Engulfed

Chapter 12

Weeks passed and I guess that I got better. The occasional twinges of pain got less and less common. The thoughts that now clouded my mind were about Allie. I find myself looking for her everywhere I go.

Pete still keeps me locked up in his house. Not locked up, I should say cooped up. I get out as often as I can.

The other day, I went shopping with Pete - the first time I've ever been in public since the fire.

I'd spent the whole morning preparing for the cameras. For about an hour, I played with my hair and messed with my face until it was as good as it got.

I lost a bunch of weight since then. I wasn't necessarily trying this time. My appetite had just gotten smaller and smaller. It was evident in my cheeks, waist, and even in my clothes sizes. I had to buy everything new.

Once Pete dragged me away from his bathroom mirror, we walked outside. Normally, we'd already have flashes in our eyes, but even after five minutes of walking down the street, there was not one camera in sight.

"That's pretty odd..." Pete commented and glanced around.

I nodded and nervously bit the inside of my lip, "Yeah..."

He turned to me and chuckled, "They're afraid of sassy Stump."

I smirked and looked forward again. We haven't done or scheduled any interviews or shows. I didn't even get the chance to be sassy for the fans. The funny thing is that they don't hate us for it yet.

"Or they're just going easy on me because of the fire," I threw in.

He shrugged, "Whatever it is, I'm okay with it."

We'd shopped for about four hours around Chicago. It was a lot of fun. There were a few fans that stopped us for pictures and autographs, but otherwise, no cameras.

My stomach felt tingly and I glanced down at it. It growled up at me, begging for food?

Pete must've heard it, because he chuckled, "Whoa there... Patrick Stump is hungry?"

I smiled and felt my cheeks flush red. Wow, that was embarrassing if it was loud enough for him to hear it.

He dragged me into a taxi and we went downtown to Angels and Kings. It was late, around 20 (8:00) so I knew what Pete was aiming for, what everyone in the bar was aiming for.

To get drunk.

I haven't had a drink since the day of the fire. There's a first time for everything. Hopefully the place won't go down in flames this time.

He went back into the kitchen and pulled out two burgers and two old fashioned bottles of beer. The fact that he could do that entertained me. He walked back so easily. No one questioned when Pete Wentz entered the building. No one cared about who we were and almost treated us like we were normal. I liked it.

By midnight, Pete and I were hiccuping and laughing up a storm. He'd kicked his feet up on the table and leaned his chair backwards on it's hind legs.

"You're gonna fall!" I warned him and kept laughing.

"No I won't, I'll be-" he hiccuped and lost his balance, sending him to the ground with his chair.

I lost it right then and there. I could've ruined my pants if I wasn't careful. Pete just laid there and covered his face, laughing.

A taxi drove us back. We didn't even trust ourselves enough to walk.

We walked into the house and were greeted by Ms. Camper. She instantly knew of our drunken state and shook her head, smiling.

"Go get in bed you two," she said, "You won't be so happy with a hangover in the morning."

Pete whined and walked up to her, holding Meagan's waist like it were his bass. He kissed her and smiled, biting his lip in a sexy way before asking, "Can you tuck me in?"

A giggle escaped her lips, "Sure."

I was drunk, but I knew what was happening between the two. They didn't even bother me. I loved how happy Pete was with Meagan. I only hoped I could have a relationship like his someday.

I fell onto the bed in the guest bedroom and looked up at the ceiling. My head sent images to my eyes, causing the ceiling tiles to swirl into crooked lines that jumped around with an unplanned destination. I saw different colors swimming with the lines and the feeling of pins and needles pricking at the back of my head.

I chuckled to myself. I blamed it on the drink. No, I blamed it on Pete. Thank you Pete Wentz for making me drunk.

Then, I crawled under the covers, not bothering to take off the clothes I'd been wearing today. I thought for a long time. I only had two drinks at most. There's no way I was that drunk.

What could I be then? What would make me see those things?

I didn't get a change to ponder any further on the idea. Shortly after, I felt my eyelids grow heavy. I gave in and let them slowly close and fell into a deep slumber.