Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > The Bass Files: Parallel Universe
The last straw
12 reviewsThe last chapter of the Parallel Universe tells you about the inevitable. The necessary. The logic of FrostedGlass. (Oxy-moron me.) The outcome enables us, dear readers, to witness how the PU and t...
2Original
36. The last straw *
AUTHOR´S BLAH: HERE WE ARE, THE VERY LAST CHAPTER OF THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE OF THE FILES. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED EXPLORING THIS ALTERNATIVE PLOT LINE.
CHAPTER 37 (the next one) OF THE REGULAR FILES WILL SKILLFULLY - THAT IS, IF I CAN FIND SOMEBODY TO GHOSTWRITE IT FOR ME - MELT BOTH STRANDS OF PLOT INTO ONE STORY AGAIN.*
THANKS FOR READING AND REVIEWING. YOU´RE A LOT COOLER THAN SHEENA.**
________________________
A week after Andy and I had broken up I met everyone in his garage to listen to the band practice. I guess it would be wrong to call it "our" band practice because Pete had taken my place.
I had expressed my wish for him to remain the bassist because a) being a terrible or terribly famous musician would mess with my ambitions as a teacher and b) I felt that the musical vibe between the guys was better than the thing they had with me. Must be a dick thing, I was thinking. Pete added that c) he could draw a larger crowd due to his "natural beauty" (Pete, obviously, being the first individual to be born with eyeliner in their face) and strategically planted rolls of coins.
He had a point. I didn´t necessarily appeal to members of the (male) gay community.
Despite Peter Pants´s perpetual narcissism, I sensed that he was actually grateful that I left the field to him. His lips might have said "me, myself and I and hair gel" but his eyes clearly read "thank you". And it was even underlined.
Andy and I talked normally. We were neither extremely friendly nor noticably cold. I did feel awkward and slightly out of place, but frankly, when did I not, right? I was confident that we would get over this unpleasant state of seeing the other as an ex and would get back to being friends at some later date.
I realize it sounds naïve but still. The other guys were very helpful since they behaved as if nothing had happened. Again, I guess that´s a dick thing. When you think about things that you can´t change too much it just makes you miserable and bitter. And cynicism is not half as attractive as roadkill.
"That last song, was that something you wrote with your cousin?" I asked Patrick after the guys had finished.
"Yeah... you like?"
"It was beautiful... The lyrics were a bit strange but kinda interesting." I replied.
He smiled at me, "Well, thank you." He looked behind him and spotted Andy out of earshot. "So... how are you feeling about the break-up?"
"I´m good, Patrick. It just didn´t work out. We gave it our best try," I tried to feed him off with some platitudes.
"We don´t have to talk about this, Sheena," he said, picking up on my reluctance to discuss this matter in greater detail.
I looked at him gratefully.
"But," he added, "I´m always there if you do wanna talk about it at some later point in time."
"Thanks, dude."
Faithful friends come in hats. And, sometimes, in chocolate bar wrappers.
_ _ _ _ _
A few days later I called Patrick to hang out with him. He told me to come over to his place and we could get something to eat as soon as he was finished with... actually I didn't know what he was working at.
Joe opened the door, informing me that our friend was in his room.
"Talk some sense into that love-blind zombie. It´s a crime what Joyce is doing to him," he sighed before he passed me by and headed out of the apartment. Before I could ask him to explain that comment to me in more detail he was gone.
"Patrick?" I knocked at his door.
"Intrude!" he yelled cheerfully. So I did.
He was sitting on the bed, laptop on his lap, and typing busily.
"Hey, there. What´s up?"
He abandoned the screen for a moment to look at me, "Just finishing up this thing I´m doing for Joyce."
I took a seat on his huge bean bag, pulling my legs up and crossing them Native American -style.*
"What´s that?" I inquired.
"Just some paper for her literature class..."
"What?" I squeaked. Was he kidding me? "Are you shitting me?"
"I shit you not,"** he replied, still typing. "She asked me to do it because she´s not good at it... I asked Joe for some help because I´m not quite the literary genius myself."
That explained why Joe had been semi-pissed when I had arrived.
"Patrick," I started softly, "are you aware of what´s happening?"
He glanced at me, looking bashful. He opened his mouth but then decided against replying.
