Engulfed

Chapter 15

The week flew by quickly, hardly anything I could say went wrong. It was a healing process, naturally it would feel slow, but the days rushed past.

There were a few tests, a well check, and a lot of sleep involved in the whole of seven days. Sleep was my major anti-venom. The doctors had stressed that factor in my schedule and I obeyed it happily.

We even had time to fit an interview in for the fans, being sure to share it on Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, Instagram, and all of the other social media apps for our Youngblood to see.

It wasn't anything super serious yet. We answered typical questions and still found a way to make them funny and entertaining. There was the obvious factor that I looked different, specifically my weight and burns. Our makeup artist made a good attempt covering them, though.

"I've covered cuts, slits, bumps, bruises, any swollen skin showing for countless people," she said as she painted over a spot on my cheek. I was overwhelmed with the trustworthiness I felt from her. She could do the job right.

I wish I could look like that all of the time.

After the interview, Pete and I drove home. I took a Coke bottle from the fridge and threw myself on the couch. Someone had been watching the news and the story had caught my attention.

There were reports of small crimes taking place in our area. Items were stolen from a nearby store; items like navigators, a GPS, etc.

"That's terrible," I shook my head, "Who'd even want those things anyways?"

Pete didn't answer me and I turned to him. I expected him to give me a snarky comment or return anything sarcastically, but nothing. He noticed my confusion and turned the tv off.

From there, he left the room. I followed him inside. Pete reached under his bed and pulled out a box. He sat it on the bed and opened the lid...

The stolen items...

"Pete? Why did you-?" I started. Pete's not a stealer. He has money, buying these things wouldn't be a problem. The thing is, he doesn't even need them, so why does he have them?

If he doesn't need them and he has the money to buy them, then it wasn't him. Yet, they're still sitting right next to us on the bed.

It couldn't have been Meagan, Pete shares money with her. Blaming this on the boys would be laughable. That left one person.

Me.

I stole these...

I subconsciously brought my hand over my mouth and looked down at them. I don't remember stealing these. I don't remember needing these. Why? How?

"I'm taking them back tomorrow," Pete closes the box and hides it away, "They won't make a big deal if they know it's me and I'm returning it."

That doesn't matter... I think. He's Pete Wentz. He has a reputation to keep. Money can't pay you a reputation. He can't be blamed for my mess.

Tears welded up in my eyes, "Why would I-?"

Pete pulled me close and squeezed me tightly. His voice shook when he talked, "I've talked to you in these states... You want to leave. You want to... to find someone."

"Allie..." I whisper.

He sighed and questioned, "Patrick, if you didn't want to be here, why didn't you just tell me?"

"I don't want to leave you," I said honestly, "I'm grateful that you're keeping me here. I don't even remember saying or taking these things."

"I can see that..." he replies and lets me go. Pete let his hands carry the weight of his head and he rubbed it with his thumbs, "Remember your character in the Youngblood Chronicles? That's what you're like. It's not often, but it's scary when it does happen. You won't take no for an answer, so I helplessly let you do things."