Ordinay Moments - Ch. 5
Title Ordinary Moments Ch. 5
Rating Strong language so...strong Pg-13?
Author Katie..who would be me
Disclaimer Just. No.
Summary Funny how the extraordinary things happen in the most ordinary moments.
Notes Sorry for the delay guys I've been busy being a social butterfly this week. There are so many people I want to thank individually for their support but it would end up being longer than the chapter so I will catch you all in the comment boxes! Thanks to everyone who is reading and enjoying. This was an incredibly hard chapter to write, so your thoughts on it are very welcome.
Previous Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
So here is Chapter Five...
It was an ordinary Tuesday morning when Patrick got the phone call. Pete had overdosed. They’d gotten to him in time and he was in hospital. He was asking for Patrick.
Patrick didn’t go to the hospital that day.
Or the next.
The following day, the band went to England without Pete.
He would get texts from Pete a couple of times a day, but he never read them. In some ways he felt guilty. His best friend had tried to end it all, and needed him. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Pete.
It was 4am and the phone in the hotel room was ringing. If Patrick hadn’t of been exhausted he wouldn’t have answered the phone, knowing it would be Pete.
“’Lo?”
“So you’re talking to me now?”
Yep. Pete. Surprise, surprise. Patrick supposed it was some kind of subconscious thing telling him to talk to Pete. Who else would call at this hour?
“Only because its 4 am and I didn’t think before answering.”
“Patrick I’m so-”
“Pete don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in the mood for fucking trans-Atlantic apologies”
“You wouldn’t come see me.”
The silence stretched further than the miles between them. Then Pete was talking again in a small voice Patrick didn’t recognise from the normally brash man.
“I just wanted it all to stop.”
“Well better luck next time then.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? How do you know I don’t mean it? I don’t even know that! All I know is that I’m here in merry old fucking England and you are there, in a hospital and I can’t sleep because I’m too fucking mad at you and I can never sleep without you anyway. And we’re here, and we have to dodge questions about why our frontman isn’t. And all I want to do is fucking hit you, you selfish fucking bastard.”
Patrick tried to tell himself he didn’t care that he could hear Pete crying on the other end. He told himself he deserved it.
“You should be here” Patrick whispered this time.
“I know” was all Pete said before the line went dead.
It was an ordinary Saturday when Patrick cried himself to sleep over Pete and guilt and anger and Ativan.
***
It was an ordinary morning in the Chicago suburbs when Patrick arrived home from the airport and the band’s first trip to England. Everything looked the same as when he’d left, except for the hooded figure sitting on his doorstep. That certainly hadn’t been there when he left.
Patrick got out of the car and they stood regarding each other for a good ten minutes before either spoke.
“They let you out?”
“Yeah, yesterday afternoon.”
“Okay.”
Patrick began to walk past Pete into the house when a hand on his arm stopped him. They looked each other in the eye for a long moment before Pete looked at his feet sheepishly.
“Can I come in?” he mumbled.
“Pete I just got off a 10 hour flight. I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
“Please?”
Patrick yelled at himself the whole way up the stairs to his room for never being able to say no to Pete fucking Wentz.
He sat on the bed and watched as Pete nervously paced the room.
“I wanted to explain.”
“What is there to explain? You tried to kill yourself.”
“No. I mean yeah, but no. I just couldn’t take it and for one split second it just felt like if I took those pills it would all go away. As soon as I took them though I knew it was wrong. Patrick I called the ambulance myself.”
“That doesn’t make it okay Pete.”
Patrick was standing and pacing now too, running his hands over his tired face to stop himself punching Pete for making him feel like this.
“I know, but you have to believe me I’m so sorry. I know that’s really lame. But it’s true.”
Something in Patrick snapped. Pete thought he wanted an apology? That’s what he thought would fix this?
“No Pete. What’s fucking lame is for all your fucking bullshit about best friends and telling each other anything, you do that rather than fucking coming to me! I’m good enough when you can’t fucking sleep, or when you need someone to make out with because you’re lonely. But I’m not enough to fucking talk to? Is that it?”
Patrick was visibly shaking. The anger he had suppressed until that point was coming out and he was genuinely afraid for Pete’s safety in that room. He just couldn’t stop himself though.
