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Emma lay on her stomach, staring at her clock. She watched time tick slowly by. It had been exactly 15 minutes since she threw herself down on her bed and began crying. She sat up and wiped her eyes, looking down at her hand and seeing the black smears there from her eyeliner and mascara. She grimaced and tried to rub it off. She felt like a failure. She should have ran after him and told him the truth. If he laughed in her face, at least she would know that she had told him the truth. Then she could go on with her life knowing that she had done all she could. But she didn't. And now she sat in her room, wishing she was anything but what she was. Alone. Her best friend was leaving her. She had no one to turn too. She sighed and pushed herself up off the bed, heading into the bathroom to wash her make up stained face. She scrubbed until her cheeks felt raw then splashed her face with water. She dried her face and stared at her red face in the mirror, trying to see what Pete saw when he called her beautiful. All she saw was a face that could use some plumping because it was too thin. She saw a pointy chin and slender nose. She saw cheeks that were too hollow and needed some plump. She saw limp, lifeless brown hair that was boring. The only thing that sparkled to her were her eyes. She had always loved her eyes. They were an odd blend of colors. They were dark blue on the outer rim, fading to a paler blue that blended into green and then she had a ring of gold around her pupil. She sniffled and closed her eyes. She wished her face wasn't so splotchy and red from crying. She wished she was stronger. She hated herself for being this weak.

You brought this on yourself, she thought.

She grimaced and walked back into her bedroom. She stared at her window, having an argument with herself. He could still be there, she thought, making herself walk to the window. She pulled the curtain back and peered down the street towards Pete's house. A white van with a trailer set outside, being filled by some guys. Her heart leapt into her throat. Maybe she had a chance. She pulled on her shoes and dashed down the stairs. She waved goodbye to her mom and called "Going to Pete's" which surprised her mother, since Emma and Pete hadn't been on the best of terms lately. She flung her door shut behind her and sprinted to Pete's house. She got strange looks from the guys loading the van. She stopped and panted, trying to catch her breath. "Uhm, can we help you, Miss Mental Case?" a guy with curly shaggy hair said. She glared at him and caught her breath. "Is Pete here?" she asked, rubbing the stitch in her side. The guy stared at her for a moment before saying, "Yeah, why? Who are you?" She ignored him and ran towards the house. The door was standing open and she stuck her head inside, glancing around. The place was chaos, bags everywhere, guitar cases everywhere, clothes everywhere. She cautiously stepped inside and listened for voices. She heard someone walking towards her from the kitchen so she turned to look. It was another guy she didn't know, short with glasses and a trucker hat on. She smiled to herself, wondering how busy Pete had been in the few months they hadn't talked. The guy stopped short and stared at the strange girl standing in Pete's house. "Uhm, can I help you?" he said, walking towards Emma. Emma looked at him and figured he was a decent guy. "Yes, I'm looking for Pete, have you seen him?" she asked, glancing around the house. The guy nodded and said, "Yes, I have...who are you, by the way?" She glanced back at him and thought for a moment before saying, "I'm Emma...I live down the street...who are you?" He nodded in comprehension. "So, you're Emma? Ok. I'm Patrick," he said, extending his hand. Emma took it and shook it quickly. "I'm sorry to be rude, but if you could really just tell me where Pete is I'm sure that I'll love you forever," she said. Patrick blushed and pointed upstairs. Emma nodded and dashed up the two flight of stairs to Pete's third floor bedroom.

She gasped as she stood on the landing, holding her side. She was not much of a runner and all this unneeded running was killing her. She doubled over and tried to catch her breath and compose herself before she went to talk to Pete. She closed her eyes for a few moments and heard a thud. Her eyes flew open and she stood up. "Emma?" Pete asked, standing a few feet in front of her, a suitcase at his side. She tried to smile and couldn't help but think of how cute he looked. "Pete, I have something to tell you..." she said, before he cut her off with a wave of the hand. "Emmie, don't. Please...Let's just not go there. Let's just leave this as it is and just enjoy what memories we have..." he said, picking the suitcase up and pushing past her to walk down the stairs. Her mind raced. Leave it as it is? she thought, bewildered. Did he not love her? She knew he did, he was just denying it. She spun and followed him down the stairs. She caught up to him on the second floor and grabbed his arm, spinning him around. He pulled his arm away and glared at her. "Please, just listen to me, Pete...please..." she pleaded, staring into his eyes. He closed his eyes and shook his head, backing away. He turned and continued down the stairs. Emma felt her eyes welling up with tears. Why was he doing this to her? She fled down the stairs after him, catching him at the door. "Pete, please..." she croaked, her voice cracking. He turned to look at her and threw the suitcase down. "No, Emma, because I know what you're going to say, and I just can't handle it...Not now, probably never. Please, can we just forget that night and how we felt? Please..." he pleaded with her. She couldn't understand why he was pushing her away. She fumbled for his hands. "But I love you..." she whispered. He frowned at her. "That's your misfortune. Always loving the wrong guy at the wrong time. You know, Emma, you're like a song. You know how some songs make you happy and feel great about life. And then others make you sad but they say something to you and change your life. You're a sad song Emma, except you have nothing to say. Just put it all behind you and move on. I have..." he said, picking up the suitcase and carrying it to the van.

"Tell me you don't love me," she blurted out, almost shouting. A crowd was gathering and she was nearing hysterics. He sighed and turned to look at her. "I don't love you..." he mumbled. She nodded and began to walk off. "Emmie..." she heard him call. She stuck her hand up and flipped him off. She knew it was immature but she couldn't turn to look at him. She knew if she did, she would run right back to him and beg him to love her. "Thanks Pete...thanks for everything. It's been great, have a nice fucking life," she shouted over her shoulder, walking back home to her house.

She decided it was time to grow up and go on. Life would go on without Peter Wentz. It had to, somehow.