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L E T M E S E T T H E M O O D:
M E L O D R A M A T I C



Prologue- The Root Of His Problems



THE YEAR IS 2008.

It's late November and the nights are longer. The snow is thick on the ground and the sky is constantly holding a misty look. Unfortunately, or fortunately (which ever way you prefer), Peter Wentz' life has hit rock bottom. It was almost a year ago when he was at the top of his game and had just had a very successful year of a new record and a major tour, followed by another one with Gym Class Heroes. But being that he was Peter Wentz, he got caught up in the life of the rich and famous; /Hollywood/.

On December 2nd 2007, he did the ultimate thing most of his fans thought was suicidal and married a one Ashlee Simpson. Crazy? Yes. Totally farfetched? Maybe so, but it's true. On January 4th 2008, just two days after their one month, Ashlee divorced him (and said that she was bored with him, saying he had lost his spunk) and took 56% of his money. But trust me, Ashlee isn't the one who ruined him, he had done it to himself.

You see, the thing was as soon as he had made the decision to marry Ashlee, and made it public, the fan base rapidly decreased and more people were ashamed to be associated with a man who was going against all his beliefs and marrying somebody who was obviously "not real" (biased opinions, sorry). And so, Fall Out Boy hung in the balance of "not-so-popular" to "almost forgotten".

By the time the divorce was final, Peter Wentz had dissolved into the lowest form of depression; after all he had no love life (let alone a sex life [contrary to popular belief, Ashlee Simpson was not a whore and hardly put out for Pete's /Peter/]) practically no career and his friends were pretty much disappointed in him. He was at an all time low. After a very unsuccessful small club tour, the band called it quits and took their separate ways in February of 2008, a year after their multi-platinum album released.

Andy took a good chunk of his royalties and invested in a growing chain of organic/ vegan grocery stores with the gimmick that it was to become "bigger than Wal-Mart". When the man who started the business passed away, Andy took over and fulfilled that statement and ended up by the end of the year, making more than he had imagined and settled back down in Milwaukee near his family to lead a somewhat normal life.

Joe took the break up the hardest and for a while made extra cash dealing pot to the ghettos of nearby suburbs or to rich kids who had nothing better to do. When his girlfriend threatened to leave however, he quit everything and by June 08', they had gotten married and she announced that she was pregnant late September.

Patrick had become the most successful after the band dispersed. The rest of the guys did not mind, however and Patrick bought all the rights to Fall Out Boy, therefore taking all the royalties that come from their songs being rarely played on the radio. In eight short months, Patrick became a highly respected producer and stayed well in the lime light, but always kept his humble ways. He was the same person.

Pete however spiraled into a deep depression and tried his hardest to get out of it, but called it quits after Jeanae told him he wasn't worth it and that she had moved on a long time ago. Pete just couldn't let go of the past and refused to grow up. He was seven months away from 30, and he was dreading the day.



Sunday, November 23rd, 2008




Pete stared endlessly at the off-white ceiling in the darkness, his mind drifting on the sounds of the train in the distance. He could so distinctively hear the wheels running along the tracks but he was no longer a child; it did not calm him. He blinked slowly and brought his covers higher, gulping as he felt his emotions rack his mind again. The rustled breeze of winter seemed to seep through his windows and he shivered but ignored it and rested his arms on his chest, playing with the hem of the sheets and twisting them. No matter how uneventful Pete's life had become, he was still an insomniac and nothing calmed him to sleep anymore except the gurgling feeling in his stomach after he spends 36 hours awake running on one grande Starbucks and one Strawberry Uncrustable.

Hemingway shifted next to him and he glanced at his two year old pup out of his peripheral vision. His eyes glazed over and he slowly kicked back the sheets before examining the small room. If walls could talk, he thought. Slowly, he ventured towards the bachelor kitchen and opened a cabinet, filling up Hemingway's food bowl to the top. Who know what was going through his head. It was 3:17 am on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. He was even invited to Joe and Maria's first Thanksgiving as a married couple.

Pete sighed and ran a hand over his face reaching for a pencil and a small piece of paper. His endlessly empty and heavy heart pounded against his chest and his hand trembled as he pressed the lead to the white surface of dead tree. Two words or three? Too cliché? Be Peter Wentz, he told himself.

I couldn't decide weather to say "I'm sorry" or "I love you"

If Fall Out Boy was still around, it would make for a good song title. Pete smirked and placed it in a visible spot before venturing over to where his phone rested on the breakfast nook. He looked through his contacts and pressed one person he thought might still be awake.

"Peter?" he gulped.

"I know it's late," he mumbled. She smirked softly.

"It's only 11 here, but I know its 3 am over there," Pete closed his eyes tightly.

"Jeanae please don't pitty me," she grumbled and he sighed.

"Don't flatter yourself, Peter, I haven't spoken to you since you and Ashlee divorced," Pete cut her off.

"Since she dumped me," Jeanae sighed loudly.

"Whatever you say, you know you brought it upon yourself," Pete gulped.

"I understand that," he paused. "I just need some closure, Jeanae," he whispered. He heard her soft sigh and closed his eyes, holding his face in his free hand.

"There's nothing more to say to you, Pete," she whispered back a few moments later.

Pete nodded to himself and hung up. Jeanae was a smart girl. She would call Patrick, or Joe, or Andy worried about him and they would check on him (like they ever did) in the morning to find him dead. Then proceed to blame themselves for ruining him and ignoring him the past few months while he was in a depression. But even Pete couldn't kid himself. Everything had always been his fault and everything he had brought upon himself.

Pete waltzed back to the bathroom and looked at himself long and hard in the bathroom mirror, slowly blinking as he observed the dark eyeliner circles around his eyes that worsened his zombie-like state. He suddenly felt the trigger in his mind and ripped open the medicine cabinet and felt those tears crawling up his chest cavity and gasped a cry out as he felt Hemingway brush against his claves.

He sat down on his bed and stared down an empty bottle and threw it to the ground before shoving the ones he had in his hand in his mouth. Hemingway looked up at him with a questionable glance and Pete closed his eyes and leaned back, staring right up at that same ceiling. The grandfather clock from the living room chimed. 3:30 am. His foot twitched and his big toe grazed the carpet as his legs dangled over the edge of the bed. His eyes became heavy and he winced as his head began to hurt. He heard a distant muffle from outside and smirked one last time to himself before closing his eyes and tuning out all sounds except one; the lulling of train tracks.

This was his suicide.