Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Cobwebs On My Zipper

Yeah, It's Lame and Cliche

by ZippersOverYou 2 reviews

A bit different

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG - Genres: Humor, Parody, Romance - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2007-01-04 - Updated: 2007-01-05 - 2027 words

I dunno, I feel like I'm losing every good word that made this story worth reading so I'm trying to go back to basics and find the same glowing quotes that made my eyes all a-glitter and my fingers all a-twitter. This story's on the verge of changing and I need a little Pete Wentz up my sleeve to try and get this story's fat SUV ass around the gentle turn just over the cliff so it can coast through the various moods I've got going for it. It might take me a little while to update since I just want to make the next few notepaper doodles, a good experience for you so you can tell your friends about it when they say something that reminds you of it (am I the only one who does that?). The fact that you read story at all is a notch on my ink jar, and if it weren't for the glowing, beauteous reviews, this story would be off the map before you could say 'French toast'.

Peter, Peter Pumpkin Eater

The calluses etched the tips of my fingers like lily pads and dusted off memories of the razors in my life and the scars I would take to my grave. It was those same calluses that now braved through the dark oblivion like astronauts with dreams in their heads of stepping on the red planet.

Melissa's hair twirled around my restless fingers like the vines that only moved when your head was turned or when you blinked as I let them rest in the soft bed of darkness.

Her ear, her cheek, her head lay just under the arc of paint on my bare chest and I could almost feel her listening to the, for once, continuous thump, thump, thump of my artery. Every few seconds, her eyelashes would skirt over the plains of my olive-tinted skin but the rest of her seemed to be fair bait for the coroner to come and take away.

She lay between my sheets and between my arms with the dying innocence of a 16-year old girl on spring break as she looked up at me with big brown eyes.

"Pete?" It was strange how her voice seemed to tickle my small intestine as if I could feel the acid from old McDonalds sear through it.

"Yeah, Melissa?"

A small, happy sigh scattered onto my stomach and floated into the air where it was left with no choice but to die.

"I love you."

Stupidly, I inhaled the words sideways and they stuck in my vocal chords, as if I hadn't chewed them properly. My right hand gripped her shoulder with what was supposed to be a reassuring squeeze but evolved within seconds into a painful mixed message, as the words bounced back to her crumpled like a badly received note,

"I-I love you, too, M-Melissa."

Awkwardly, I felt obliged to say that. I felt as if there was nothing else I could possibly say that wouldn't insult her. 'Thank you'? That's what you say when you get a gift. 'I know'? Conceited beyond the point of rational thought. 'Aw, that's sweet'? That's like saying 'how cute' after sex.

It's not that I didn't love Melissa. It's not that I didn't see her when I closed my eyes. It's not that having sex with her wasn't the most mind-blowing experience of my lifetime, but it was that...I don't know. I'd already overdosed on passion and the lack of lies more times than I could count that night and it made my vision blurry while my mouth tasted constantly of honey.

She sighed again, happily and I couldn't shake the feeling that I had made someone happy, I had done something good. But of course, the consequences lurked under the bed in my mind with pristine, sharpened teeth waiting to delve through the open gate into my nightmares. There was my best friend to sweat about.

Would Andy understand that I was physically addicted to his sister like cocaine or would the longhaired wonder kick my ass into last Tuesday?

The Consequences smiled brighter at me as an image of the band drunk with pity sex and sitting in their separate apartments with their separate lives scared me more than any nightmare ever could and I couldn't restrain a shiver going through me.

Ok, first thing in the morning, I'd find Andy, sit him down and talk with him about this. There was no way the band was going down...not from this.


"Don't worry, Petey, this won't hurt in the least. Nurse, the scalpel?"

Sweat dripped from my bangs and stung my eyes like torture as I tossed my head from side to side. Thick ropes held my bleeding wrists to the metal slab underneath my back. Like some sort of sadistic acupuncture, needles breached every inch of my non-tattooed arms and undulated deeper into the veins.

The sterile doctor pressed the scalpel to my skin and I could feel the release as it split in half.

He leaned over me and through the thin plastic mask I could see the smile of the Consequences underneath the bed in my mind stretching the grotesque face.

"Sorry, Petey, I missed. But they put erasers on pencils for a reason, huh?"

The doctor laughed maniacally and pressed the small rounded blade back into my skin and the dizziness hit me full on.

Both nurses leaned on my arms and proceeded to push the needles further as the doctor pulled a small cork tree from the inside of my chest. Tears beaded down my face with the massive pain.

A nurse pressed her body over me and dragged a white cloth across my face. She pulled my chin up and through the mass of blonde hair, I could see slight resemblances to Jess,

"Aww, sweet cheeks, don't cry. It'll ruin your eyeliner."

