Title: Run as fast as you can. Run.
Pairing: Petrick ie. Peter Wentz and Patrick Stump. [Fall Out Boy] and Patrick/OFC
Rating: Between M and R. For violence.
Summary: [I hate these] You better run Pete, just run.
Warnings: Tear-jerker. Only it won’t make you cry but hint hint.
Disclaimer: I own Pete’s tightest pair of women jeans but I do not own Pete or Patrick. Definitely not.
A/N: Un-beta-d so if there's spelling/grammar mistakese I apologise like a trillion times.
Run. Run boy; run as fast as you can. Run. Run boy.
Standing there you looked down at your hands, your position. The way you were crouched down next to his body. The way the red of his blood stained your delicate hands. The way the gun laid by your feet. And the way he was dead, so horribly dead.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Number one with a bullet. You’d be his number one or he’d have a bullet through his head. Bang. Bang. Bang. A shot to the chest, a shot to the chest, a shot to the chest. Bang. Bang. Bang. Blood poured out his chest, seeping through his skin, trailing down his torso. Your not so perfect angel had just been splattered.
“He loves me.” Bang. “He loves me not.” Click. “He loves me.” Bang. “He loves me not.” Bang.
You held the gun up, sandwiching it between two hands.
You let the gun drop from his head. He sighed, he sighed a sigh of relief and this frustrated you along with the silence on his behalf.
“He loves me not.” Click.
“He loves me.” Click. One blank down, two to go.
“Let’s play a game Patrick.” You said as you stared down the barrel of the gun, taking three bullets out and placing them on the table.
You hurriedly reached for the gun. He did too. The only thing was, you beat him. You held the gun up to him. His dilated pupils quickly changed back to normal as you pressed the metal tip to his temple.
“Are you fucking high? You’re fucking high.” You pelted the words straight to him. That fire built up inside of you, the fire that started from the pits of your stomach, growing and pushing through your chest, releasing out your mouth.
You both glanced at the gun lying on the table. Situated next to the gun was a bag of white powder. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head. You couldn’t believe it. What a slut, she was a drug dealer too. This thought made you wish you hadn’t had let her out of the apartment.
“Fuck you Patrick. You said it was only me.” Unaware of your voice raising you continued to throw harsh words at him. The look on his face was unforgettable. Something unforgivable. Kodak Moment.
“Pete, just calm down. Calm down.” His voice echoed throughout the room, haunting the objects in the room. Staring at him, you focused your anger on his body. The way his lips curved upwards whenever he lied. The way she stole the sincerity from his eyes. The way she had stolen him from you.
“Get out of here. Go.” He said to her, she did as told and fled the room. What a coward. What a tramp. Leaving the apartment with a thong, a bra and stilettos on. Oh, how you wished she’d trip down the stairs and break her neck. You’d rather see her paralysed for life rather than see her die. You wanted her in pain. She needed to suffer. She deserved to suffer, the way the big shots suffer.
He looked strong. He held back the urges to scream out in pain. You were impressed; you never thought he was the brave one. He knew what he was doing that’s for sure.
“Oh baby, don’t shake. I hate to see you tremble.” You whispered against his ear before biting his neck roughly, ripping the skin with your teeth and leaving a tear in his pale skin, the blood pushing through in little specks.
It hurt her. She showed the obvious signs, her hand pressed to her own cheek, her eyes widening, ready to burst out with tears. Trembling, she was trembling. He was trembling.
“Gee, you’re a pretty girl. What a waste that you’re a whore.” As the words left your mouth you placed another firm slap to her cheek, the skin turning pink immediately. Her ninety five cent cheap red lipstick smudged across her chin and your insides smiled. Now she really did look like some sort of corner street hooker.
You wiped the spit from your cheek and smiled again. This time, your smile turned smug. You raised your hand again, brushing your fingertips against her cheek. She cowered from your touch but you held her face in place with your other hand.
He protectively wrapped an arm around her, she wept softly. Her face buried in her hands. You could smell blood in the air and smiled triumphantly. You had hurt her, just like you planned. She looked up from her hands and gave you a look of disgust. She spat, she spat on you.
