sarah led him into the studio as she flipped open her Macbook and started clicking through her music folders. “I don’t have anything with drums. Never learned how to play, and I don’t believe in ‘drum machines’ or whatever.”
“Just show me what you’ve got,” he said, laughing to himself. Her finger trembled as she selected her favorite of all the songs: a piano ballad interlaced with fine electric guitar kinda-solos and constant acoustic strumming; the piano was supposed to be showcased with the guitars as accentuations. Her voice was heart-breaking.
“You couldn’t have told me so, couldn’t have said you’d be my direction. No one said, when we met, you’d make me fall in love, and steal my affection. Just like that, at the drop of a hat, we were head over heels.
*]
[*“And all, I wanted was you, and I thought, our love must be true. So we decided to take the leap, because our feelings were just too deep. I only wish I knew the truth.
*]
[*“No one could have told me so, couldn’t have said you’d leave me utterly broken. No one said, when you left, that I’d cry, attempt to die, and that my life would overall darken. Just like that, I became a goddamn doormat, and I wonder: will I ever heal?
*]
[*“But all, I wanted was you, and I still thought, our love must be true. In the end you decided to leave, and caused me to more than gently weep. I only wish that I had known the truth.
*]
[*“I think that you can’t hurt me; more drinks would make me lonely, but I’m on the brink of being more than tipsy. And I wish you’d just call me sweetie, because drunkenly I see…
*]
[*“That all, I want is you, and I know, our love had to have been true. To this day we have a chance in which I believe, and who knows what promises I’ll keep. If only I could tell you the truth.”
When Sarah turned around, she expected Patrick to let the song roll off his back, maybe criticize it and tell her right off the bat what she needed to do to fix it; instead, his mouth was mouth was open, but no words were coming out.
“You okay?” His mouth closed, but he still stared at the computer screen. “Patrick?”
“Who broke your heart?” Was all he asked.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Who hurt you to make you write all of that? Not just the lyrics, but the music, too.”
“Oh. Uhm, well, no one, actually. Guess I’m just deep.” Patrick was still mostly motionless.
“Anything else you have to say?”
“Hm?”
“You’re my biggest musical influence. Any critique you have would be greatly appreciated.” He pulled back a little, his eyes appearing like he was really trying hard to think of what to say.
“Well, at the most, your lyrics overall are a bit wordy, and the word choice is immature at places. The music itself is beautifully arranged.”
“Considering I don’t take pride in being a lyricist, that’s good to know. Thanks.” She put down the laptop as he sat beside her on the piano bench.
“Wanna play something with me?” Inside her heart skipped a beat, but outside she played it cool.
“Sure.” He grabbed the acoustic-electric closest to him, keeping his place next to Sarah.
“Are you familiar with Fall Out Boy’s ‘Chicago Is So Two Years Ago?’”
“From Take This To Your Grave? Yeah.”
“It’s one of my favorites. When we toured, we didn’t play it much, so it never became tiring to hear. It’s been a few years since we put out the album--”
“Eight years,” Sarah interjected, smiling with flushed cheeks.
“Eight years since we put out the album, and I think it needs a little refurbishing.” Patrick knelt to get her laptop. “Do you mind if we record this?”
“Oh, no, not at all.” She stood and placed two microphone stands at the piano bench, one for their voices and the other for the piano, plugging them into the side of the laptop as he pulled up the recording program. “I think it’d be best if we--”
“Do this impromptu?” He chimed in as he plugged in his guitar. “I think so, too.” He briefly tuned his instrument as Sarah’s mind swirled. She was about to play, live, in front of Patrick Stump. No do-overs. Do not fuck this up, she thought. “Ready?” She turned to face the keys and nodded as she began to play the beat in chords after he pressed “record”.
Patrick took over vocals first, singing the entire first verse by himself. He strummed the guitar strings in a more playful way, taking the more lead guitar stance. The speed of the lyrics was slowed down dramatically, with subtle pauses in between certain words to give them more impact. Sarah started singing at the pre-chorus, receiving an approving nod from her partner. They sung the chorus together, their voices perfectly harmonized, and she couldn’t help thinking that they were made to be with each other. Musically, anyway.
The remainder of the song gradually picked up pace, Sarah tweaking with the lyrics of the second verse to fit for a girl to sing until right after the second chorus; the duo decided to stop playing entirely and to keep the next part a cappella. Sarah continued on the piano while they sang the final section together. As the final ring of the keys faded into silence, Patrick leaned over the keyboard to stop the recording.
“I think that went well,” he said. Sarah could only smile shyly, both eager and terrified to hear the final product. He shut the laptop. “Let’s take a break before we listen. Need to get music off the brain sometimes.” They stood and left the studio, moving into the main area just as the doorbell rang with pizza.
A couple hours later, the sun had set, and the two of them were finishing the pizza. Throughout the evening, they’d shared a multitude of safe stories: how Sarah always wanted to be in the music industry, how Patrick felt music was his only outlet, how grateful Sarah realized she was of the way she grew up, how all Patrick wanted in the world was for people to appreciate his music. They told funny anecdotes about each of their childhoods and their friends, laughing uncontrollably. The stereo played the local jazz station: their favorite. Amidst their dying laughter, Sarah let slip how she’d never been this close to someone.
