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L E T M E S E T T H E M O O D F O R Y O U:
A B I T U P S E T T I N G A N D D E P R E S S I N G



Chapter 1-Almost Like Being Pushed Off A Fucking Cliff



Tuesday, November 25th, 2008



Pete had said it himself when he said he couldn't commit to a hospital. But that was more than a year ago, almost two; things had changed. It was two days since he lost to himself again and two days before he had to face his so called friends at a Thanksgiving dinner. Apparently they were "worried about his mental health".

"So it takes another suicide attempt to get their attention," he mumbled to himself. Hemingway perked his ears up and stared at his owner questionably. "Sorry Hem," he muttered next, turning his head to the window that looked out to his front lawn. It was a dangerous world out there for him and lately, he had grown to hate it.

A car pulled up on the road out front his house; a familiar one. He stood up and pressed his fore head to the window, but immediately pulled away at the cold touch of winter almost sticking his skin on the spot. He shivered and glanced down the hall as a visitor knocked softly on the door, the sound echoing through the quiet house. His feet dragged him across the wood flooring and he gulped, coughing lightly as his throat itched still from that damn stomach pump. When he opened the door, he revealed an almost un-wanted guest.

"What are you doing here?" he mumbled. Ashlee's expression faltered slightly and she brought something from out of her oversized bohemian purse that hung on her elbow.

"I found this while unpacking things at my new house," she cleared her throat. "Ryan thought it would be more polite to give it back face to face," Pete eyed the red fabric between her fingers and recognized it as the same red hoodie he replaced as soon as he found it missing.

"You just wanted an excuse to come see if I was alright," he muttered, glancing up at her with heavy eyes. Ashlee skewed her lips to one side.

"Don't assume something like that, Peter," Pete looked away.

"Don't call me that," he mumbled. Ashlee rolled her eyes and shoved the article of clothing in his arms.

"See, this is the reason why I divorced you Pete," she hissed. Pete swallowed, wincing as it burned his throat. "You just moped around like some... loser with nothing better to do but dwell on the past," Pete lowered his eyes.

"Please leave," he whispered. Ashlee raised her purse higher on her arm.

"With pleasure," she replied.

Pete watched out of curiosity as she speed-walked back to the Mercedes and to the passenger side. He could see through the driver's window and cursed himself inwardly at Ashlee's new fiancé, who happened to be an old boyfriend all the same. "Her first love" she had claimed. Pete felt jealous, but reminded himself that even though he was in a rut, he was still better than Ryan Cabrera.

Pete retreated to the living room and he paused momentarily to watch Hemingway circle a few times before lying down in front of the fireplace. He eyed the old hoodie in his hand and clenched it tightly before crying out and throwing it in the fire. Hemingway jumped up and howled, rushing to his owner to see if he was alright. Pete slumped to his knees and covered his face in his hands.

If only he knew what God had planned for him.



Thursday, November 27th, 2008



"So how are you holding up, Pete?" Pete bit the inside of his cheek as Maria asked him as sweetly as possible the question he was dreading. Joe gulped and lowered his eyes to his food, nervous. Pete forced a smile and placed his silver wear down on the napkin to the left of the plate.

"Other than my throat hurting, I'm sure I'll be fine," The conversation turned silent again and Pete kept his eyes glued to the pile of green beans sitting next to the sliver of tofurkey that Maria had prepared for the fact Andy was here as well.

"So how are you, Patrick? We haven't heard from you since Joey's birthday," Joe finally looked up and Patrick cleared his throat from next to Pete, wiping his mouth with a napkin and placing it back in his lap.

"Actually, I'm going to be producing Prince's next album, it's one of my greatest accomplishments, I think," Pete's head began to spin and his eyes lit up with fire.

"What about Fall Out Boy?" he asked.

Immediately forks and knifes collided with plates and when he looked over at his former friend to see his expression a little bewildered. They hadn't discussed the break up since the break up and now was not the time or place. Andy cleared his throat.

"Dude," Pete gulped and breathed out, resting his forearms on the edge of the table.

"I know I have no say in this, but... I understand that you guys haven't really talked about the end of the band," Joe looked across the table at his wife.

"Honey, it's just..." she shook her head and stood up on shaky legs, resting a hand on her growing stomach.

"You guys need to talk it out, now," With Maria out of the room, Patrick turned to Pete fully.

"What the hell is your problem Pete?" he paused, resting a hand on his shoulder. Pete eyed it as it somewhat burned through his hoodie and right to his flesh.

"You really want to ask me that?" he whispered. Andy raised an eyebrow at Pete's slouched body.

