Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everything Must Belong Somewhere
"I hardly notice you without a cigarette in your left hand and a drink in your right." Pete spoke still sitting on his bed, smirking at me.
"Actually, I've taken a liking to holding the cigarette in my right hand these days" Were Pete and I engaged in small talk? Since when did Pete and I have small talk?
"Oh yea?"
"Yea, the house fire of '06 taught me that when drunk my right hand is better capable of holding a cigarette than my left"
"So the drink goes in your left now? That's going to take some getting used to."
"Um. No. Actually, I am no longer allowed both at the same time. House fire of '06 and all."
"It's probably better that way. I bet the person's whose house you caught on fire made that rule, huh?"
"No, she died in the fire."
Silence. I am the absolute best at creating silence. I've heard that people are unsure of how to respond to me more often than not, so they just choose to say nothing at all. That's strange to me. Why would you choose to say nothing? That's an automatic conversation killer right there. Unless, they are purposely trying to kill the conversation. Oh shit. Maybe people purposely try to kill conversations with me. There goes my confidence. Fuck.
"This is about last night isn't it?" He asked with unrecognizable eyes. He looked like he was up to something, but then again, he always did.
I paused. I was kind of here about last night, but I was mostly here about this morning. Yes, last night was strange. Pete being so purposely close to me was awkward and frustrating and confusing. Him touching me left me momentarily speechless, but this wasn't about last night. Last night I could ignore. In fact, I would have ignored it. Brushed it off like it had never happened. Pete was just another person now. No close than a stranger. A stranger who was so close to me last night someone could have validly mistaken us for lovers, but a stranger none the less. However, this was not about last night. No, it was Patrick's visit that brought me here today. The thing was, what if Pete didn't know that Patrick had been at my house only an hour before, screaming at me to leave his best friend alone. Here I was doing the oppposite, of course. It appears I have a problem with authority.
It occurred to me that I did not know how to relay to Pete about Patrick's visit. I did not know how to get to the point of why I was here. How do you bring up someone's suicide attempt lightly and casually? He must have not wanted me to know as I was never informed. Maybe I had no place to even show interest in asking about it, but it all seemed so important five minutes earlier.
Pete stood up and started stretching. He raised his arms over his head and I noticed a few more ink additions on each rib cage. I also noticed that he looked thinner. Pete had always been thin, but now the outline of his ribs was more noticeable. Also, his hip bones protruded out slightly more. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days. I began to wonder if he was doing drugs. He had to be doing something. Patrick said that he had taken him to get his stomach pumped, but was vague about the reasons behind it. Had he implied that Pete had done that with purposely because of me somehow? Am I putting too much stock in myself? Maybe Patrick was just explaining recent events. Or not so recent events. It was no secret that Pete and I had a difficult relationship. We were both very young and were still learning. It's hard when you have two passionate and slightly dramatic as well as extremely stubborn people in a relationship as serious as we had, but that was years ago. We had both moved on. We were both over it now, so why was Patrick so adamant on telling me to stay away from him? Pete must have told him something to make him so angry with me. It wasn't my fault Pete ran in to ME in MY town. It wasn't as if I went searching for him.
"You're still a size four, right?" Pete asked somewhat distractedly. He had pulled about numerous articles of clothing from a suitcase on the floor.
I stared at him confused and frustrated. Was he seriously not going to ask about why I was here? About why after two years of not talking at all, of having absolutely nothing to do with each other minus these last two run-ins, I tracked him down in my underwear? I didn't come here to borrow his jeans. I had enough of my own, so why hasn't he asked me why I was here?
I guess I stood there staring at him for so long, he grew bored of waiting for an answer. He handed me a pair of black skinny leg jeans. Size four's.
Wait. Could these be? Oh, hell no. These were my jeans!
"Pete! You asshole! These are my Diesel Jeans!" I had been wondering where these had went to. These jeans cost me $250 two and half years ago when I bought them. I favored these jeans over most people. In fact, these very jeans would have been the very thing I would have saved if a fire had occurred. They were the perfect length. Not too long, not too short. Plus, they made my ass look fantastic.
Pete slowly and sleepily walked over to me. He carefully grabbed the took the jeans out of my hands. He studied them for a minute before handing them back to me.
"They have my initials on the tag."
I manically searched for the size tag only to find out that he was right.
"You wrote your initials on my $250 Diesel jeans!" I was appalled. Inking his arms was one thing. I'm all for that. Hell, my own arms are all inked up, but you do not ink Diesel jeans! What the fuck was he thinking? They deserve more respect than that.
He laughed and mumbled something about them being his jeans. He was actually sticking to his lie. Amazing.
"These are so my jeans and you know it. You were with me when I bought them, remember? I saved up for a new flat iron for the salon, but I bought these jeans instead. I deemed the customer loss worth it. Plus, these jeans made my ass look great. I could not forget these jeans."
Pete turned to face me and look me right in the eyes. To say this made me uncomfortable was an understatement. He walked closer and closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
"From what I'm seeing, your ass looks pretty great in anything, " He put his mouth up to my ear and I stiffened from the closeness. "or nothing." He brushed past me walking out of the room touching me ever so slightly as he left. He once again left me standing there with shaky legs, reminding me that I was in my ex lovers house in my underwear.
