Unicorns On Wheels [Petekey]

21. Thursday.

2016/03/03 Thursday

Today, just like last week Thursday, was spent missing The Boy in Striped Pajamas and (by extension) Pete Wentz. I tried to get out of my chair and into my bed but I slipped and ended up lying on the floor of my bedroom and closing my eyes while shuffling to get comfortable. I was smiling before I could stop myself.

I felt a sudden rush of anxiety. Was I was being watched? I didn't mind being watched as much as the idea that whoever was stalking me would see the stupid things I did. Example: Lying on the floor of my bedroom while closing my eyes and smiling silently to myself about Pete Wentz.

I couldn't stop thinking about when he kissed me and wheeled me out of the hospital. It was a peck and it only lasted for a second, but I could remember it so clearly that I wasn't sure how long it had actually lasted at all. It was like I altered it every time I remembered it – which meant that it had been changed a million times since it actually happened.

I giggled to myself, like a 13 year old girl, and thought about him for longer than what I deemed necessary and then my phone vibrated. It was him, of course, and I thought speak of the devil. Except that he wasn't like the devil – not at all. He was more like an angel. And even though speak of the devil was the right expression, I scolded myself for using it.

Up 2 b crazy? The thing about Pete's texting style is that it depends on his mood. Sometimes he's extremely formal: using the right punctuation, spelling and writing out the full word. But sometimes he types like an idiot: shorthand text and abbreviations that I can't always understand.

But, more importantly, his texts were vague. What did crazy mean? Did it mean jumping off a building? Because Sherlock Holmes did that once and it didn't look very fun. Or maybe it consisted of buying 100 packets of wine gums and filling Frank's car with them which would likely be fun.

I didn't know which side of the spectrum he wanted to be on but I decided that I didn't care. Because people who worried about that sort of thing were stupid. Especially if they were boys in wheelchairs who would've done anything for boys like Pete Wentz. So I texted back yes.

And then, a second later, texted back you'll have to help me off the floor and into my chair. And Pete didn't respond but I could see that he'd read it. So I simply waited, lying where I was and waiting for Pete to come. He did, eventually but he didn't help me up. He looked down at me with a grin on his face while his shadow fell over my form.

I looked at him suspiciously, he looked like he was going to murder me and was planning where to hide the body. But Pete didn't murder – well, he almost did. Pete fell to his knees, putting his legs on either side of my thighs and pinning my wrists above my head. I wriggled and tried to move out of his grasp but I knew that it would be useless.

Pete grinned at me and, while I started panicking slightly, I couldn't stop myself from grinning back. He kissed my cheek and I squirmed as he peppered kisses all over my face. Soon I was giggling and trying to wriggle out of his grasp while he continued the complete pioneering of my face. Get off, Pete I was saying between giggles. Leave me alone.

Pete stopped, and the movement between us died. He leaned down though, putting his mouth just by my ear and breathing on it warmly. It was gross and if I could move, I probably would. No. I'll keep you like an oath. And I thought it was stupid. Nothing but death do us apart. And I laughed.

Stop being so dramatic I squealed, squirming under him until he got up and helped me into the chair. Ryan was already in the backseat of the car, sipping on the straw that he'd put into a bottle of milk. Get in loser, we're going shopping. And I was almost offended but all I could focus on was the milk he was drinking.