"Why did you do it?" Pete cracked at that moment and stood up, the chair falling back. Joe stood up as well and put his hands up, trying to seat Pete back down again.

"Stop!" Pete yelled, pointing at Joe. "I'm ruined!" he cried. Patrick took a shaky breath as he stared at Pete.

"Pete, clam down... the band has been broken up for nearly a year," Pete cut him off.

"Two-hundred ninety one days!" he bellowed. Joe widened his eyes. "Yeah, I've been counting," Pete whispered, picking up the chair and sitting back down. Patrick gulped and looked towards Andy.

"Pete, what's been troubling you?" he asked. Pete held his face in his hands.

"Everything," he mumbled. "Everybody's life is better than mine," Andy stayed silent and Patrick lowered his eyes.

"That's not true, Pete," he whispered. Pete sat up again, stretching his arms up in an outraged state.

"Jeanae and Ashlee both want nothing to do with me!" he paused and looked at his band mates. "Joe has a family, Andy's living a normal life and /you/, Patrick," he paused. "You have everything," Patrick gulped and looked to his friends to see them holding the same empty, yet knowing look.

"I'm..." Pete shook his head and stood up again, this time calmly.

"Forget it," he hissed. "It's a shame we aren't friends anymore, but maybe I'm better off that way," the former men of Fall Out Boy all watched as Pete walked out the front door and then back at themselves.

"How did this happen?" Patrick asked to nobody in particular and hid his face in his hands. "How did Pete become like this?"



Sunday, November 30th, 2008



A past dream was racking Pete's subconscious as he slept. He was back in that dark place of abnormal people all trying to help him, but failing. Placebos and Ativan in Best Buy parking lots with a 70's cliché singing a chorus of /Halleluiahs/; it was all very confusing to Pete, but he was asleep. The past was unfixable, but Pete couldn't cope with the way his life was heading.

Jeanae, a person who he thought he had complete control of, had made it perfectly clear she was happier without him. Sure, they still talked, but it worsened Pete's heart due to the fact she took no bullshit from him. Ashlee had moved on as well. That too, had been a failed relationship that ended with him being the bad person, but at least she didn't make him feel alone, like he was now. Patrick really did have everything. He was so much in the limelight, for /good things/, never bad. Pete cursed his golden heart. And Andy had perfected the ability to lean back into a normal life, going about his regular day to day activities without being recognized.

Pete thrived for the spotlight again, actually starting to miss the crazed fourteen year old screaming banshees that worshiped the ground he walked on. And Joe, with his family; something Pete had always secretly wanted.

Pete startled awake as he heard Hemingway howl from the floor next to his bed. But something else caught his attention. His bed was unusually uncomfortable. He sighed and closed his eyes, a little angry with the fact his dog had woken him from sleep, something he hardly got. But being curious, Pete sat up and observed his dog before looking down to see his bed was no longer there, and his sheets were no longer the green that he had bought them as but now...

He turned on the light with a click of the lamp on his nightstand and widened his eyes at the dirt that was spread all over his sheets and jumped out, staring at himself in the mirror door of his closet, seeing it caked all along his back and legs. Hemingway barked again and Pete heaved in breath, a little paranoid of who would do this. He closed his eyes tight and counted to five.

"I'm going to open my eyes and this is all going to be gone," he breathed out and opened them to see an even more horrifying sight. Instead of a mattress in the corner of his room, there sat a coffin with dirt inside and out, littering his carpet and walls.

"What the fuck!?" he cursed. His ears perked up and he stood still as he felt a presence at his doorway.

"Make my bed the grave and shovel dirt into my sheets"

Pete whipped his head around to see nothing, but a light on in his kitchen. His heart raced and he picked up his phone, flipping it open and preparing three numbers in the little screen. Slowly, he stepped over and observed his surroundings.

"Jeanae? Ashlee?" he paused. "Patrick? Andy? Joe?" he gulped. "Come on guys, this isn't funny, you know I'm not well right now," he began to whisper and closed his eyes for a brief moment before switching the light off and walking back to his bedroom. Hemingway whimpered and he glanced up to see his bedroom back to normal.

"Maybe I should get a physiologist," he whispered to himself. A throat was cleared and he jumped, turning around and bracing himself against his dresser as he saw a young looking girl standing in his doorway with her arms crossed.

"No need to, Peter," she spoke, flashing a toothy grin. Pete gulped and took a deep breath in, eyeing his bed.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" he asked. The girl SMIRKED and stepped over to him, cornering him to the wood of the dresser. Her hazel eyes glanced up into his browns and she twitched an eyebrow up.

"The name is Marissa, but you can call me Misery," she smiled at his confused demeanor. "And I'm your guardian angel,"