“I do everything for you, anything to make you happy but it’s not enough! You still pull this shit and then think a fucking apology will make it okay! You’re a selfish asshole. I could have fucking lost you. Do you even fucking know how that feels?”
And then Patrick was crying and Pete’s hands were around him holding onto him for dear life. And then Pete’s hands were cupping his face and then it was lips on lips and it was almost perfect. Pete was kissing him like he’d never done before and Patrick wanted to give in more than he wanted anything in his life.
Except kisses weren’t happily ever after.
Patrick pulled away.
“Pete please. Don’t do this. Don’t try to make this better by kissing it away. I can’t get over it because you have decided now you want me.”
Pete is crying now and Patrick’s heart is breaking.
“You’re my best friend Pete, but I can’t. I’ve wanted to, for so long. So fucking long. But I can’t.”
They pull each other down to the bed and hold on for dear life.
It’s an ordinary Sunday morning when Patrick rejects Pete – and tells himself through the tears that it’s the right thing to do.
***
It’s an ordinary tour. Only this time they aren’t in the little white van. And they have bunks to themselves. Patrick tells himself he is grateful for this newfound privacy. No more sharing a bed. Patrick tells himself he is glad Pete has stopped crawling into his bed at night. Patrick tells himself its just life on the road that makes it hard to fall asleep at night.
Patrick is also grateful for the curtains covering their bunks. Not because he doesn’t have to see the scene kids Pete has taken to bringing back to the bus, but because he doesn’t like making small talk with some kid in too tight jeans and eyeliner that he’ll never see again anyway. He is just grateful he doesn’t have to make the effort.
What Patrick is most grateful for though is uneven roads. The kind that make the bus bounce at night and wake you up. The kind that keep Pete awake for days on end. Not because he doesn’t want Pete to sleep, but because when Pete gets tired enough he gives up all hope of any other solution.
It’s on an ordinary all night drive that Patrick finds hope of everything being okay because Pete crawls back into his bunk, pillow in hand.
***
Like I said. It was tough to write so feedback is really appreciated. x
Rating Strong language so...strong Pg-13?
Author Katie..who would be me
Disclaimer Just. No.
Summary Funny how the extraordinary things happen in the most ordinary moments.
Notes Sorry for the delay guys I've been busy being a social butterfly this week. There are so many people I want to thank individually for their support but it would end up being longer than the chapter so I will catch you all in the comment boxes! Thanks to everyone who is reading and enjoying. This was an incredibly hard chapter to write, so your thoughts on it are very welcome.
Previous Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
So here is Chapter Five...
It was an ordinary Tuesday morning when Patrick got the phone call. Pete had overdosed. They’d gotten to him in time and he was in hospital. He was asking for Patrick.
Patrick didn’t go to the hospital that day.
Or the next.
The following day, the band went to England without Pete.
He would get texts from Pete a couple of times a day, but he never read them. In some ways he felt guilty. His best friend had tried to end it all, and needed him. But he couldn’t bring himself to talk to Pete.
It was 4am and the phone in the hotel room was ringing. If Patrick hadn’t of been exhausted he wouldn’t have answered the phone, knowing it would be Pete.
“’Lo?”
“So you’re talking to me now?”
Yep. Pete. Surprise, surprise. Patrick supposed it was some kind of subconscious thing telling him to talk to Pete. Who else would call at this hour?
“Only because its 4 am and I didn’t think before answering.”
“Patrick I’m so-”
“Pete don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear it. I’m not in the mood for fucking trans-Atlantic apologies”
“You wouldn’t come see me.”
The silence stretched further than the miles between them. Then Pete was talking again in a small voice Patrick didn’t recognise from the normally brash man.
“I just wanted it all to stop.”
“Well better luck next time then.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Don’t I? How do you know I don’t mean it? I don’t even know that! All I know is that I’m here in merry old fucking England and you are there, in a hospital and I can’t sleep because I’m too fucking mad at you and I can never sleep without you anyway. And we’re here, and we have to dodge questions about why our frontman isn’t. And all I want to do is fucking hit you, you selfish fucking bastard.”
