Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Watching from the Closet

Chapter Eleven: Cold, hard metal

by prettypoizon 5 reviews

Hannah's middle name should be 'Trouble'. Some days she drinks herself sick, some days she doesn't eat, and some days she wastes all her money on things her parents would so not approve of. Afte...

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: R - Genres: Angst, Drama, Humor, Romance - Warnings: [R] [V] - Published: 2007-03-02 - Updated: 2007-03-03 - 588 words

Short, I know. But worth it.
Pete frowned as he stroked Hannah's hair. She had her face buried into her pillow, and he was flat on his chest next to her. Birds were chirping merrily in the back yard, and the low rumble of the morning traffic made the mood ambient. This was Pete's favorite part of relationships; lazy mornings in bed, sun streaming into the room.
"Are you feeling okay, sweetheart?"
She shook her head miserably.
"What's the matter; are you sick again?"
She vigorously shook her head.
"Hannah, talk to me...what's the matter?"
She raised her head from the pillow.
"I want a smoke so bad I could kill you right now." She moaned.
"Aww, sweetheart..." Pete muttered into her hair, "It'll be hard for a little while, I know,'ll get better."
"No it won't." she whined.
Stress pulsed through her veins, and she was begging for that sweet relief. She needed tobacco, she needed the cancer-causing chemicals. Or something else. Ice would be nice, actually. She sat bolt upright, startling Pete.
"I'm gonna go buy cream." She blurted out.
Pete blinked.
"Ice cream?"
"It's ten in the morning, Hon."
"I know."
Pete watched as she pulled some tight jeans on, and stole one of his hoodies. She ran a comb through her hair and grabbed her wallet.
"Right. So...I'll be back later."
She kissed his cheek swiftly and left the room. Pete stayed in bed, listening to the sound of the basement door slamming. He sighed; something told him she wasn't going to get ice cream.

"Jack!" Hannah called, pounding on his front door, "Jack, its Hannah! Open up!"
She waited, then raised her fist to the door again- but it flew open, and there stood Jack in boxer shorts. His hair was ruffled.
"Fuck, Hannah, I was sleepin'..." he yawned.
"Suck it up."
Jack glared at her, and Hannah regretted her words. Her mind flashed to the handgun she knew he kept under his pillow...
"What do ya want?" he asked.
Hannah stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
"Ice, if you've got any."
"Nah, sorry. Ecstasy?"
Hannah wrinkled her nose. She didn't like ecstasy.
"How about coke? Ya got any?"
"Mmmhmm. How much d'ya got on you?"
"Ah..." Hannah pawed through her wallet, "Fifty?"
Shit. She knew that was hardly enough. Hannah glanced timidly up at him; he had that look in his eye, that mean, hungry look.
"We could figure somethin' out." He muttered.
Hannah nervously shuffled her feet back.
"Ah, y'know what, I've been trying to stay clean, maybe I shouldn't buy anything, so I'm gonna go..."
"You aren't going anywhere, babes."
Hannah bolted; she was at the door when she heard the cold clicking of metal. Slowly she turned around; Jack had his handgun pointed at her head.
"I said, you aren't going anywhere, babes," he whispered in a dangerously low voice, "Get upstairs."
Terrified, Hannah slowly began her way up to the bedroom, Jack behind her, gun pressed against her back now. She went as slow as she could, but still reached the room. It was dim and cold.
"Sit on the bed." Jack ordered.
Hannah obeyed, wanting to get this over with and get the hell out of there. Jack kept the gun aimed in her direction while he rummaged around in his dresser. He retrieved a small packet of white powder and waved it at her.
"It's on the dresser for when you leave. Now take off your jeans."
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