Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > Everything Must Belong Somewhere
I woke up with mascara staining my face in the most unfamiliar of places. This room, this bed, had always felt comfortable. They had always felt like home, but because of last night's events, I felt out of place. Not only in this room, but in this city, in this state, but more importantly, in my own skin. Even with my body heat radiating from me at it's usual rate, the bed felt cold and awkward. I didn't dare turn my head to see, because I already knew that he was gone. I didn't need to see, I just knew. I knew because I knew him.
Prior to last night, I hadn't heard from Pete in three weeks since our conversation at the record label. The same conversation where he initiated and insisted on friendship. Obviously he failed to follow up on his initiation. Until last night, that is.
I'm not sure how this happened. The events are still fuzzy to me. Party due to alcohol and partly due to my need to not remember.
The record label threw a record release party for a newly signed band. Zak and I went of course. So did Pete and an unknown brunette. However, the unknown brunette and Zak went partially dateless through the rest of the night as Pete and I left alone, yet together. We ended up at my place thanks to a patient taxi cab driver. An empty rum bottle and a few coke cans littered my kitchen as we clumsily and foolishly fumbled with unfamiliar clothes but familiar bodies. Everything seemed so natural and right at the time. Nothing feels okay now.
The words he spoke while intoxicated still reverberated in my mind. Bouncing back and forth like a pin ball machine. Echoing like sonar.
He loved me. He always had. He missed me. He usually did. He needed to be near me. Touching me. Inside of me. Tasting me. Me.
Where is he now?
Gone. He left with the moon. The sun took him away from me. No. He took himself away from me. I heard him leave. I pretended not to. He slipped on his jeans quietly, making sure to silence the belt buckle. Making sure to not wake me up. His shoes were last. No. I was last. My feelings were last.
If this were a game, and in some sick, psychological way I suspect that it was, I would have lost in the worst way. Pete, however, came out victorious. He spent all of that time. All of these past few conversations building up to exactly this. To last night. To this morning. He calculated and formulated and strategized. Every word he had spoken to me since our break up had been a move like a chess piece. He was the king in this one and I was merely a player. Two years ago I would have been the queen. Funny how this worked out.
He got exactly what he wanted and I gave it to him. Funny how that worked out.
Prior to last night, I hadn't heard from Pete in three weeks since our conversation at the record label. The same conversation where he initiated and insisted on friendship. Obviously he failed to follow up on his initiation. Until last night, that is.
I'm not sure how this happened. The events are still fuzzy to me. Party due to alcohol and partly due to my need to not remember.
The record label threw a record release party for a newly signed band. Zak and I went of course. So did Pete and an unknown brunette. However, the unknown brunette and Zak went partially dateless through the rest of the night as Pete and I left alone, yet together. We ended up at my place thanks to a patient taxi cab driver. An empty rum bottle and a few coke cans littered my kitchen as we clumsily and foolishly fumbled with unfamiliar clothes but familiar bodies. Everything seemed so natural and right at the time. Nothing feels okay now.
The words he spoke while intoxicated still reverberated in my mind. Bouncing back and forth like a pin ball machine. Echoing like sonar.
He loved me. He always had. He missed me. He usually did. He needed to be near me. Touching me. Inside of me. Tasting me. Me.
Where is he now?
Gone. He left with the moon. The sun took him away from me. No. He took himself away from me. I heard him leave. I pretended not to. He slipped on his jeans quietly, making sure to silence the belt buckle. Making sure to not wake me up. His shoes were last. No. I was last. My feelings were last.
If this were a game, and in some sick, psychological way I suspect that it was, I would have lost in the worst way. Pete, however, came out victorious. He spent all of that time. All of these past few conversations building up to exactly this. To last night. To this morning. He calculated and formulated and strategized. Every word he had spoken to me since our break up had been a move like a chess piece. He was the king in this one and I was merely a player. Two years ago I would have been the queen. Funny how this worked out.
He got exactly what he wanted and I gave it to him. Funny how that worked out.
Sign up to rate and review this story