“Stop it Pete. What are you doing? Stop it!” He screamed at you. His face was covered with anger though you could see through his face and saw the little boy scared behind it.
You could see his face in the corner of your eye. He reached for you arm, pulling you back from hitting her again.
You casually walked over to them both. A small smirk spread across your lips, your eyes filled with anger and revenge. Glazed over with hatred. You raised your fist and punched her. You punched her square in the face. You punched her hard, harder than you’ve ever punched before. Harder than the punches you pulled on the bullies in the schoolyard. It was hard.
He tried desperately to cover himself and her up with a blanket. He wrapped it tightly around their bodies. He looked frightened and you could smell it in the air.
He had heard you. He turned around, his face surprised and embarrassed at the same time. He was so stupid. He didn’t suspect anything. He was so innocent yet so corrupted.
You dropped the Chinese and the DVD. Thump.
You caught them. Caught them red handed you did. There they were, two partners in crime. Both stripped down to lingeré and briefs, making out. Making out like there was no tomorrow. His tongue shoved down her throat, her hands roaming his body. The body you owned and had rightfully claimed.
You placed your key in the keyhole, turning it slowly.
You travelled up the stairs to his apartment, whistling your favourite tune. A box of Chinese take away in your hand and Rushmore on DVD. You figured he was alone and could use some company and some good food. And of course a well earned kiss here and there.
You left the Chinese take away shop and began to walk to his house. It was dark out and the stars were shining brighter than ever. Perhaps they knew what was in store for your night you thought to yourself.
COMMENTS AND CRITICISIM RULE MY LIFE. So please leave some. Thanks kids. :o) Cookies for commenters.
A/N: Yay, more AN. Anyway, the gun just happened to pop out of nowhere. I didn’t know how to incorporate the gun into the story so I resulted to the OC(Last Episode). Many apologies for that scene.
Okay, this is really wicked and weird. My Internet was/is broken so I got bored and decided to read it. Sorry if it’s hard to read, it’s backwards. But that’s the point of the story. It’s like the movie Memento if anyone has seen it. So just stay with it, I promise it’s not too bad. Un-beta-d.
Pairing: Petrick ie. Peter Wentz and Patrick Stump. [Fall Out Boy] and Patrick/OFC
Rating: Between M and R. For violence.
Summary: [I hate these] You better run Pete, just run.
Warnings: Tear-jerker. Only it won’t make you cry but hint hint.
Disclaimer: I own Pete’s tightest pair of women jeans but I do not own Pete or Patrick. Definitely not.
A/N: Un-beta-d so if there's spelling/grammar mistakese I apologise like a trillion times.
Run. Run boy; run as fast as you can. Run. Run boy.
Standing there you looked down at your hands, your position. The way you were crouched down next to his body. The way the red of his blood stained your delicate hands. The way the gun laid by your feet. And the way he was dead, so horribly dead.
Bang. Bang. Bang. Number one with a bullet. You’d be his number one or he’d have a bullet through his head. Bang. Bang. Bang. A shot to the chest, a shot to the chest, a shot to the chest. Bang. Bang. Bang. Blood poured out his chest, seeping through his skin, trailing down his torso. Your not so perfect angel had just been splattered.
“He loves me.” Bang. “He loves me not.” Click. “He loves me.” Bang. “He loves me not.” Bang.
You held the gun up, sandwiching it between two hands.
You let the gun drop from his head. He sighed, he sighed a sigh of relief and this frustrated you along with the silence on his behalf.
“He loves me not.” Click.
“He loves me.” Click. One blank down, two to go.
“Let’s play a game Patrick.” You said as you stared down the barrel of the gun, taking three bullets out and placing them on the table.
You hurriedly reached for the gun. He did too. The only thing was, you beat him. You held the gun up to him. His dilated pupils quickly changed back to normal as you pressed the metal tip to his temple.
“Are you fucking high? You’re fucking high.” You pelted the words straight to him. That fire built up inside of you, the fire that started from the pits of your stomach, growing and pushing through your chest, releasing out your mouth.
You both glanced at the gun lying on the table. Situated next to the gun was a bag of white powder. Your eyes almost bulged out of your head. You couldn’t believe it. What a slut, she was a drug dealer too. This thought made you wish you hadn’t had let her out of the apartment.
