Death Bite (Peterick)

Chicago, 1954 Part 1

Pete's POV:

I stared at the blank page, contemplating how to start it but there was no certain way I could channel my complicated feelings into a simple lined paper. This would be the only thing anyone would have as to why I had done it, and the importance of this note was my priority at the moment. My eyes wandered to my LeMat Revolver, the same one my great-great-grandfather used in the Civil War. All 9 chambers were loaded, and it was ready to go in a moment's notice. Had my father known my ultimate reason for wanting him to give it to me yesterday he wouldn't have done so. 

In fact, he would have had me submitted into an institution instead. My hand began to write for me, and before I could even think about it the only words written on the paper were: Dear Father. Maybe he was one the reasons I had decided upon what I was about to commit. No. He was the only reason. The ringing of my telephone interrupted my thoughts, and I answered it.

"Hello? Wentz residence."
"Peter! Happy 23rd Birthday!" Gabe said rather too enthusiastically.
I chuckled and quickly thanked him, under the impression he would hang up and go about the rest of his night, leaving me to finish my business. Yet, Gabe hadn't always lived by my expectations.
"How was your day?" he inquired.

"The same as any other."
"Don't be so gloomy, Pete. You know what? Let me take you out for a drink. My treat."
"What would Erin think of that? You going out so late?"
"My finacée is none of your concerns right now. What you really need to worry about is how many beers you can drink before you black out. Now come on. Meet me at the bar down the block from your apartment. I'll be there in a few."

Before I could say any more, he hung up. I stared at the note and gun, deciding that I would just have to do this when I came home later. He was sitting on the bar stool, a beer already in his hand, and he flagged me down once his eyes had spotted me.
"Uh, one Budweiser please." I told the bartender before having a seat next to the clearly intoxicated Gabe.
How he got drunk so quickly before I arrived bewildered me.

"Happy birthday, buddy!" he practically shouted as he slammed his hand onto my back in an attempt to greet me but, instead, made it seem like he was weakly fighting me.

"Hi, Gabey baby," I replied.

His mouth turned upwards into a smile when he heard the affectionate name I coined for him long ago.

"Pete the treat," he winked, taking a swig of his bourbon, and then suddenly bursting into a fit of giggles.

The few people gathered at the bar glanced at Gabe but probably passed us off as a couple of drunk men having a joyous night. 

Which we were except I wasn't drunk, and I wasn't exactly joyous at the moment. All I wanted was to get home and taste the cold steel of my gun, feel the trigger shake under my anxious finger, see the blackness come before my eyes as the echo of that gunshot ricocheted off my thin apartment walls. I sat there staring at my best friend, the same one I met almost two years ago. How would he take it? My suicide, I mean. 

I had never thought of his feelings on the matter. Not that they were valid anyhow. This was my choice. It didn't concern him. Well...perhaps it did in some way. 

He'd kill me himself if he figured what I was going to do once he went home. Oh the irony. I chugged my Budweiser whilst Gabe watched the toxic liquid disappear into my body in amazement.

"Erin and I are planning the wedding in July. She wants a summer wedding and she's designing her own dress too," he randomly brought up.

"That's fantastic. How is her whole fashion career going? Has she found stable work?"

Gabe bit his lip. "No, but she's trying. She's a really glorious designer, Peter. You've seen her drawings and such, correct?"
I nodded.
"It's simply that she has little experience. She'll get her lucky break one day soon. I want her to be happy. She means the entire world to me. I would quit law school for her if she got a job elsewhere. No hesitation."
"None?"
"Zilch."

"You really love her, don't you?"
His cheeks flushed red, and I already was certain of the answer.

"How's your love life, Pete?"

"Complicated to say the least."
My history with women wasn't exactly something to be proud of, but Gabe envied the long list of gorgeous gals I had once dated or even had a brief fling with. 

Maybe being single now was for the best. It was one less person to disappoint tonight. By the time I had put my third empty beer bottle on the counter my head was beginning to buzz. Gabe was completely wasted, and it wasn't even midnight.
"I think we should go home, Gabe."

"Yeah, yeah sure. We'll take my car."
"Oh, no. I'm calling for a cab."
He gave me a deadpan stare, "Do you really think I'm going to leave my brand new Buick Skylark, which is top of its condition mind you, in the parking lot of a run-down bar?"
Gabe loved to show that car off just as much as he liked to show off his blue-eyed, blonde beauty, Erin. It was obvious that no matter how much I bothered he was going to take his Buick home with him tonight.

"Okay, fine, but promise me you'll drive slowly."
He nodded, and we headed outside to his red trophy. As I slid into the passenger's seat my stomach twisted and churned. It's just the beer. You're okay.

My apartment was only blocks away and driving in a car would take less time. Surely, nothing could happen within that period. Gabe switched on the radio and hummed along to the tune, tapping his thin fingers on the steering wheel. Everything was fine.

"Give me your arm as we cross the street. Call me at six on the dot. A line a day when you're far away. Little things mean a lot," Gabe sang as he tapped his fingers against the steering wheel.

His voice was slurred but still sounded stupendous. I once told him he should consider pursuing singing, but he was settled on getting an actual job. Was he really be happy, though? I knew I wasn't.

My father crushed my passions and dreams and sent me to a university. Being that I was an aspiring writer I hoped to use the next year as a break to work on my poetry. Let's just say when he discovered my plans I was forced to put my creativity aside and focus on a real future. Maybe it was my fault. I let my dad control me and ruin my life. 

For fuck's sake I hadn't written a poem since before my high school graduation. It wasn't like I had the will to anyhow. Ever since I entered law school, depression completely consumed me, and here I was, about to go into my third year in a few months, and I was nothing but miserable. There was no way I could write.

"Gabe?" I glanced at him, seeing that his eyelids were drooping.
"GABE, WAKE UP!"
He jerked and when he did so his knee must've hit the wheel because the next thing I knew we were driving towards another car going the opposite direction.
"OH MY GOD!" I reached over, snatching the wheel and maneuvering us back towards the right lane.
Then darkness. 

The darkness I had been waiting for finally came, but it didn't last long. I found myself aching and barely able to decipher my surroundings. There was smoke spewing out of the car and swirling around a large object in front of us. My vision cleared long enough for me to see the crushed hood against bark. We hit a tree. 

We. I immediately remembered Gabe but barely recognized the body next me. It lay bloody and scarred. Sheer panic ran throughout me, shaking my soul to its core. A piece of the car door was lodged into his side, and it all seemed unreal. 

He wasn't the one who supposed to die tonight. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
"Gabe?" I weakly called out.
Nothing. The reality of it all settled in.

I couldn't move, couldn't even get a whimper out of my throat, let alone a yell for help. I couldn't save him. Hot tears wet my cheeks as I dozed back into unconsciousness. For a split second, I swore I saw someone jump down from a building.

A/N: I had some free time and I thought I might as well so here it is. Thanks to everyone for the birthday wishes. <3