He was still fixating me as I commenced, "I think this is wrong. You shouldn´t be doing her work. Why can´t she write her assignments herself?"
"She... ah, she´s hanging out with some friends."
I wanted to slap my forehead to express my opinion on that but I didn´t. Instead I got up and sat down next to my friend.
"Dude, you´re sitting here, doing her work and she´s having a good time with friends? Do you realize what you just told me?"
I averted his eyes from mine and looked at his hands on the keyboard. "I know... and it´s actually not the first time I´m doing this." he said meekly. "I´m whipped." He made a whip cracking motion, maybe in an attempt to bring some humor into the situation.***
For a few second pictures of Andy and my sex life flooded my brain.** This caused me to finally slap my forehead, trying to get rid of them.
"You just don´t wanna lose her, huh?" I asked.
He nodded slightly.
I sighed.
"I know it´s not the right way..." Patrick muttered. "But I really like her, Sheena."
I touched his hand, "I just don´t want you to get hurt, Patrick. I´m not sure Joyce realizes what a blessing you are."
Did I just use the word "blessing"? I sounded like my grandma when talking about her diapers.
He blushed and so did I, pulling my hand away quickly.
I could see that he was searching for the right words. After a short pause he said, "I waited for this for so long. I just don´t wanna screw up, you know?"
I wanted to scream at him, tell him what a huge load of bullshit this was. She wasn´t worth this, she didn´t deserve him. I probably would never approve of any of his girlfriends but Joyce was clearly not the right one for him. Damn them Hurleys.
"Finished, Patrick?" we heard as the door burst open and Joyce, a set of keys dangling in her hand, entered the room. "Oh, hey, Sheena."
He looked at her, "I got kinda sidetracked talking to Sheena but I´m almost done."
"What do you mean ´almost´? I need to hand it in in like 30 minutes and it´s a 20 minute drive to college!"
I got up from the bed. It was time to leave. "Um, later, guys," I headed for the door.
"Sorry, sweetheart. I promise you I´ll finish on time," I heard Patrick trying to soothe her as I walked through the living room.
"I can´t believe you´re hanging around with Sheena instead of doing something for me, your girlfriend! Don´t I mean anything to you?"
Was it biologically possible to be on PMS all of the month?***
I had my hand on the door handle.
"Obviously you don´t love me! Why couldn´t you just do this one thing for me?!"
It was time to intervene.
I hurried back to Patrick´s room. His eyes widened when he saw me storming in.
Facing Joyce I gave her a piece of my mind, "You know what? You got some fucking nerve! That guy´s madly in love with you! So much that he doesn´t even realize what an abusive selfish person you are. All you ever want is more and all you´re repaying him with is bitchiness and accusations. Honestly, you disgust me."
Silence.
After about one minute Joyce turned to her boyfriend who was still sitting on the bed, looking as if the president had suddenly learned how to pronounce... his own name correctly.
"Patrick?" she prompted him.
Silence.
"Is there something you might wanna tell me?" Joyce demanded. "Or Sheena?"
"I don´t think so," he replied.
Joyce eyed me, looking as if she was about to rip my head off.****
"Ok, then," she passed me by. "If you´re not even gonna defend me against some who shouldn´t be handing out relationship advice because they failed so miserably themselves in that field, then I guess there´s nothing left to say."
A few seconds later we heard the door slam.
Later that day Patrick called her to talk things over. She told him it was over.
He never said a word about my intervention. I didn´t know if he thought I did the right thing or if he thought I should have concerned myself with my own business. The guy was surprisingly calm.
"I kinda saw that coming some time ago... I guess I just didn´t want to admit it to myself," he explained to me.
The truth hurts sometimes. But it´s also often a relief. At least to some of us.
______________
* Don´t ask me what that means for Mr. Meatball´s (lack of) balls. I never paid attention in biology class. Or creative writing class, for that matter.
** Who is slightly cooler than me but still not as cool as Christmas in Australia.
* Katy approval?
** I think this phrase should get its own Bass Files spin-off story. I shit you not. With loads of merchandise (t-shirts, Crystal!). The protagonist: Jack Shit.
*** Which only a moron would do.
** ad) *** i.e. me.
*** Biology. Obviously not Sheena´s forte either. I, personally, wouldn´t mind being on Patrick Martin Stump all of the month.
