The Beauty Behind The Psycho's Creation

Novocaine

(Patrick's POV)

I wasn't singing Pete's bullshit song. He only wrote it to get back at me anyway. All the guys were voting against me but I didn't care. I was the one who had to go into the studio and record. So I would have the final say in what I chose to sing. And American Bullshit was not going to be it. I wasn't singing it!

Yesterday Pete rudely slammed his make shift lyric sheet against my chest. And I promptly helped it become buddy buddy with one of my favorite lighters. Unfortunately, Pete had the damn song memorized. We were supposed to be meeting at the DCD2 recording studio today to put some music behind that ridiculous 'song'. Of course I had a recording studio in the basement, but Pete wasn't welcomed to my house while my wife was present. So our manager suggested the label studio.

So that's where I was headed now. I'd taken an uber because I wasn't the best driver. And quite frankly, I wasn't in a good enough head space to drive. I'd probably end up crashing into another car. I was filled with so much angst.

As luck would have it, I pulled up at the exact same time Pete did. I waited for him to get our before I did. It was clear he hasn't noticed me yet. He was staring at some bluebirds pitched on a bench. Probable taking a picture of them for Instagram. I could imagine his stupid caption now. 'I know why the blue birds sing.' Or something else similarly stupid. They began chirping. Pete chirped back. I snorted and he spun around. Glaring when he realized it was me.

"So now you speak bluebird, huh?" I mocked.

"Yup," he said easily, waking past me and into the entrance. "They said Patrick Stump has a little dick." He began laughing at his own joke.

"Oh, grow the fuck up, Pete." I walked in behind him. We waited together for the elevator. It dinged and we walked on. I pressed the button to our floor a little harder than necessary. Causing it to hit the side of my nail. I'd meant to clip them. "Ah shit. My nail!" I muttered. Pete laughed. I frowned.

"Such a fucking little valley girl."

"Oh fuck you!"

The doors slid open on our floor and we walked to the door we were supposed to be in. Joe and Andy were already there. Andy was hitting the drums lightly and Joe looked to be tuning his guitar. They both stopped what they were doing when we walked in.

"You guys rode up together?" Joe asked.

"Yeah." I sat on the leather couch. "So."

"And you didn't kill each other?" Andy chuckled.

"Don't give me ideas, Hurley." Pete warned. I rolled my eyes.

"So you still haven't made up then."

"Never gonna happen." I called from the couch.

"This is going to become another band problem." Joe sighed.

"No it isn't." I disagreed. "The problem will stay between us."

"No. You're the problem." Pete pointed to me. "The problem will stay within you."

"You're the fucking problem! You're the reason we'll never be okay again."

"If that's the outcome of me being the problem, I will happily stay a problem."

"Of course you'd happily stay an asshole."

"You were happy with my asshole a week ago." He shot back. I gasped. Joe made gagging sounds. Andy pretended not to hear. Well if they weren't sure before, they obviously knew now. "How's your wife enjoy sleeping in those blankets?"