Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Addict For Dramatics

Chapter 21: Don't You Know Who I Think I Am?

by MMMramen 14 reviews

Jail house rock

Category: Fall Out Boy - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Published: 2007-05-10 - Updated: 2007-05-11 - 1374 words

This story has been giving me some trouble, so here's a short chapter. Enjoy and as always, review!

Patrick's haunting voice was still lingering in my head when I was shaken from my sleep. My eyes struggled to focus on Patrick's hazy form. His face was visibly upset.

"The guys aren't on the bus." His distress was apparent in his tone.

"So?" I mumbled, still groggy.

"We're moving. The bus is moving." My eyes widened. Our bunk shook as the wheels maneuvered over a bump. It was impossible. Our driver would never leave without everyone on board.

"Are you sure?" He nodded. All my thoughts and worries about my encounter with Brody melted away. I shot up out of the bunk and hurried through the kitchen and into the driver's area. Hal, our driver, was stationed at the wheel.

"Hey! Hal!" He turned briefly before returning his gaze to the darkened road.

"What's up, Lo?" I frowned.

"You left everyone except Patrick and me behind. We have to go back!" He shook his gray, balding head.

"No can do. I'm under strict orders to go on to the next stop on the tour." My eyebrows furrowed.


"Sorry, hon. A fight broke out, the cops were called. Management was freakin' out. I gotta keep going to Salt Lake City." My stomach dropped. I caused the fight. Now my brother and our friends were stuck in Nowheresville Montana.

"Shit." I whispered to myself as I grabbed my hair at the roots.

"Lola, your phone's ringing." I turned to see Patrick holding out my cell.

"Hello?" The line clicked before an automated voice began to drone.

"Incoming call from Gallatin County Jail. Will you accept a call from Inmate-" After a brief pause, Bridget's voice broke through and recited her name before the robotic tone kicked in again. "Please press the number 1 for 'yes', 2 for 'no'." I quickly pressed 1.

"Bridget?" I asked nervously.

"Oh my God, Lola! I've never been so happy to hear your voice!" The feeling was mutual.

"You're in jail!?!" She sighed.

"It's only county jail. Brody's crew is a bunch of pussies. You break a few noses and they call the cops. This would never happen in New York." The female fumed. I smiled and let out a sigh.

"What can I do?" Patrick placed his ear close to the phone in hopes of catching the conversation.

"You gotta get down here with 500 in bail money."

"500!?!" I certainly didn't have that kind of money.

"OK, 400. We'll leave Pete here. We almost didn't get to make a phone call because of that fucktard. I think the other inmates would like him." I rolled my eyes, not sure if I wanted to hear the details.

"There's other inmates?" She laughed.

"Well, just wheelchair guy, Brody, and his friends." I chuckled.

"Wheelchair guy?"

"Yeah. Apparently, this guy in a wheelchair got really drunk and was rolling into traffic." I covered my mouth with my hand in an attempt to stifle my laughter.

"We've got a bit of a problem. Hal is under strict orders to keep going to the next stop. We're stuck." I could hear her sigh deeply.

"Put him on the phone."

"But Bridg-"

"Listen, I don't have time for discussion." I smiled.

"It's not like you're going anywhere anytime soon."

"Hal. Phone. Now." I rolled my eyes and headed into the driver's lounge.

"Bridget wants to talk to you." I held out the phone. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned before taking the device from me.

"Yo." I could just barely hear her angry voice and a few choice words. "But I can't do that...but...hey, that's not very lady like...I can't...Bridge, you know I can't turn this bitch around and that's final!" With a dejected sigh, he flipped the phone shut and handed it back to me. My shoulders slumped. We weren't going back for them. The bus jolted forward as Hal pressed his large foot down on the brake.

"What are you doing?" I asked, feeling a smile tug at the corners of my lips. His aged face formed a scowl.

"I'm turning this bitch around." I squealed and wrapped my arms around the burly bus driver in an unreciprocated hug.


The tour bus had barely come to halt and I was already out the door with Patrick not far behind me. We busted into the harshly lit lobby, frightening an older man who was typing away at a computer.

"Can I help you?" He asked, slightly rattled by our entrance. I smiled sweetly at him.

"Yes. We're here with bail for 5 prisoners." Patrick answered before shooting a small grin my way.

"And their names?"

"Joseph Trohman, Andrew Hurley, Bridget Lynn, and Jonathan Miller." Patrick's elbow dug into my side. He raised his eyebrows at me, causing me to sigh. "And Peter Wentz...the third." The man's fingers deftly moved over his keyboard as he typed away furiously.

"And how are you paying for this?" My accomplice reluctantly held up a credit card. "OK, there's also some paperwork, so it's going to take a minute." He placed a stack of forms on his desk.

"Can I go back and see them?" I questioned quietly. He nodded and had a policeman escort me down the hall. Before they were in sight, their voices echoed through the nearly deserted detention center.

"Lola!" Bridget jumped up from her position on the bench in her cell. Her little hands wrapped around the thick, metal bars.

"Hey. You got your own place." She grinned.

"Yeah, I designed it myself." My eyes shifted to the men in the next cell that gathered around the front.

"Are we getting out soon?" Andy asked, desperation on his face.

"Patrick's filling out the paperwork now. What the hell happened?"

"No one fucking touches my baby sister. That dude's lucky I didn't kill him." Joe huffed, gripping the bars of the cell he was sharing with three other guys.

"So who's footing our bail?" Pete asked, appearing from behind Dirty.

"Our bail? You think anyone's paying for your ass to leave? You're staying here after what you pulled." Bridget fumed from her bench.

"I'm so sick of hearing you talk. Can you just fucking close your mouth for one fucking minute?" Pete countered from the other side of the concrete wall separating the cells.

"You're sick? Bitch, that's the pot calling the kettle black if I've ever heard it before. We almost didn't get a call because of your big fucking mouth!" She shouted at the barrier. "You know what he said, Lola?" I didn't, but I knew she was going to tell me. "He starts shouting 'do you know who I am? I'm Pete fucking Wentz.' They should have peppered sprayed his stupid ass."

"Seriously, Bridget, if you weren't a girl..." He trailed off, balling up his fists.

"I don't fight girls either." She muttered, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Can you guys stop arguing?" Dirty pleaded. In the distance, I could hear keys jiggling along with heavy footsteps. Patrick and an officer arrived.

"Alright, you guys are free to go." The policeman unlocked the cells, allowing them to exit.

"Don't you even fucking look at me." The small girl growled at the bassist as we made our way across the parking lot to the bus.

"That shouldn't be hard." He rolled his dark eyes. Within minutes, the bus was moving and we were back on the road again. Once everyone was in their respective beds I tip toed to Patrick's bunk as I had done so many times before.

"Hi." I whispered coyly as I slid on the mattress and adjusted the privacy sheet.

"Hi." He mimicked my soft tone. "Are you OK?"

It was such a simple question, but it harbored a deeper meaning to me.

"Not really. You?"

"Not really." I sighed and snuggled into his chest. He welcomed the advance.

"What are we gonna do about this?" I felt his shoulders move in a shrug.

"I don't know. We could always try being friends." I smiled.

"Can we still cuddle?" He laughed.

"I can't see why we can't partake in some just friends spooning." We quietly broke into low giggles.
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