**** I guess that would resolve the bad hair issue.
AUTHOR´S BLAH: HERE WE ARE, THE VERY LAST CHAPTER OF THE PARALLEL UNIVERSE OF THE FILES. I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOYED EXPLORING THIS ALTERNATIVE PLOT LINE.
CHAPTER 37 (the next one) OF THE REGULAR FILES WILL SKILLFULLY - THAT IS, IF I CAN FIND SOMEBODY TO GHOSTWRITE IT FOR ME - MELT BOTH STRANDS OF PLOT INTO ONE STORY AGAIN.*
THANKS FOR READING AND REVIEWING. YOU´RE A LOT COOLER THAN SHEENA.**
________________________
A week after Andy and I had broken up I met everyone in his garage to listen to the band practice. I guess it would be wrong to call it "our" band practice because Pete had taken my place.
I had expressed my wish for him to remain the bassist because a) being a terrible or terribly famous musician would mess with my ambitions as a teacher and b) I felt that the musical vibe between the guys was better than the thing they had with me. Must be a dick thing, I was thinking. Pete added that c) he could draw a larger crowd due to his "natural beauty" (Pete, obviously, being the first individual to be born with eyeliner in their face) and strategically planted rolls of coins.
He had a point. I didn´t necessarily appeal to members of the (male) gay community.
Despite Peter Pants´s perpetual narcissism, I sensed that he was actually grateful that I left the field to him. His lips might have said "me, myself and I and hair gel" but his eyes clearly read "thank you". And it was even underlined.
Andy and I talked normally. We were neither extremely friendly nor noticably cold. I did feel awkward and slightly out of place, but frankly, when did I not, right? I was confident that we would get over this unpleasant state of seeing the other as an ex and would get back to being friends at some later date.
I realize it sounds naïve but still. The other guys were very helpful since they behaved as if nothing had happened. Again, I guess that´s a dick thing. When you think about things that you can´t change too much it just makes you miserable and bitter. And cynicism is not half as attractive as roadkill.
"That last song, was that something you wrote with your cousin?" I asked Patrick after the guys had finished.
"Yeah... you like?"
"It was beautiful... The lyrics were a bit strange but kinda interesting." I replied.
He smiled at me, "Well, thank you." He looked behind him and spotted Andy out of earshot. "So... how are you feeling about the break-up?"
"I´m good, Patrick. It just didn´t work out. We gave it our best try," I tried to feed him off with some platitudes.
"We don´t have to talk about this, Sheena," he said, picking up on my reluctance to discuss this matter in greater detail.
I looked at him gratefully.
"But," he added, "I´m always there if you do wanna talk about it at some later point in time."
"Thanks, dude."
Faithful friends come in hats. And, sometimes, in chocolate bar wrappers.
_ _ _ _ _
A few days later I called Patrick to hang out with him. He told me to come over to his place and we could get something to eat as soon as he was finished with... actually I didn't know what he was working at.
Joe opened the door, informing me that our friend was in his room.
"Talk some sense into that love-blind zombie. It´s a crime what Joyce is doing to him," he sighed before he passed me by and headed out of the apartment. Before I could ask him to explain that comment to me in more detail he was gone.
"Patrick?" I knocked at his door.
"Intrude!" he yelled cheerfully. So I did.
He was sitting on the bed, laptop on his lap, and typing busily.
"Hey, there. What´s up?"
He abandoned the screen for a moment to look at me, "Just finishing up this thing I´m doing for Joyce."
I took a seat on his huge bean bag, pulling my legs up and crossing them Native American -style.*
"What´s that?" I inquired.
"Just some paper for her literature class..."
"What?" I squeaked. Was he kidding me? "Are you shitting me?"
"I shit you not,"** he replied, still typing. "She asked me to do it because she´s not good at it... I asked Joe for some help because I´m not quite the literary genius myself."
That explained why Joe had been semi-pissed when I had arrived.
"Patrick," I started softly, "are you aware of what´s happening?"
He glanced at me, looking bashful. He opened his mouth but then decided against replying.
He was still fixating me as I commenced, "I think this is wrong. You shouldn´t be doing her work. Why can´t she write her assignments herself?"
