Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everything Must Belong Somewhere
When I'm in traffic, I contemplate suicide. Which is where I'm at now. Which is what I'm doing now. If people drove faster, my mental health would be more stable. Seriously. They allow you five over. Fucking take it. I will tailgate your ass.
"Charley, calm down. We are not in any hurry." Zak calmly informed me rubbing my right hand.
"Apparently no one today is. These assholes are driving like they have no expiration date. They are seriously driving like they are never going to die. What the fuck?" I am honestly quite amazed by anyone's ability to drive so slow. It is unnecessary.
"That's because you're driving like you're going to kill them, baby." Zak smirked and squeezed my hand tighter.
"Well, something's got to wake them up." I mumbled. For the past week, I've been feeling extremely anxious and on edge for seemingly no reason. Everything I do has this unfamiliar sense of urgency to it that unnerves me. I know it's because of my recent run-in's with Pete. He's the only one that could ever make me feel so unbalanced and disoriented. Sometimes, I think his presence is worse than a drug. He fucks my head up. Seeing him these past few times has brought up so much history in my mind that I spent so much time trying to bury completely. I never meant to see him again. Especially not out of context like I have been. The worst part to all of this was the fact that I never got around to asking him what I showed up on his doorstep in my underwear to ask. He distracted me by being so close and complimenting my ass. By the way, what the fuck was that about? What was he trying to prove by saying that? Why did he have to get so close to say it? Why the hell didn't I snatch those jeans when I had the chance?
I looked over at Zak in the passenger seat. His red and black hair had fallen into his eyes as he sang along with the music. He looked beautiful. Sometimes I wonder what exactly makes Zak put up with me. He's so level headed and considerate. Obviously, we're total opposites.
Zak and I met a year and a half ago through a mutual friend at a record release party. Actually, it wasn't so much of an friend as it was an acquaintance. At the time he was the tour manager for an up and coming band and I was bumming cigarettes off of the lead singer as I was about to start drinking and everyone knows you can't drink and not smoke. At least, everyone knows I can't drink and not smoke. At the time I was also merely Pete Wentz's ex, the one with the cool hair. That's what I had been reduced to. Flattering, right? Everyone at the after party kept away from me as if they had been instructed by a certain rockstar not to. Except Zak that is. He traded witty banter with me and acted as if he knew absolutely nothing of my famous ex and our infamous relationship. I appreciated him for it and he showed up unexpectedly at my salon a week later in need of a hair cut before he left for tour. We traded numbers and stories and DNA and began a relationship when he came back from tour two months later. It's a relatively uninteresting story, but I actually prefer that compared to how I met the boy before Zak.
I met Pete five years ago when I lived in Chicago. My 18 year old self used a fake ID to sneak into a bar to see some band I'd never heard of, but mostly to drink and hang out with friends, as most of my friends were two to three years older than I was and I was not one for feeling left out. When I arrived one band has just finished their set and the next was taking the time allotted to set up. The stereo was playing something awful and I was hoping to get too drunk to notice. I had just sweated nervously through a terrifying encounter with a very skeptical bar tender and had emerged successfully with a rum and coke. I quickly turned around to celebrate my victory with my already plastered friends when I crashed into an unknown object. Turns out, it wasn't so much of an object as it was a person. An extremely handsome person of the male gender with messy black hair and a now wet pair of jeans. My drink was knocked from my hands in the process and ended up on the both of us as well as the floor. The glass made contact with the concrete in a disturbingly loud manner. Turns out, the next band was ready to go on and the crowd was silent with anticipation. The scene this boy and I had just created caught the attention of the bar owner who then turned his attention to my fake ID and then proceeded to kick my ass out of the club. I sat outside the back doors chain smoking cigarettes and hating the world until the black haired boy appeared with a replacement glass of rum and coke and told me to drink it quickly. I learned he had connections with the club because his band frequently played there. Around eight or nine quickly drank rum and coke's later the boy, whose name was later revealed to me as Pete, and I were as drunk as we were going to get that night and set off in search for food. After that night, Pete and I met up every night for the next few weeks to explore the city. We discussed his blatant love for music and I revealed to him my obvious love for words. As it was, back then all I wanted to become was a writer. We became each other's muse's in a sort of way and soon began the relationship that haunts me to this day.
Sometimes I believe that the way I met each of these boys is very symbolic of them and my relationship with them respectively. Zak is very laid back, and patient, and secure. Therefore we never fight. Pete, on the other hand, was passionate, and jealous, and in love. Therefore, we fought all the time.
