It's Sunday. Finally. A break from everything else. I mean, I love the guys, and I love practicing with them and stuff, but I haven't really had an actual day to myself/Patrick in a while. It starts out with me lying in bed playing with Patrick's hair while he sleeps into eleven o'clock. I'm contemplating on if God is real or not. If he is real, why did he give Patrick depression? If he isn't real, how come I was so lucky to meet Patrick? It hurts my head to think about it. But in dire situations, no matter how I feel, I always resort to him being real and sometimes find myself praying to him. Eventually, Patrick stirs, sitting up a bit, looking around with a sleepy/confused look in his eyes, then let's out a sigh and lies back down onto my chest.
"Well good morning sunshine," I smile.
"Hey," He replies groggily, turning himself so he's lying on top of me and resting his chin on my chest, "What're you thinking about?"
I shrug, poking his cheek, "Stuff."
"Fun," Patrick smiles a bit, "What do you plan on doing today?"
"To be honest? Nothing," I poke his cheek more.
"You know I hate that," He makes a face and removes my hand.
"But your cheeks are so poke-worthy," I pout.
Patrick rolls his eyes, "Why am I living with you again?"
"Because . . . " I start, then remove myself out from underneath him and stand up, waving my arms in the air, " . . . yOU LOOOOOOOVE MEE!"
He laughs, "I guess that's a good answer."
"Say it back," I whine, lying onto the bed again so I'm looking up at him as he sits up.
"What? I don't know what you're talking about," Patrick makes a confused expression, standing up and stretching his arms behind his head. He disappears into the bathroom to brush his teeth.
I put my hands on my hips and try to look intimidating at the doorway, "Patrick Martin Stump."
He looks up from the mirror to look at me and makes a mumbling noise through all the toothpaste.
"You know what I'm talking about," I waggle my eyebrows abnoxiously.
He laughs, holding a hand up to his mouth before he spits all over the mirror. Once he's done wiping off his face and hand he pouts, "I got toothpaste and saliva all over my hand because of you."
"You're welcome," I smile, deciding that two can play at this game. So, I walk into the kitchen to make waffles.
He continues to antagonize me by slowly making the bed, straightening out all the pillows and putting his laundry away. He straightens up the couch, the movies, even the remotes. And then as he works on the table, I sit down right in his way to eat a huge sloppy mass of waffles and whipped cream.
"You're such a brat," Patrick rolls his eyes, failing at acting annoyed. You think you can hide that smile, no you actually can't.
"I'm just enjoying my breakfast," I shrug, loudly licking off my fork and knife.
He huffs and keeps making the trips of putting laundry in the hamper, putting books and CDs in the racks, dwindling down to wiping the table off slowly with a washcloth. I finish my waffles and 'accidentally' drop my whipped cream-covered fork onto the spot he just wiped.
Patrick whines, "PEEEEETE."
"Whaaaaat?" I mock him and put my plate in the dishwasher, cleaning up the mess I made with the waffle ingredients.
"You're so mean," He pouts, throwing the washcloth onto the table and flopping onto the sofa.
"No I'm not," I argue, going to lean over the back of the couch to look at him.
He tries to keep a straight expression but fails, covering his face with his hoodie sleeves ( technically it's my hoodie ). "Bleh."
I grin, not being able to take it any longer, then run around the couch and jump beside him, wrapping my arms around him and snuggling him as close as possible.
Patrick jumps up victoriously, resulting in me falling onto the floor painfully, "AHA I WIN! I WON! I'M THE CHAMPION!"
I groan, "You're the real brat."
"Aw, poor Petey," He sticks out his bottom lip and holds out his hand to pull me up.
I take it, and yank him down on top of me, smiling at our closeness, "First is the worse second is the best."
Patrick makes a face but grins, "The Emo King actually lost at something. I'm kind of disappointed."
"Nobody's perfect," I wink, mocking the Hannah Montana lyric.
He laughs and leans in to kiss me. I gratefully accept the invitation, wrapping my arms around his back. He holds my face as we make-out, me biting his bottom lip. I always love doing that. His face turns all red and he bites my top lip back. After a while, we're just lying on the ground with our eyes shut. He's leaning his head on my chest, looking off underneath the coffee table. I don't bother him. I know I'm not the only one to think deeply.
"I've never been more stressed," He says after a while.
"It's not that bad."
"You're not the one who's gonna be singing in front of crowds."
"Who said there were gonna be crowds?" I smirk.
"I mean, I would like us to be successful," Patrick smiles and gets up, this time pulling me to my feet.
"Yeah that'd be nice," I shrug, going to wipe off the rest of the table.
"Thanks," He says, sitting down on the couch again.
"You want to take your meds?"
"I don't really have a choice."
"You can take a day off if you want. I know it stresses you out more."
He lies his head on the arm and fumbles with his fingernails, "Alright."
I decide to take a shower. I didn't shower last night 'cause I was too lazy. Plus, Patrick need some time to himself, as much as I want to comfort him.
- this book is L A M E
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