"She... ah, she´s hanging out with some friends."
I wanted to slap my forehead to express my opinion on that but I didn´t. Instead I got up and sat down next to my friend.
"Dude, you´re sitting here, doing her work and she´s having a good time with friends? Do you realize what you just told me?"
I averted his eyes from mine and looked at his hands on the keyboard. "I know... and it´s actually not the first time I´m doing this." he said meekly. "I´m whipped." He made a whip cracking motion, maybe in an attempt to bring some humor into the situation.***
For a few second pictures of Andy and my sex life flooded my brain.** This caused me to finally slap my forehead, trying to get rid of them.
"You just don´t wanna lose her, huh?" I asked.
He nodded slightly.
I sighed.
"I know it´s not the right way..." Patrick muttered. "But I really like her, Sheena."
I touched his hand, "I just don´t want you to get hurt, Patrick. I´m not sure Joyce realizes what a blessing you are."
Did I just use the word "blessing"? I sounded like my grandma when talking about her diapers.
He blushed and so did I, pulling my hand away quickly.
I could see that he was searching for the right words. After a short pause he said, "I waited for this for so long. I just don´t wanna screw up, you know?"
I wanted to scream at him, tell him what a huge load of bullshit this was. She wasn´t worth this, she didn´t deserve him. I probably would never approve of any of his girlfriends but Joyce was clearly not the right one for him. Damn them Hurleys.
"Finished, Patrick?" we heard as the door burst open and Joyce, a set of keys dangling in her hand, entered the room. "Oh, hey, Sheena."
He looked at her, "I got kinda sidetracked talking to Sheena but I´m almost done."
"What do you mean ´almost´? I need to hand it in in like 30 minutes and it´s a 20 minute drive to college!"
I got up from the bed. It was time to leave. "Um, later, guys," I headed for the door.
"Sorry, sweetheart. I promise you I´ll finish on time," I heard Patrick trying to soothe her as I walked through the living room.
"I can´t believe you´re hanging around with Sheena instead of doing something for me, your girlfriend! Don´t I mean anything to you?"
Was it biologically possible to be on PMS all of the month?***
I had my hand on the door handle.
"Obviously you don´t love me! Why couldn´t you just do this one thing for me?!"
It was time to intervene.
I hurried back to Patrick´s room. His eyes widened when he saw me storming in.
Facing Joyce I gave her a piece of my mind, "You know what? You got some fucking nerve! That guy´s madly in love with you! So much that he doesn´t even realize what an abusive selfish person you are. All you ever want is more and all you´re repaying him with is bitchiness and accusations. Honestly, you disgust me."
Silence.
After about one minute Joyce turned to her boyfriend who was still sitting on the bed, looking as if the president had suddenly learned how to pronounce... his own name correctly.
"Patrick?" she prompted him.
Silence.
"Is there something you might wanna tell me?" Joyce demanded. "Or Sheena?"
"I don´t think so," he replied.
Joyce eyed me, looking as if she was about to rip my head off.****
"Ok, then," she passed me by. "If you´re not even gonna defend me against some who shouldn´t be handing out relationship advice because they failed so miserably themselves in that field, then I guess there´s nothing left to say."
A few seconds later we heard the door slam.
Later that day Patrick called her to talk things over. She told him it was over.
He never said a word about my intervention. I didn´t know if he thought I did the right thing or if he thought I should have concerned myself with my own business. The guy was surprisingly calm.
"I kinda saw that coming some time ago... I guess I just didn´t want to admit it to myself," he explained to me.
The truth hurts sometimes. But it´s also often a relief. At least to some of us.
______________
* Don´t ask me what that means for Mr. Meatball´s (lack of) balls. I never paid attention in biology class. Or creative writing class, for that matter.
** Who is slightly cooler than me but still not as cool as Christmas in Australia.
* Katy approval?
** I think this phrase should get its own Bass Files spin-off story. I shit you not. With loads of merchandise (t-shirts, Crystal!). The protagonist: Jack Shit.
*** Which only a moron would do.
** ad) *** i.e. me.
*** Biology. Obviously not Sheena´s forte either. I, personally, wouldn´t mind being on Patrick Martin Stump all of the month.
**** I guess that would resolve the bad hair issue.
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