Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > I don't think you're my drug.
Yay. Another chapter already. The only reason you got this one so soon is because I forced my sister to type it out for me. MWAHAHA.
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"So, when you go home today, I want you all to find something that gives you the same happiness that you get when you take the drugs. Like I say, it could take time, but it will slowly stop you from needing whatever it is you take. Thanks everyone. See you again next week."
I groaned and pulled myself up from the chair I had sat on for the last two hours. I dismissed the people who were saying goodbye to me, and I headed straight for the door.
I noticed Pete sitting on the hood of his car, and he smiled and waved to me. I glared at him and nearly tackled him to the floor.
"NEVER! Never! NEVER make me go there again. I swear to god Pete, they are all freaks who don't even know why people take drugs! For FUCK sake Pete! UGGHH!" I screamed and climbed into the car. He widened his eyes and looked at me through the windscreen. He shook his head and climbed into the drivers seat.
"It's for your own good Tay! It's not like you're a lightweight, you take that stuff ALL THE FUCKING TIME!" I was surprised by his voice being raised. Normally he would've just tried to calm me down.
"I don't get it! YOU'RE NOT EVEN WILLING TO FUCKING TRY! For god sake! I don't even know why I'm helping you!" He started the car, and I stared at him. I didn't expect him to get angry with me.
"Pete, I just can't be in that sort of situation. It doesn't help - " He interrupted me.
"YES IT DOES TAY! IF YOU GAVE IT A CHANCE, AND MAYBE PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT, YOU MIGHT GET SOMEWHERE! BUT NO! YOU DON'T EVEN FUCKING CARE!" He started to drive and looked out the windscreen.
"Listen to me Tay. Either do this; or I give up. I have tried to help you, and you don't seem to care. If you don't try, I don't want to try either." I looked at my feet.
He was right, I knew it. I just found it hard. I was always the hard girl, the girl who didn't care. The girl who wasn't afraid of death. The girl who wondered what happened when we die.
The girl who did drugs.
The girl who wanted nothing to do with normality.
The girl who wasn't afraid.
Of anything.
I know it now.
You're not that girl anymore.
And I needed to change.
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I looked back over my shoulder, and focused my eyes on the front door. He wasn't coming. I turned my head to look back at the desk, and started to file through all of his stuff.
I had been staying at Pete's temporary flat while he stayed here. He kept all his paperwork here, rather than at his actual house. Probably so his mother didn't find it. The flat was nice, it was one of those oldie-worldie flats that everybody wanted, because the structure and design of the building is something that would never be done again. Pete somehow managed to get his hands on one. Heh, me, jealous? Never.
Back to the rummaging. I searched through all of his paperwork, his files, his folders, his cabinets, his drawers, his cupboards, and even his CD box. Nothing. I couldn't find the thing. Damnit.
I went upstairs, and trudged through the piles of washing that he had left lying around. I searched through the bathroom, and there was nothing. I went into his bedroom. I knew it had to be in here somewhere.
I searched through his drawers and found nothing. I searched everywhere. FUCKING NOTHING. I was beginning to get pissed off, and he would probably be back soon. I moaned, and stomped my foot. My foot hit something.
I bent down, and saw a large box, slightly poking out from under Pete's bed. I pulled it out, and opened the lid.
Leaflets, letters, flyers, posters, and pieces of paper all from Pete's many contacts. There were even a few R-Tec flyers, and even one of my phone cards. I searched through, and found exactly what I was looking for.
I threw everything back in the box, and put it back in its place under the bed. Standing up, I observed the leaflet.
Jeremy Wryer
Tysted district rehabilitation center
464 Northand ave.
Center for drug and alcohol addicts,
and special center for self-harmers and suicide watch.
Rooms subject to terms.
For more information please contact Jeremy on (0884) 2204448
I sighed, and went downstairs. I closed all the drawers that I had forgotten, and sat back in the living room. I sat on the sofa, and read the leaflet once more. I closed my eyes.
"Tay! Get your backside down here!" My mother shouted up to me. I sighed, and threw my books on the floor, and slid down the banister that connected the two levels. Plopping on the floor, I walked over to my mom.
"Yes mother?" I laughed and she stuck her tongue out. I laughed again and she smiled.
"Aunty Kay is coming to stay with us for a while." I frowned and pouted.
"Mom! I really don't want her to. You know what she does." My mom nodded.
"Yes I know sweetie, but she is my sister. Unfortunately..." I laughed.
"But what if she does it here? That sort of thing scares me. She shouldn't do it. No-one likes her because of it." My mom nodded again.
"I know. We tried to get her to stop. But she just carried on. But honey I'm sorry. We are the only people she has. Everyone else abandoned her when they found out that she did drugs..."
I snapped my eyes open.
My Aunty Kay. She was the one who made me never want to get into this habit. She did what I do now. Everyone disowned her. Everyone dismissed her. Everyone hated her for what she did.
I don't want to be like that.
I wanted to be liked.
I wanted to be appreciated.
I wanted to be loved.
By someone.
Anyone.
I needed to prove myself to Pete and the guys.
I needed to make Patrick laugh at me, for being me.
I needed to let Joe and Andy know how much I appreciated them being there.
I needed Pete to know how much I want him to be there for me.
I needed to prove to myself that I could do this.
"Hello?" I gulped, and answered back into the phone.
"Hi. This is Taela Summers, I'm friends with Peter Wentz? I was told he knew someone who worked here." I closed my eyes and held my breath.
"Taela? Yes. Jacob mentioned he knew a Peter Wentz. He said that this Peter referenced you to here. How can I help?" I opened my eyes again, and held another breath. Sighing, I forced my courage out.