“You’re kidding, right?”Patrick asked, barely getting the words out; she shook her head.
“I never really had friends,” she admitted, calming down and becoming more serious. “I just had people that it would look good to be with.” She then elaborated by explaining how the only times she got together with friends was to study for school.
“So you’re telling me you’ve never done anything crazy?”
“I never said that,” she said defensively.
“Okay then tell me what you’ve done.” She bit her lip as he looked at her.
“I got wickedly drunk after my parents died.” He nodded slowly, mulling it over.
“But nothing with other people?” She remained silent, and when she never responded Patrick got up and moved towards the door.
“Hey where are you going?”
“To help you get crazy.” He winked and walked out, and she cleaned up their dishes from pizza. He came back some short time later with a six-pack, a couple bottles of red wine, and whiskey.
“That is a hell of a lot of liquor,” Sarah commented.
“Yes, yes it is.”
“What do you plan on doing with it all?”
“Drinking with you.”
“I’m under twenty-one.”
“Which is why you’re not leaving your apartment tonight. I, however, will sleep in my car.”
“I can make up the couch if you want.”
“Sounds lovely.” He placed the bags on the kitchen counter and took out a couple of the beers, taking off the tops and handing one to Sarah. They sipped in silence.
“So what’s the point of this?” She asked him.
“You’ll see. Just keep drinking.” Having no choice but to accept the answer, Sarah turned up the stereo.
Hours later, the moon was high and not only was the beer finished off, but they were half into the whiskey. They’d maneuvered their way from sitting on the couch to the floor.
“God I love whiskey,” Patrick slurred. “Whiskey is the best. That’s why I sung about whiskey: ‘whiskey I’m tryin’ to c-c-cut back’ or somethin’ like that.” Sarah giggled drunkenly, noting how he still sang rather well even when under the influence.
“You are turning me to this from vodka. That’sh what I used to forget after I lost my parents.
Vodka. Didn’t go down this easy.” She finished off her glass and poured more from the bottle for herself and Patrick.
“I’d love to work with you on your whole musical stuff, Sarah.”
“Really? You mean it?”
“Yep. You got talent, kid.”
“Aw thanksh Patrick. Meansh a lot to me.” She kissed him on the cheek before settling back down.
“You know, I’ve alwaysh been alone. No siblingsh, no friendsh, just me me me me me.”
“Not alone now, because now it’sh you and me.” He scooted closer to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders; she nestled into his half-embrace subconsciously.
“Never even had a boyfriend.”
“Not possible.”
“Nope, no boyfriend. Had sex once with this guy at this one thing and it was pretty decent I guess for a first time I mean. He was at my school but he never talked to me after because I ignored him.”
“My first time I think I was in my middle teens and after a show with one of my earlier bandsh and she just kinda walked up to me and then before I knew it BAM we fucked in a bathroom stall.”
“Shit that’sh crazy.”
“Yeah.” The glasses were three-quarters empty once again.
“Patrick I’m horny.”
“How long has it been for you?”
“A year. You?”
“Roughly the same.”
“We should do it.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah.” As Sarah turned to him, he smashed their lips together, and that’s all she could remember.
The following morning, she awoke naked in her bed with a massive migraine and strong nausea. Vision blurred, she made her way into the bathroom with barely enough time to find the toilet. When she picked herself up, she shielded her eyes from the blinding sun coming from the windows but not enough to hide having Patrick in her bed, who was joining her in her hangover state. She threw him his boxers from the floor before she found a long shirt and underwear. While he groaned from pain, she mumbled about making coffee: a normally simple task that became exponentially harder whilst unable to make anything out because of the hangover. Ten minutes later, she was pouring coffee into two mugs, black, and Patrick came out to meet her at the kitchen table; she passed him his glass as he mumbled a sigh of gratitude.
They downed the first cup in silence, but halfway into the second they started to speak. The room surrounding them was a mess of clothes, bottles, and pillows.
“So, last night,” Sarah began, “we--”
“Yeah. I’m pretty sure we did.”
“Me too.” More sips. “Do you remember anything about it?”
“I have vague, warped flashes. Otherwise, no.” She nodded, running her fingers through her messy hair. “I meant what I said about helping you,” he added after finishing the second cup.
“Seriously?” She picked up the pot and topped off both mugs.
“Sarah, you had the talent, the looks, and the personality to make it when you got here. You just needed the connections, and now there’s me.”
“I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t be grateful. How could I make it up to you?” He half-smirked.
“You can start by saying thank you.” She chuckled some, holding her coffee.
“Thank you.” Their third cups were gone in silence, and as they picked up the room and cleaned the dishes, he turned to her.
“We should probably put the sex behind us if we’re going to work together. It wouldn’t be good to let things like that happen.”
“Well, we were drunk and lonely, so there’s no reason why it should happen again, right?”
“Right.” They finished tidying up after getting dressed, setting dates for when and where they could meet to work on the music. Even though she couldn’t remember most of the night before, being in his presence sparked this feeling inside of her, though she didn’t know what to call it. Around two that afternoon, following a brief lunch ordered in, she walked him to her door; he stuck out his hand for her.
“Friends?” She shook it.
“Friends.”
“Best friends; ex friends ‘til the end. Better off as lovers, and not the other way around…”
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