FicWad

Emily was home the next day, bright and early. She drove home from the airport, hardly paying attention to the road, for she was still simmering in an unusual mixture of anger and sadness. She parked her car un her usual space near her building and stormed upstairs.

The door slammed behind her, and she dropped her suitcase unceremoniously onto the counter. She rushed down the hall and into her bedroom, and the first thing that caught her eye were the random assortment of photos of Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe that were stuck into the frame of her mirror. She pulled every single on out and threw them across the room violently, and they landed scattered across her bed. A copy of their EP was laying next to her stereo, and Patrick's Greenday shirt was bunched up on the floor. Hanging on the wall was a sketch Peter had drawn for her. Everywhere she turned, everywhere she looked, there were memories of them. Emily cried out in frustration, running her hands through her dark hair. She sat down in the middle of her bedroom floor, tears spilling over, and tucked her knees under her chin. Glancing down, something caught her eye; the tattoo. 'These friends are golden' stared up at her.
"No!" she sobbed, letting go of her knees and falling backwards, spread eagle, on her bedroom floor, "Leave me alone."

Emily lay there for hours, and eventually cried herself to sleep, only to be awaken by the ringing phone. She dragged herself to the phone and picked up the receiver.
"Yeah." She asnwered miserably.
"Em! You're home! How was Madison?" Hanna-Bella greeted her cheerily.
"Let's just say I won't be going back any time soon."
"Emily...what happened?"
Emily told the whole story; kissing Pete, the fights, the hurt. Everything. And when she was done, all Hanna-Bella could do was sigh sadly.
"Emily, they are you best friends, right? You have to call-"
"Not anymore! I don't have to call them, ever again!" Emily spat hysterically.
Hanna-Bella paused.
"So...what does this mean? Like, for you?"
Emily took a deep breath, making her decision.
"It means...I have to grow up a bit. The music scene is over/, Hanna. This is the new me...school, work, /reality."
"But, the music scene is part of who you are! Shows every nights, hanging around the venues, watching our friends make it big...you know what I mean."
"Hanna, that's not who I want to be anymore. Look where music got me and...them! Music took them away from me."
"Emily! You're blaming music?! That's silly!"
Emily didn't answer. Hanna-Bella sighed.
"I have to go now, Em. Feel better."

~

"Hey, Pete?"
Pete looked up from his desk to see Patrick standing in the doorway, a stack of music in his hands.
"Yeah?"
Patrick stepped into the room and sat down on the edge of Pete's bed.
"I've been workin' on the lyrics you wrote, the music is coming along nicely. But some of this stuff is kind of...fake and weak, y'know ? I don't even wanna bother recording it, no offence..."
Pete laughed.
"No problem. I know a lot of it sucks, anyways. Which ones are you shredding?"
"Not 'shredding', just putting away for now...this one, this one..." as Patrick handed sheets of loose-leaf paper with lyrics scribbled on them back to Pete, a crumbled-up paper laying on the floor caught his eye. He lay the stack of music down next to him and bent over to pick up the ball of paper.
"What are these?"
"Aw, just a song I was working on, before...well, I'm not working on it anymore"
Patrick read over the lyrics;

My heart ticks in beat with these kids that I grew up with.
living like life's going out of style.
You came to watch us play...like a "Big shot talent,"
but at the end of the day you know where we come from
and where we call home.

Hey Em, you were our only friend.
I know this is belated, but we love you back.

They'll say it's not worth it.
So we'll leave this town in ruins.
living like life's going out of style.
You came to watch us play...like a "Big shot talent,"
but at the end of the day you know those busted lips
we take back home.

I know you would be there either way.
I'm so glad it seems like these times will never fade.
So I'll tell everyone how much this means to me.

"Whoa, dude...that's pretty good!"
"Yeah, but...it isn't relevant anymore." Pete replied darkly.
Patrick thought for a moment, then grabbed a pen off the desk, replacing "Em" with "Chris".
"There." He said, showing Pete.
"That will piss her off so much!"
"Who fucking cares." Patrick mumbled.

~

Emily carefully packed away everything in the entire house that reminded her of them. She wouldn't even speak their names anymore; Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe had simply become 'them'. Emily tried to put the pieces of her life, shattered into a million pieces, back into place, but it was hard, what with those letters arriving all the time.
It had started about a week after she got home from Madison. A letter had arrived, Pete's name in the return address. She nervously ripped open the envelope, and pulled a single post-it note from inside. Scribbled neatly onto it was;

"Every friend we ever had in common
I will sever the tie with you
You can thank your lucky stars
That everything I wish for will never come true"

Emily angrily ripped the paper into tiny pieces and threw them into the trash. But it didn't stop there; a few days later, another single post-it note arrived;

"I've seen sinking ships go down with more grace than you"

Emily swore as she pitched it out the window. A week passed with no more mail from Pete, and Emily thought it was over. But Monday came, and she received another post-it;

"Let's play this game called "when you catch fire"
I wouldn't piss to put you out
Stop burning bridges and drive off of them
So I can forget about you"

"Why are you doing this?!" Emily cried out, tears making her eyes glassy. And over the next couple of months, Emily received a letter almost every day. Sometimes they were single lines, things like "Another night alone in the city", and sometimes they were full verses that made Emily squirm with curiosity as to the meaning. Finally, the last one came. Emily opened it, wondering for the millionth time why she continued to open her mail, and pulled out the post-it;

"Sending you postcards from a plane crash; wish you were here."
And it was signed Pete, Patrick, Andy and Joe.

Something about it seemed final to Emily,and the letters stopped.