Zak and I were on our way to a meeting at the band he manages record label. I was sure that we could make it there without stopping to get gas, but Zak insisted that once the gas light comes on, it's time to stop. I'm not sure what he's talking about though. Everyone knows you have at least another ten miles before you actually need it, but I stopped anyway to satisfy him.
I got out of my car to insert my debit card into the slot as I decided to multi task by checking my voicemail on my cell phone.
"Is there a problem with your transaction?" Zak asked. He was now beside me waiting to remove the gas pump and insert it into my car.
"No. ." I looked at him stupidly.
"I saw on this show once that you aren't supposed to talk on the phone while pumping gas. Something about the static mixing with the fumes and blowing everyone up."
"I'm not pumping gas, Zak." I said distracting myself with my phone.
"You're going to."
"Yea. I'm also going to die one day, but I'm not exactly digging my own grave to prepare for it, now am I?"
Zak stood there looking at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before he spoke.
"You make it extremely difficult to be nice to you sometimes."
I felt guilty so I said nothing in return, which is rare for me. To be honest, I've felt guilty all week because of my run in with Pete last week. I've felt horrible about it so I've been misplacing the blame onto Zak for selfish reasons. I have no reason to feel guilty. I did absolutely nothing wrong, but for some reason I just felt that way.
The rest of the drive to the record label was silent with the exception of Rise Against playing from the tape deck. Yes, tape. How 1992 is my car? For as long as I can remember I've always had cars that solely had tape players. I've been making mixed tapes since I was fifteen. When I finally bought a brand new Jetta two years, I physically took the cd player out and installed a tape player. Listening to music on anything else seems fake to me. I enjoy the relationship you create when you take the time to make a tape.
When we finally arrived at the label, Zak politely asked if I wanted to go in with him. I suspected he knew his words got to me and he was feeling badly about them by now. I turned down his offer and instead opted to stay in the parking lot and smoke a cigarette. I got out of the car and sat lazily on a picnic table outside the building. I took extra caution to smooth down my white flowy sundress to keep the wind from blowing it up. I lit my cigarette and took note of how perfect the weather was this afternoon. I inhaled and finally felt as if I could breathe.
A white Lexus pulled in front of my blocking my direct sunlight and killing my mood. On either side of the now open doors, out stepped Pete and Patrick.
God fucking damnit.
"Charley, calm down. We are not in any hurry." Zak calmly informed me rubbing my right hand.
"Apparently no one today is. These assholes are driving like they have no expiration date. They are seriously driving like they are never going to die. What the fuck?" I am honestly quite amazed by anyone's ability to drive so slow. It is unnecessary.
"That's because you're driving like you're going to kill them, baby." Zak smirked and squeezed my hand tighter.
"Well, something's got to wake them up." I mumbled. For the past week, I've been feeling extremely anxious and on edge for seemingly no reason. Everything I do has this unfamiliar sense of urgency to it that unnerves me. I know it's because of my recent run-in's with Pete. He's the only one that could ever make me feel so unbalanced and disoriented. Sometimes, I think his presence is worse than a drug. He fucks my head up. Seeing him these past few times has brought up so much history in my mind that I spent so much time trying to bury completely. I never meant to see him again. Especially not out of context like I have been. The worst part to all of this was the fact that I never got around to asking him what I showed up on his doorstep in my underwear to ask. He distracted me by being so close and complimenting my ass. By the way, what the fuck was that about? What was he trying to prove by saying that? Why did he have to get so close to say it? Why the hell didn't I snatch those jeans when I had the chance?
I looked over at Zak in the passenger seat. His red and black hair had fallen into his eyes as he sang along with the music. He looked beautiful. Sometimes I wonder what exactly makes Zak put up with me. He's so level headed and considerate. Obviously, we're total opposites.
Zak and I met a year and a half ago through a mutual friend at a record release party. Actually, it wasn't so much of an friend as it was an acquaintance. At the time he was the tour manager for an up and coming band and I was bumming cigarettes off of the lead singer as I was about to start drinking and everyone knows you can't drink and not smoke. At least, everyone knows I can't drink and not smoke. At the time I was also merely Pete Wentz's ex, the one with the cool hair. That's what I had been reduced to. Flattering, right? Everyone at the after party kept away from me as if they had been instructed by a certain rockstar not to. Except Zak that is. He traded witty banter with me and acted as if he knew absolutely nothing of my famous ex and our infamous relationship. I appreciated him for it and he showed up unexpectedly at my salon a week later in need of a hair cut before he left for tour. We traded numbers and stories and DNA and began a relationship when he came back from tour two months later. It's a relatively uninteresting story, but I actually prefer that compared to how I met the boy before Zak.
