Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Hand of God


by prettypoizon 2 reviews

Pete is fed up with Nayah and her bad habit, so they exchange letters and text messages instead of actually talking

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Romance - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2006-12-29 - Updated: 2006-12-29 - 3233 words

[A/N: 'Nayah' is pronounced 'NAY-YAH', not 'NAH-YAH']

Pete dialed her number, and all he got was that god-awful ringing. Tears made their way to the surface, and he tried to fight them; Joe was in the next room. Pete sat down shakily in the wooden chair next to the phone, his head lowered into his hands. This had been three nights now, he'd called and there had been no answer. Why was she doing this to him? Typical Nayah.

Memories of her drifted through his mind like a summer breeze; Her hair, her beautiful black hair. Her vibrant green eyes. And her body...she was so petite. So perfect to hold.

Suddenly, his cell phone rang. He jumped and pulled it out of his pocket, flipping it open and answering quickly;
"Nayah? "
", dude, it's Patrick."
"A little high strung tonight?"
Pete mumbled an impossible-to-understand reply.
"She still hasn't answered?"
"Three days in a row, man, THREE DAYS."
There was a pause.
"You sound...awful, dude."
"Gee, thanks." Pete answered sarcastically.
"No offence."
Pete didn't answer, he just sighed sadly.
"Anyways...Andy and I have pizza in our room. I called to see if you and Joe want to eat with us."
"Yeah, sounds cool, just a sec..." Pete placed his hand over the mouth piece, and yelled towards the bedroom, "Hey, JOE You want some pizza?"
"You bet I do " Joe called back, appearing in the doorway to the small foyer, mumbling something about how fucking starved he was. Pete placed his cell phone once again to his ear.
"We'll be there in a couple minutes. Room 503?"
Patrick chuckled, and the two of them hung up their phones.
The four boys sat on Patrick's queen sized bed, cross legged, napkins in their laps, a slice of steaming vegan pizza in their hands. Andy and Joe were animatedly discussing the latest issue of some comic book, and Patrick added his two cents every so often, but his eyes were focused mainly on Pete. He sat at the foot of the bed, further away from the other three. He was beginning to show signs of what Patrick liked to think of as "Hurricane Peter"; His hair was a mess, sticking up in the back and greasy bangs falling in his eyes. His makeup was faded and smudged; he hadn't washed it off last night, nor in the morning. And he really needed to put a clean shirt on.

His eyes were cloudy, and he stared determinedly down at his pizza. He chewed slowly, as if not really paying attention to the food that he was putting into his mouth. Patrick watched as he set down a half-eaten slice and sighed. Pete normally had half a pizza to himself
"I'm not really hungry, guys." he said, breaking up the comic book rant. Joe and Andy now turned to look at Pete.
"You okay, man?" Joe asked cautiously.
Pete shrugged and stood up, the napkin that had been sitting in his lap fluttering to the floor.
"I'm gonna...go take a shower. Get to bed early, y'know...I'm just...tired." and he left Andy and Patrick's hotel room.
Pete stared straight ahead at a mold spot on the wall of the hotel shower, his eyes not registering with his brain what he was looking at. The warm water ran over his body, but he didn't feel it. All he could see, all he could feel, all he could think about was Nayah.

The last time he'd seen her hadn't been pleasant. Pete had been home for a week, and she'd met him at the air port. She had surprised him, and was waiting in the terminal for him when he got off the plane. His eyes lit up when he saw her; it'd been 3 months of non-stop touring, and he missed her more than anything back home.
"Nayah " he had cried out, and she flew into his arms. Pete was short, but Nayah was an inch shorter than him still. Her tears of joy had made his tee shirt damp.
"God, I missed you." he had whispered into her hair.
The two of them returned to the apartment, and Pete was exhausted from the long trip. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he stayed up past midnight, talking with Nayah. And the same old arguments arose, as usual. After only a few ours of civilized conversation, the two of them had flown off the handle already.
"You've been gone more days this year than you've been home " she yelled through tears of fury.
"Nayah, it's not my fault that we're touring for the new album "
"You're the one who chooses to be in a band "
"No shit, sherlock!"
"You never have any time for /me/! "
"It's not like we're /married/, Nayah." he'd hissed dangerously, and right away, he knew he'd hit the wrong nerve. Nayah's face became red with rage, and she threw a small lamp in his direction.
"Fuck you " she screamed, and she'd stormed off towards the bedroom.
Pete hadn't wasted any time; he grabbed his suitcase and left for his parent's house.