“Fuck you Patrick. You said it was only me.” Unaware of your voice raising you continued to throw harsh words at him. The look on his face was unforgettable. Something unforgivable. Kodak Moment.
“Pete, just calm down. Calm down.” His voice echoed throughout the room, haunting the objects in the room. Staring at him, you focused your anger on his body. The way his lips curved upwards whenever he lied. The way she stole the sincerity from his eyes. The way she had stolen him from you.
“Get out of here. Go.” He said to her, she did as told and fled the room. What a coward. What a tramp. Leaving the apartment with a thong, a bra and stilettos on. Oh, how you wished she’d trip down the stairs and break her neck. You’d rather see her paralysed for life rather than see her die. You wanted her in pain. She needed to suffer. She deserved to suffer, the way the big shots suffer.
He looked strong. He held back the urges to scream out in pain. You were impressed; you never thought he was the brave one. He knew what he was doing that’s for sure.
“Oh baby, don’t shake. I hate to see you tremble.” You whispered against his ear before biting his neck roughly, ripping the skin with your teeth and leaving a tear in his pale skin, the blood pushing through in little specks.
It hurt her. She showed the obvious signs, her hand pressed to her own cheek, her eyes widening, ready to burst out with tears. Trembling, she was trembling. He was trembling.
“Gee, you’re a pretty girl. What a waste that you’re a whore.” As the words left your mouth you placed another firm slap to her cheek, the skin turning pink immediately. Her ninety five cent cheap red lipstick smudged across her chin and your insides smiled. Now she really did look like some sort of corner street hooker.
You wiped the spit from your cheek and smiled again. This time, your smile turned smug. You raised your hand again, brushing your fingertips against her cheek. She cowered from your touch but you held her face in place with your other hand.
He protectively wrapped an arm around her, she wept softly. Her face buried in her hands. You could smell blood in the air and smiled triumphantly. You had hurt her, just like you planned. She looked up from her hands and gave you a look of disgust. She spat, she spat on you.
“Stop it Pete. What are you doing? Stop it!” He screamed at you. His face was covered with anger though you could see through his face and saw the little boy scared behind it.
You could see his face in the corner of your eye. He reached for you arm, pulling you back from hitting her again.
You casually walked over to them both. A small smirk spread across your lips, your eyes filled with anger and revenge. Glazed over with hatred. You raised your fist and punched her. You punched her square in the face. You punched her hard, harder than you’ve ever punched before. Harder than the punches you pulled on the bullies in the schoolyard. It was hard.
He tried desperately to cover himself and her up with a blanket. He wrapped it tightly around their bodies. He looked frightened and you could smell it in the air.
He had heard you. He turned around, his face surprised and embarrassed at the same time. He was so stupid. He didn’t suspect anything. He was so innocent yet so corrupted.
You dropped the Chinese and the DVD. Thump.
You caught them. Caught them red handed you did. There they were, two partners in crime. Both stripped down to lingeré and briefs, making out. Making out like there was no tomorrow. His tongue shoved down her throat, her hands roaming his body. The body you owned and had rightfully claimed.
You placed your key in the keyhole, turning it slowly.
You travelled up the stairs to his apartment, whistling your favourite tune. A box of Chinese take away in your hand and Rushmore on DVD. You figured he was alone and could use some company and some good food. And of course a well earned kiss here and there.
You left the Chinese take away shop and began to walk to his house. It was dark out and the stars were shining brighter than ever. Perhaps they knew what was in store for your night you thought to yourself.
COMMENTS AND CRITICISIM RULE MY LIFE. So please leave some. Thanks kids. :o) Cookies for commenters.
A/N: Yay, more AN. Anyway, the gun just happened to pop out of nowhere. I didn’t know how to incorporate the gun into the story so I resulted to the OC(Last Episode). Many apologies for that scene.
Okay, this is really wicked and weird. My Internet was/is broken so I got bored and decided to read it. Sorry if it’s hard to read, it’s backwards. But that’s the point of the story. It’s like the movie Memento if anyone has seen it. So just stay with it, I promise it’s not too bad. Un-beta-d.