Patrick tried to tell himself he didn’t care that he could hear Pete crying on the other end. He told himself he deserved it.
“You should be here” Patrick whispered this time.
“I know” was all Pete said before the line went dead.
It was an ordinary Saturday when Patrick cried himself to sleep over Pete and guilt and anger and Ativan.
***
It was an ordinary morning in the Chicago suburbs when Patrick arrived home from the airport and the band’s first trip to England. Everything looked the same as when he’d left, except for the hooded figure sitting on his doorstep. That certainly hadn’t been there when he left.
Patrick got out of the car and they stood regarding each other for a good ten minutes before either spoke.
“They let you out?”
“Yeah, yesterday afternoon.”
“Okay.”
Patrick began to walk past Pete into the house when a hand on his arm stopped him. They looked each other in the eye for a long moment before Pete looked at his feet sheepishly.
“Can I come in?” he mumbled.
“Pete I just got off a 10 hour flight. I’m not in the mood to fight with you.”
“Please?”
Patrick yelled at himself the whole way up the stairs to his room for never being able to say no to Pete fucking Wentz.
He sat on the bed and watched as Pete nervously paced the room.
“I wanted to explain.”
“What is there to explain? You tried to kill yourself.”
“No. I mean yeah, but no. I just couldn’t take it and for one split second it just felt like if I took those pills it would all go away. As soon as I took them though I knew it was wrong. Patrick I called the ambulance myself.”
“That doesn’t make it okay Pete.”
Patrick was standing and pacing now too, running his hands over his tired face to stop himself punching Pete for making him feel like this.
“I know, but you have to believe me I’m so sorry. I know that’s really lame. But it’s true.”
Something in Patrick snapped. Pete thought he wanted an apology? That’s what he thought would fix this?
“No Pete. What’s fucking lame is for all your fucking bullshit about best friends and telling each other anything, you do that rather than fucking coming to me! I’m good enough when you can’t fucking sleep, or when you need someone to make out with because you’re lonely. But I’m not enough to fucking talk to? Is that it?”
Patrick was visibly shaking. The anger he had suppressed until that point was coming out and he was genuinely afraid for Pete’s safety in that room. He just couldn’t stop himself though.
“I do everything for you, anything to make you happy but it’s not enough! You still pull this shit and then think a fucking apology will make it okay! You’re a selfish asshole. I could have fucking lost you. Do you even fucking know how that feels?”
And then Patrick was crying and Pete’s hands were around him holding onto him for dear life. And then Pete’s hands were cupping his face and then it was lips on lips and it was almost perfect. Pete was kissing him like he’d never done before and Patrick wanted to give in more than he wanted anything in his life.
Except kisses weren’t happily ever after.
Patrick pulled away.
“Pete please. Don’t do this. Don’t try to make this better by kissing it away. I can’t get over it because you have decided now you want me.”
Pete is crying now and Patrick’s heart is breaking.
“You’re my best friend Pete, but I can’t. I’ve wanted to, for so long. So fucking long. But I can’t.”
They pull each other down to the bed and hold on for dear life.
It’s an ordinary Sunday morning when Patrick rejects Pete – and tells himself through the tears that it’s the right thing to do.
***
It’s an ordinary tour. Only this time they aren’t in the little white van. And they have bunks to themselves. Patrick tells himself he is grateful for this newfound privacy. No more sharing a bed. Patrick tells himself he is glad Pete has stopped crawling into his bed at night. Patrick tells himself its just life on the road that makes it hard to fall asleep at night.
Patrick is also grateful for the curtains covering their bunks. Not because he doesn’t have to see the scene kids Pete has taken to bringing back to the bus, but because he doesn’t like making small talk with some kid in too tight jeans and eyeliner that he’ll never see again anyway. He is just grateful he doesn’t have to make the effort.
What Patrick is most grateful for though is uneven roads. The kind that make the bus bounce at night and wake you up. The kind that keep Pete awake for days on end. Not because he doesn’t want Pete to sleep, but because when Pete gets tired enough he gives up all hope of any other solution.
It’s on an ordinary all night drive that Patrick finds hope of everything being okay because Pete crawls back into his bunk, pillow in hand.
***
Like I said. It was tough to write so feedback is really appreciated. x