Nayah had ignored his calls for a week, the whole week he was in town. Finally, a day after he'd left for a Canadian tour, she had answered the phone. They had made up, and all was fine and dandy. That was two months ago.

They hadn't fought anymore, but Nayah's phone calls had been sounding more and more fake and distracted for a couple weeks now. And then she had stopped answering.

Pete's attention suddenly snapped back to the shower; he'd been in the there so long, the water had run cold, and Joe was banging on the door;
"Pete, man, are you okay? " came his muffled voice.
With a heavy-hearted sigh, Pete turned off the icy water and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a crisp white towel around his waist, and opened the bathroom door.
"I'm /fine/, Joseph." he said through clenched teeth.
"Well, sorry, but you've been in there for almost an hour "
Pete shrugged wordlessly and pushed past Joe to go get dressed. Joe threw his hand up in the air indignantly as Pete savagely shoved him.
"Whoa, dude "
Pete continued his silent treatment, pulling his clothes on. Joe sighed.
"Nayah again?"
"You know it." Pete replied tensely.
"How many day this time?"
Pete pulled a sweater over his head and turned to face Joe.
"Look, man, I'm sorry I've been acting like such an asshole. I'm just...bit in the mood for conversation, y'know?"
"Yeah, no problem. I'm gonna crash right now anyways, we have to be up early tomorrow., and I'm exhausted."
The two young men crawled into the two queen sized hotel beds, positioned on either side of the spacious room. Joe fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, but Pete lay awake for hours, wishing he was anywhere but there.
"It's like a tomb." he breathed into the darkness.

Nayah sat in her darkened bedroom, tears streaming down her olive cheeks. Peter's side of the bed was made up perfectly, just as it had been for more months than she could remember. She reached into her bedside drawer and extracted a sharp letter knife, elaborate designs of flowers and pretty things carved into the silver handle. It glittered menacingly in the moonlight.

Music gently floated from the speakers of her stereo;
" between my sheets, in between the rights and the wrongs..."
She took a deep breath and raised the sharp tool to her wrist;
"Fuck you, Peter Wentz."

Patrick awoke the next morning to his cellphone ringing frantically on his bedside table. He flipped it open;
"Hello?" he mumbled sleepily.
"Patrick, it's Nayah."
"Nayah Why are you calling me? Pete's been worried sick "
"I'm sorry I just...I can't talk to him right now," she said, bitting her lip to keep from crying, "Remember...remember the secret I told you a few months ago? About what happens when Pete isn't around?"
"Yeah...." Patrick replied, throwing back the covers and sitting up. He glanced over at Andy's bed; it was empty, and the shower was on in the bathroom. " haven't started again, have you?"
"Last night. I couldn't help myself, Patrick "
Patrick shook his sandy-haired head sadly and sighed.
"Nayah, you need to call Pete."
"No Patrick, I want it to be.../over/. He says he loves me, but...he's never home I've hardly seen him in about 5 months And-"
"Nayah, who's fault is that? Who doesn't answer the phone for days at a time? Hmm?"
"Me." she whispered.
"Listen, Pete does love you. He's practically been trading fucking friends for trips to go see you, but it never works out We're on tour, this is what life is like for us " Patrick snapped.
There was a long pause, and the only sound was the slight buzzing of the phone lines.
"I-I don't know w-what to say...he's been trying to come home?" Nayah finally whispered.
"Yes And the past couple weeks, he's been worried because your phone calls have been sounding more...plastic. And then you quit answering Nayah, you have to tell him about...what happens when he's gone."
"No, Patrick, I can't "
"If you don't, I will "
"Patrick "
"I have to go now, I have to be at a show in an hour."
"Patrick, no, wait-"
"Goodbye, Nayah." Patrick said firmly, and he flipped his cellphone shut.