"I'll like to admit myself to the rehab center..."
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"So, when you go home today, I want you all to find something that gives you the same happiness that you get when you take the drugs. Like I say, it could take time, but it will slowly stop you from needing whatever it is you take. Thanks everyone. See you again next week."
I groaned and pulled myself up from the chair I had sat on for the last two hours. I dismissed the people who were saying goodbye to me, and I headed straight for the door.
I noticed Pete sitting on the hood of his car, and he smiled and waved to me. I glared at him and nearly tackled him to the floor.
"NEVER! Never! NEVER make me go there again. I swear to god Pete, they are all freaks who don't even know why people take drugs! For FUCK sake Pete! UGGHH!" I screamed and climbed into the car. He widened his eyes and looked at me through the windscreen. He shook his head and climbed into the drivers seat.
"It's for your own good Tay! It's not like you're a lightweight, you take that stuff ALL THE FUCKING TIME!" I was surprised by his voice being raised. Normally he would've just tried to calm me down.
"I don't get it! YOU'RE NOT EVEN WILLING TO FUCKING TRY! For god sake! I don't even know why I'm helping you!" He started the car, and I stared at him. I didn't expect him to get angry with me.
"Pete, I just can't be in that sort of situation. It doesn't help - " He interrupted me.
"YES IT DOES TAY! IF YOU GAVE IT A CHANCE, AND MAYBE PUT SOME EFFORT INTO IT, YOU MIGHT GET SOMEWHERE! BUT NO! YOU DON'T EVEN FUCKING CARE!" He started to drive and looked out the windscreen.
"Listen to me Tay. Either do this; or I give up. I have tried to help you, and you don't seem to care. If you don't try, I don't want to try either." I looked at my feet.
He was right, I knew it. I just found it hard. I was always the hard girl, the girl who didn't care. The girl who wasn't afraid of death. The girl who wondered what happened when we die.
The girl who did drugs.
The girl who wanted nothing to do with normality.
The girl who wasn't afraid.
Of anything.
I know it now.
You're not that girl anymore.
And I needed to change.
--------
I looked back over my shoulder, and focused my eyes on the front door. He wasn't coming. I turned my head to look back at the desk, and started to file through all of his stuff.
I had been staying at Pete's temporary flat while he stayed here. He kept all his paperwork here, rather than at his actual house. Probably so his mother didn't find it. The flat was nice, it was one of those oldie-worldie flats that everybody wanted, because the structure and design of the building is something that would never be done again. Pete somehow managed to get his hands on one. Heh, me, jealous? Never.
Back to the rummaging. I searched through all of his paperwork, his files, his folders, his cabinets, his drawers, his cupboards, and even his CD box. Nothing. I couldn't find the thing. Damnit.
I went upstairs, and trudged through the piles of washing that he had left lying around. I searched through the bathroom, and there was nothing. I went into his bedroom. I knew it had to be in here somewhere.
I searched through his drawers and found nothing. I searched everywhere. FUCKING NOTHING. I was beginning to get pissed off, and he would probably be back soon. I moaned, and stomped my foot. My foot hit something.
I bent down, and saw a large box, slightly poking out from under Pete's bed. I pulled it out, and opened the lid.
Leaflets, letters, flyers, posters, and pieces of paper all from Pete's many contacts. There were even a few R-Tec flyers, and even one of my phone cards. I searched through, and found exactly what I was looking for.
I threw everything back in the box, and put it back in its place under the bed. Standing up, I observed the leaflet.
Jeremy Wryer
Tysted district rehabilitation center
464 Northand ave.
Center for drug and alcohol addicts,
and special center for self-harmers and suicide watch.
Rooms subject to terms.
For more information please contact Jeremy on (0884) 2204448
I sighed, and went downstairs. I closed all the drawers that I had forgotten, and sat back in the living room. I sat on the sofa, and read the leaflet once more. I closed my eyes.
"Tay! Get your backside down here!" My mother shouted up to me. I sighed, and threw my books on the floor, and slid down the banister that connected the two levels. Plopping on the floor, I walked over to my mom.
"Yes mother?" I laughed and she stuck her tongue out. I laughed again and she smiled.
"Aunty Kay is coming to stay with us for a while." I frowned and pouted.
"Mom! I really don't want her to. You know what she does." My mom nodded.
"Yes I know sweetie, but she is my sister. Unfortunately..." I laughed.
"But what if she does it here? That sort of thing scares me. She shouldn't do it. No-one likes her because of it." My mom nodded again.
"I know. We tried to get her to stop. But she just carried on. But honey I'm sorry. We are the only people she has. Everyone else abandoned her when they found out that she did drugs..."
I snapped my eyes open.
My Aunty Kay. She was the one who made me never want to get into this habit. She did what I do now. Everyone disowned her. Everyone dismissed her. Everyone hated her for what she did.
I don't want to be like that.
I wanted to be liked.
I wanted to be appreciated.
I wanted to be loved.
By someone.
Anyone.
I needed to prove myself to Pete and the guys.
I needed to make Patrick laugh at me, for being me.
I needed to let Joe and Andy know how much I appreciated them being there.
I needed Pete to know how much I want him to be there for me.
I needed to prove to myself that I could do this.
"Hello?" I gulped, and answered back into the phone.
"Hi. This is Taela Summers, I'm friends with Peter Wentz? I was told he knew someone who worked here." I closed my eyes and held my breath.
"Taela? Yes. Jacob mentioned he knew a Peter Wentz. He said that this Peter referenced you to here. How can I help?" I opened my eyes again, and held another breath. Sighing, I forced my courage out.
"I'll like to admit myself to the rehab center..."
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