the boy on manic street

Three

Pete's POV

After lunch, we end up taking a walk downtown.

"So, where do you work? I mean, if you work," I shove my hands into my pockets.

"Um, you know the café on the corner? Yeah, I'm a waiter there," Patrick responds while adjusting his scarf for the third time. A part of it gets stuck in his hood and he curses, "Can you help me out?"

I grin, "Yeah, sure." I help him adjust it so it's around his neck better and the closeness of us is torturing me but I ignore it best I can, for Patrick's sake. When I return to walking beside him I see a flash of sadness overcome his face but it's quickly replaced with a look of cheerfulness.

"I remember you mentioning music earlier . . . do you play any instruments? Or do you just listen," He asks.

"Oh, um, I've gotten familiar with the bass over the years. I've always liked the background in music," I shrug, looking down at my feet.

"Really? I play the guitar, that's so cool," Patrick grins a toothy smile when I look up at him.

The rest of the time we just talk mostly about music and other bits of interest. Once we're done walking, we end up back at the diner.

"I really liked this . . . we should do it again sometime," Patrick smiles, looking down at his feet.

I grin, "Yeah, let's figure something out sometime. Oh, what's your number? So we can figure out a date for next time."

"Here, I can put it in your phone," He takes my phone while I take his and we put in each other's contacts.

Once he drives off, I get inside my own car and head home. Then I realize- I don't have a job anymore. I have no money to pay rent on my apartment.

-

I text Patrick the second I get home, even though we just saw each other and I should probably give him a break.

To Patrick:
hEy um i just realized i don't have a job anymore, and no job means no money which means no apartment so i was wondering if you know of any job openings ??

He doesn't respond right away and I assume he is probably still driving. That gives me one thing to do- clean my apartment, because it's trashed.

-

Patrick's POV

It takes me not too long to get home, but when I do get home, I shut my phone down and lie down on my bed, rubbing my face.

I just don't know what to do anymore.

Pete seems so genuinely caring towards me, but I'll always have that emptiness of relent towards humanity. Ever since how people have been treating me from day one of school. I was bullied from third grade to eleventh grade, and people still think they can treat me like crap whenever they want, even though we're all grown up and facing the exact same problems. I've been strong for so long I'm starting to think it'd be okay if I just gave up. What would happen? Pete would forget about me sooner or later, I'm just some guy that happened to get him fired the first time we met. Who else would miss me . . . my parents? No, they've probably forgotten they have a son. I can't think of anyone else.

I sigh, picking up my phone out of boredom and looking through my notifications. I have one text, from Pete.

Even though half my mind screams no, the other half screams yes, so I decide to reply.

To Pete:
yeah um there might be a opening at the guitar shop down the road from the library. i thought i saw a sign there earlier saying so ??

He responds immediately, which kind of takes me by surprise.

To Patrick:
okay sure, thanks ! :) i'll let you know how it goes, and you still owe me a second lunch, or dinner

I shut my phone down again, feeling my eyes water up. What's wrong with me? I look around my empty apartment, wanting nothing more than to be with Pete but knowing I just can't. I look at my desk where my wallet sits next to a picture of me as a kid with my parents. I decide to go for a walk; maybe it'll make me feel better. So I change clothes- instead of the bulky crewneck I wore with Pete and slide on a Chicago Cubs hoodie, pulling the hood over my head after taking off my beanie. I put on my glasses and relief washes over me. At least I can see now.

Outside is cold. A breeze has picked up, and the air bites at my skin. I look around and take in my surroundings. I try to think of anything else. Something else.

But all I can think about is Pete.

-
poor bby stump