Patrick tried all day to tell Pete about the phone call from Nayah, but he couldn't, for some reason. He would open his mouth, and utter a few simple words; "Pete, I...uh...never mind.", and chicken out. So when Patrick and Andy returned to the hotel room that night, Patrick decided to write Pete a note;


Do you know what goes on when you're away from home?
She slits her wrists. With your songs in the background.
She wants it to be over; she thinks you don't love her.

Patrick didn't use Nayah's name, because he felt it would be betrayal to Nayah. But Pete would know what he meant. Patrick folded the note into quarters and walked down the hotel hallway, until he came to room 480. He slipped the paper under the door and walked back to his room as though nothing had happened.

Pete couldn't believe it. Was this why Nayah was ignoring his phone calls? What was the matter with her How long had this been going on? Was that Patrick's handwriting? A million question raced through his mind. Joe was off somewhere with a girl he had met; Pete was alone in the room. Angrily, Pete tore up the note and threw the pieces to the ground. Why did Nayah always expect him to be a perfect boyfriend? To be there for her all the time- Pete stopped, and realized that normal people lived that way. Normal couples saw each other every day.
"Fuck " he shouted.
A mixture of tears of rage and tears of sadness spilled over, and Pete rushed to the bureau at the foot of his bed. He pulled some paper out of the drawer, and a pen with the hotel address printed on it. He decided to write Nayah a letter;

Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb
It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to
So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?

He folded the paper and sealed it into one of the letters with the hotel address in the top left corner, and left it on the mail table for room service to pick up.


"Pete...Pete, it's Patrick, open up!" called a muffled voice.
Pete slowly made his way to the hotel room door and unlocked it, swinging it open and giving Patrick a blank stare.
"What." he stated dully.
Patrick sighed and stepped inside.
"You look terrible, you're lucky we don't have a show today."
"Nice to see you, too. Good morning, sunshine."
Patrick looked up at Pete angrily.
"Well, it's true. When was the last time you washed off your makeup?"
"Dunno." Pete mumbled.
"Well, there's big black circles under your eyes."
"So?" Pete's voice was now barely audible.
"What's wrong?" Patrick asked cautiously.
Pete now looked dead ahead into Patrick's eyes.
"You fucking well know what's wrong."
Patrick swallowed hard and massaged the back of his neck, but didn't reply.
"Patrick, I'm not stupid, I know your handwriting when I see it."
Patrick looked up again;
"I had to tell you somehow. I'm worried about her, Pete."
"You and me both."
"Are you gonna try calling her again."
"No." Pete replied bluntly.
"Don't you care what happens to her?!"
Patrick shook his head in disgust;
"You are both so stupid, you know that? You're killing each other!"
Pete studied Patrick's pale eyes for a moment.
"I know."

Pete's head was spinning; darkness swirled through his mind like wind, blurring all happy thoughts, and replacing them with a feeling of intense dread, of hopelessness. Shaking, Pete pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and began typing a text message;

Hand over my heart,
gun to my head
I swear to God, I'm through with this

He threw the phone carelessly aside, and opened the bedside table drawer...
Patrick's cellphone was vibrating irritatingly in his coat pocket.
"God, I hate cell phones..." he mumbled to himself as he flipped it open. Frowning, he read the message three times through, his heart racing.
"Oh, shit." he muttered.

Nayah's pink Razr was ringing like mad. She didn't even glance at the call display; she just flipped it open and read the text. Her heart froze; she had to do something. She had to get there in time. Would she be too late?


Footsteps were pounding down the hotel hallway, faster and faster, skidding to a halt in front of room 480. The doorbell jiggled...someone was pounding hysterically on the handsome wood at the same time. And then, the door broke open, and two people stumbled inside. Pete looked up, expecting to see Patrick; but saw both him and...Nayah?
"Peter, no!" Nayah screamed through her tears.
Pete stood up guiltily.
" did you get here so fast?" he gasped.
"I've been in town all day, I was going to come and...and talk to you, but..."
Patrick watched the couple carefully; Pete didn't seem to be doing anything out of the ordinary. But then his gaze trailed down to a bedside table in between the two beds, and Patrick's followed; Nayah screamed, falling shakily into Patrick's arms.