Laughing, the doctor patted my face and smiled again,

"Kid, trust me, you ain't original. You're just a stupid kid who doesn't know when to shut up."

Tears streamed down my face as I fought against the ropes.

In a desperate attempt to leave my mind, I forced my eyes open only to greet the darkness with pain piercing my eyelids annoyingly informing me that I got less than enough sleep.

Sure enough, drying tears streaked down my face like consequences were chasing them and beneath me the bed was drenched with cold sweat and childhood fears. My breath came in small gasps as the dream unwittingly replayed with deadly detail through my twisted head.

Every single needle pressed into my arms and I could feel the drug surging through my disgusting body. Standing drunkenly, I slogged my feet to the bathroom and slammed my fist into the light switch. No memory featured me closing the door but sure enough, it shut me off from the rest of the world as my skin did every day of my life.

The sickness pressed my knees and I buckled weakly under the pressure. My hands lined the porcelain bowl as sweat continued to drip from my bangs in a never-ending reminder of the needles, the nurses and the cork trees.

Already digested contents coming through my throat were almost enough to make me throw up again and I pounded the tile as my mouth choked and more tears trashed my already disgusting eyeliner.

Throwing up only seemed to make me feel sicker and more disgusting and I wallowed in my sweaty misery against the rim of the bathtub wishing someone would just kill me already, just to get me out of everyone's way and out of everyone's life.

I pressed my knees to my chest as if that could possibly keep the dreams from my head and stop the small, meaningless tears from falling like some signal no one could hear. I always tried to deny it but I was just a stupid boy who wouldn't shut up. I always tried to say I made some sort of difference but of course that wasn't true. No one could care if I took my own damn advice and stopped burning bridges only to drive off of them.

The feeling of someone watching me crept up my spine and latched its cold hand on my brain stem, forcing me to look up at the doorway.

Jess stood leaning against the archway staring down at me with tired green eyes and a mouth that might as well have been stitched together. My ugly eyes stared up at her as if she were an angel with all the answers while she looked down at the floor and licked her lips slowly.

Lowering herself down somewhat gracefully, she silently offered her support and the drops of water flowed from my reddening eyes more freely. Rough sobs erupted from my bare chest as I tried to save some dignity for the morning and the lifetime after.

Out of general instinct, she wrapped her black arms around my revolting skin and pressed me to the spot between her neck and her shoulder I knew so well on a woman.

Feeling as if she were the only person who actually cared for this pile of shit, I threw my arms around Jess and grabbed her hoodie in a 'please don't go', 'I miss you, mommy' sort of pathetic way.

"Pete, when this twisted world and everyone in it turns away from you, come to me. I'll be there for you. Yeah, it's lame and cliché but cut me some slack, it's four in the morning. Great words aren't my forte, that's your area of expertise."

Between sobs, I was able to spurt out,

"Jess, I-I...It doesn't matter. Nothing I say ever matters. I should just...die. "

She pushed me in such a way I was forced to look at her,

"'Nothing you say matters'? Pete Wentz, you have to be fucking kidding me. Pete, I wish with all my might that I had the guts, the intelligence and the creativity to say what you say on a day-to-day basis. Pete, to me your words are like the fucking bible. If you told me to jump out of a damn plane, there'd be no question. So don't you dare tell me that nothing you say means nothing because to me and to thousands of kids who don't have anywhere to turn, your words mean everything."

I stared and was finally able to hold back my tears. This girl, this blonde sitting with me on the white tile floor of a hotel holding me meant more to me than anyone who would come to my head at the moment. Not did she just care about me but she seemed to understand me. To understand exactly which buttons to press and which valves to rotate to get me feeling better.

Wiping away lines of liner from my face, I smiled weakly up at her and tried to support myself. She helped me up (in more than one way) and sweetly offered,

"Come on, let's go back to my room. I'm all alone and we can watch some 5 am tv, order some room service and just have a grand old time."

More than once, I idiotically tried to put my hands in the pocket of my hoodie before I realized Melissa was sleeping on top of it in the bed we'd so sensuously shared an eternity ago.

Jess shuffled back through the room as if we were teenagers sneaking out to go to the mall at 10 pm when our parents said no and I was the scared one, I realized as I whispered to her,

"Do you think Melissa's awake?"

She turned to me and mused quite loudly,

"Nah, that chick sleeps like a damn rock."

It was five when we entered the threshold into Jess' room and when we watched old Pink Panther and Bugs Bunny cartoons. It was 5:30 when we woke up room service for some ice cream and it was 7 when we both fell asleep on the couch. No nightmares this time...just the warming feeling of being with a good friend.
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