"Actually, I've taken a liking to holding the cigarette in my right hand these days" Were Pete and I engaged in small talk? Since when did Pete and I have small talk?
"Oh yea?"
"Yea, the house fire of '06 taught me that when drunk my right hand is better capable of holding a cigarette than my left"
"So the drink goes in your left now? That's going to take some getting used to."
"Um. No. Actually, I am no longer allowed both at the same time. House fire of '06 and all."
"It's probably better that way. I bet the person's whose house you caught on fire made that rule, huh?"
"No, she died in the fire."
Silence. I am the absolute best at creating silence. I've heard that people are unsure of how to respond to me more often than not, so they just choose to say nothing at all. That's strange to me. Why would you choose to say nothing? That's an automatic conversation killer right there. Unless, they are purposely trying to kill the conversation. Oh shit. Maybe people purposely try to kill conversations with me. There goes my confidence. Fuck.
"This is about last night isn't it?" He asked with unrecognizable eyes. He looked like he was up to something, but then again, he always did.
I paused. I was kind of here about last night, but I was mostly here about this morning. Yes, last night was strange. Pete being so purposely close to me was awkward and frustrating and confusing. Him touching me left me momentarily speechless, but this wasn't about last night. Last night I could ignore. In fact, I would have ignored it. Brushed it off like it had never happened. Pete was just another person now. No close than a stranger. A stranger who was so close to me last night someone could have validly mistaken us for lovers, but a stranger none the less. However, this was not about last night. No, it was Patrick's visit that brought me here today. The thing was, what if Pete didn't know that Patrick had been at my house only an hour before, screaming at me to leave his best friend alone. Here I was doing the oppposite, of course. It appears I have a problem with authority.
It occurred to me that I did not know how to relay to Pete about Patrick's visit. I did not know how to get to the point of why I was here. How do you bring up someone's suicide attempt lightly and casually? He must have not wanted me to know as I was never informed. Maybe I had no place to even show interest in asking about it, but it all seemed so important five minutes earlier.
Pete stood up and started stretching. He raised his arms over his head and I noticed a few more ink additions on each rib cage. I also noticed that he looked thinner. Pete had always been thin, but now the outline of his ribs was more noticeable. Also, his hip bones protruded out slightly more. There were dark circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept for days. I began to wonder if he was doing drugs. He had to be doing something. Patrick said that he had taken him to get his stomach pumped, but was vague about the reasons behind it. Had he implied that Pete had done that with purposely because of me somehow? Am I putting too much stock in myself? Maybe Patrick was just explaining recent events. Or not so recent events. It was no secret that Pete and I had a difficult relationship. We were both very young and were still learning. It's hard when you have two passionate and slightly dramatic as well as extremely stubborn people in a relationship as serious as we had, but that was years ago. We had both moved on. We were both over it now, so why was Patrick so adamant on telling me to stay away from him? Pete must have told him something to make him so angry with me. It wasn't my fault Pete ran in to ME in MY town. It wasn't as if I went searching for him.
"You're still a size four, right?" Pete asked somewhat distractedly. He had pulled about numerous articles of clothing from a suitcase on the floor.
I stared at him confused and frustrated. Was he seriously not going to ask about why I was here? About why after two years of not talking at all, of having absolutely nothing to do with each other minus these last two run-ins, I tracked him down in my underwear? I didn't come here to borrow his jeans. I had enough of my own, so why hasn't he asked me why I was here?
I guess I stood there staring at him for so long, he grew bored of waiting for an answer. He handed me a pair of black skinny leg jeans. Size four's.
Wait. Could these be? Oh, hell no. These were my jeans!
"Pete! You asshole! These are my Diesel Jeans!" I had been wondering where these had went to. These jeans cost me $250 two and half years ago when I bought them. I favored these jeans over most people. In fact, these very jeans would have been the very thing I would have saved if a fire had occurred. They were the perfect length. Not too long, not too short. Plus, they made my ass look fantastic.
Pete slowly and sleepily walked over to me. He carefully grabbed the took the jeans out of my hands. He studied them for a minute before handing them back to me.
"They have my initials on the tag."
I manically searched for the size tag only to find out that he was right.
"You wrote your initials on my $250 Diesel jeans!" I was appalled. Inking his arms was one thing. I'm all for that. Hell, my own arms are all inked up, but you do not ink Diesel jeans! What the fuck was he thinking? They deserve more respect than that.
He laughed and mumbled something about them being his jeans. He was actually sticking to his lie. Amazing.
"These are so my jeans and you know it. You were with me when I bought them, remember? I saved up for a new flat iron for the salon, but I bought these jeans instead. I deemed the customer loss worth it. Plus, these jeans made my ass look great. I could not forget these jeans."
Pete turned to face me and look me right in the eyes. To say this made me uncomfortable was an understatement. He walked closer and closer until I could feel the warmth of his breath on my face.
"From what I'm seeing, your ass looks pretty great in anything, " He put his mouth up to my ear and I stiffened from the closeness. "or nothing." He brushed past me walking out of the room touching me ever so slightly as he left. He once again left me standing there with shaky legs, reminding me that I was in my ex lovers house in my underwear.
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