A small handgun glittered up at Pete.

"What the fuck is that?!" Patrick cried.
"So you were serious, then? It wasn't any of your metaphorical shit?!"
Cloudy-eyed, Pete shook his head slowly.
Nayah was hyperventilating, her eyes glazed with shock. Pete stepped away from the drawer, coming around to where the others stood.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, " I wasn't going to go through with it, anyways..."
Patrick was staring at him like he was a complete stranger.
"I believe you, just...just give it to me..." he said quietly.
Pete glanced back at the drawer warily.
"Never mind, don't touch it! I'll get it." Patrick changed his mind sharply.
Patrick guided Nayah to a chair, seating her down gently. He inched towards the drawer, afraid to touch it...he grasped it securely in his left hand. He turned to Pete.
"Never, ever try anything like this again."
Pete shook his head.
"I wasn't going to-"
"I don't care! Just...just don't, okay?"
Pete swallowed and nodded.
The room was now filled with an awkward silence. No one spoke, no one breathed.
"I'm sorry." Nayah whispered after five long minutes, her voice quivering.
"Sorry for what?" Pete asked.
"This is all my fault."
Pete studied her sadly ,shaking his head.
"No, Nayah, it's not. This is our fault."
Nayah nodded, looking down at her lap. Pete stepped forward, and kneeled down gently at Nayah's feet, raising her chin up slowly with his hands.
"I love you, Nayah. I really, truly do."
"I love you, too, Peter." Nayah sobbed.
"But we're just messed up."
"I know, I know..."
Patrick watched the scene silently, not knowing what to do or say. He was still holding the gun, and he wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible.
Pete kissed Nayah gently on the lips, and pulled away, standing up.
"C'mon..." he whispered, taking her hand and helping her to her feet. He pulled her into his arms, and they just stood there, holding each other, making Patrick feel more out of place than ever. Finally, Pete kissed the top of her jet black haired head and they broke away. Pete looked up at Patrick;
"Throw it out the window."
"I can't do that..."
"Just get rid of it, please."
Patrick nodded.
"And Patrick? I'm...I'm sorry I got you wrapped up in this."
"It's okay." Patrick said softly.
"No it's not. I am genuinely sorry."
Patrick smiled, and he left the hotel room.
Nayah looked up at Pete.
"What made you decide not to go through with it?"
"I life was passed from my own hands to the hands of God, I guess."
Nayah smiled, pleased with his answer.
" what are we going to do about us?" she wondered.
Pete sighed through his nose, looking up at the ceiling as if for guidance. Then he spoke;
"Come on tour with us. I never want to be apart again."
Nayah's eyes were wild.
"You're crazy."
"I can actually stay with you all the time?"
"Of course. That's how regular couples do it."
Nayah grinned, and the two were silent for a moment.
"Nayah, we can't do this to each other anymore."
Nayah nodded.
"We have to be best friends, not worst enemies. If we want to save ourselves..."
"Shhh, Peter, I get it." Nayah muttered, raising a finger to Pete's lips.


"Hey, Patrick!" Pete called as Patrick made his way down the hotel hallway. He turned around.
"I wrote a new song last night."
"Here are the lyrics..."

Been gone more days this year than I have been home
Trading friends for trips to the coast
This hotel room feels more like a tomb

It's not gossip if it's the truth
I'm sick of always writing songs for you to slit your wrists to

So which is it: the boy who writes the songs or the boy who's in them?
Who's the girl? Is this truth or is he writing fiction?

Hand over my heart, gun to my head
I swear to God I'm through with this
I am the worst liar I know

Patrick read them twice over and then peered up at Pete over the tops of his glasses.
"You actually want to record something as blunt as this?"
Pete shrugged.
"You always say you hate my metaphorical shit."
Patrick grinned.
"It's perfect."
Patrick turned and left, music already forming in his head.
It's over
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