I met Pete five years ago when I lived in Chicago. My 18 year old self used a fake ID to sneak into a bar to see some band I'd never heard of, but mostly to drink and hang out with friends, as most of my friends were two to three years older than I was and I was not one for feeling left out. When I arrived one band has just finished their set and the next was taking the time allotted to set up. The stereo was playing something awful and I was hoping to get too drunk to notice. I had just sweated nervously through a terrifying encounter with a very skeptical bar tender and had emerged successfully with a rum and coke. I quickly turned around to celebrate my victory with my already plastered friends when I crashed into an unknown object. Turns out, it wasn't so much of an object as it was a person. An extremely handsome person of the male gender with messy black hair and a now wet pair of jeans. My drink was knocked from my hands in the process and ended up on the both of us as well as the floor. The glass made contact with the concrete in a disturbingly loud manner. Turns out, the next band was ready to go on and the crowd was silent with anticipation. The scene this boy and I had just created caught the attention of the bar owner who then turned his attention to my fake ID and then proceeded to kick my ass out of the club. I sat outside the back doors chain smoking cigarettes and hating the world until the black haired boy appeared with a replacement glass of rum and coke and told me to drink it quickly. I learned he had connections with the club because his band frequently played there. Around eight or nine quickly drank rum and coke's later the boy, whose name was later revealed to me as Pete, and I were as drunk as we were going to get that night and set off in search for food. After that night, Pete and I met up every night for the next few weeks to explore the city. We discussed his blatant love for music and I revealed to him my obvious love for words. As it was, back then all I wanted to become was a writer. We became each other's muse's in a sort of way and soon began the relationship that haunts me to this day.
Sometimes I believe that the way I met each of these boys is very symbolic of them and my relationship with them respectively. Zak is very laid back, and patient, and secure. Therefore we never fight. Pete, on the other hand, was passionate, and jealous, and in love. Therefore, we fought all the time.
Zak and I were on our way to a meeting at the band he manages record label. I was sure that we could make it there without stopping to get gas, but Zak insisted that once the gas light comes on, it's time to stop. I'm not sure what he's talking about though. Everyone knows you have at least another ten miles before you actually need it, but I stopped anyway to satisfy him.
I got out of my car to insert my debit card into the slot as I decided to multi task by checking my voicemail on my cell phone.
"Is there a problem with your transaction?" Zak asked. He was now beside me waiting to remove the gas pump and insert it into my car.
"No. ." I looked at him stupidly.
"I saw on this show once that you aren't supposed to talk on the phone while pumping gas. Something about the static mixing with the fumes and blowing everyone up."
"I'm not pumping gas, Zak." I said distracting myself with my phone.
"You're going to."
"Yea. I'm also going to die one day, but I'm not exactly digging my own grave to prepare for it, now am I?"
Zak stood there looking at me for an uncomfortable amount of time before he spoke.
"You make it extremely difficult to be nice to you sometimes."
I felt guilty so I said nothing in return, which is rare for me. To be honest, I've felt guilty all week because of my run in with Pete last week. I've felt horrible about it so I've been misplacing the blame onto Zak for selfish reasons. I have no reason to feel guilty. I did absolutely nothing wrong, but for some reason I just felt that way.
The rest of the drive to the record label was silent with the exception of Rise Against playing from the tape deck. Yes, tape. How 1992 is my car? For as long as I can remember I've always had cars that solely had tape players. I've been making mixed tapes since I was fifteen. When I finally bought a brand new Jetta two years, I physically took the cd player out and installed a tape player. Listening to music on anything else seems fake to me. I enjoy the relationship you create when you take the time to make a tape.
When we finally arrived at the label, Zak politely asked if I wanted to go in with him. I suspected he knew his words got to me and he was feeling badly about them by now. I turned down his offer and instead opted to stay in the parking lot and smoke a cigarette. I got out of the car and sat lazily on a picnic table outside the building. I took extra caution to smooth down my white flowy sundress to keep the wind from blowing it up. I lit my cigarette and took note of how perfect the weather was this afternoon. I inhaled and finally felt as if I could breathe.
A white Lexus pulled in front of my blocking my direct sunlight and killing my mood. On either side of the now open doors, out stepped Pete and Patrick.
God fucking damnit.
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