His Name Is Wentz [REWRITE]

Chapter 7

[Wow I'm really obsessed with writing this hi]

I had to make him dinner.  That was a policy of his.  Apparently the man never learned to cook.

"Uhm, I can make cereal" I shrugged. 

"You're probably the worst submissive I've ever had" He rolled his eyes.  I frowned.  He smiled "And maybe that's a good thing" I smiled again.  He grabbed a box of cereal from the cabinet.  Cocoa puffs.  Hm.  I hate cocoa puffs.  But, I never thought he'd he the type to like them. He held the box up at me.

"I don't like cocoa puffs" I mumbled.

"Do you ever eat?" He asked. 

"Do you want me to be honest with you?" I asked.  He nodded.  "Not a lot no.  I'm just not a hungry person.  My mom was the same way.  I get really thin a lot.  Like, sickly thin"

"You're unhealthy then" he said "You need to eat"

"I-"

"Eat!" He commanded.  I sat at the table in fear. 

"No" I said challenging him "I'm not hungry"

"I swear I'll make you eat"

"What're you gonna do?  Spoon feed me?" I crossed my arms.  He glared at me. 

"So you'll listen to me when I'm whipping you, but not when we're here?"

"I have problems with authority" I sat back "Because of my childhood"

"You said I own you"

"No one owns me.  I said that so you'd stop whipping me.  I belong to no one.  Just myself.  Thats why I'll never fall in love.  Ever" He crossed his arms.

"Tell me about your childhood" He said.

"Tell me about yours" I mumbled.  He raised an eyebrow at me "That's the only way I'll tell you" He tilted his head to the side.

"I don't tell my submissives about myself.  They're expected to tell me about themselves"

"Well, then I guess I'm just the worst submissive you've ever had" I glared.  I looked over at the piano he was playing while he thought I was asleep.  A sad tune.  Replayed over and over.  "The piano.  You played it" I mumbled.  I looked back over at him "I watched you when you thought I was sleeping last night" He nodded once.

"It calms me.  And it keeps me mellow" He admitted something.  Now it's my turn. 

"I write.  Not songs.  Poems.  That keeps me calm" I admitted.  He stared at me then smiled.  Piecing together my little game.

"I admit something.  Then you admit something.  Right?" He asked.  I nodded.  "Fine" He looked at his watch.  "I never knew my mother.  And my father, my real one not my adoptive one, he was a drug addict and died of an over dose.  I watched him" He gulped a little. 

"Peter" I whispered sympathetically. 

"I don't want your sympathy.  That part of me is long gone now" He didn't look at me.  He kept a serious face on. 

"Neither of my parents knew I existed.  They cared more about alcohol than they did me.  They both died in a car crash.  My grandmother raised me, then she died too.  So I moved in with Brendon at the age of fifteen and that was that" I stared a the ground.  My chin was resting on the back of the chair "Brendons my brother.  I've never known a life without him"

"Maybe I should get you home" he said gently.  I looked up at him.  I did see sympathy in his eyes.  He just wasn't good at showing he cares.  Neither was I. 

"Sure" I said standing "Hey, what's it like to have money?"

"You'll know.  I think I'd like to spoil you" he smiled.  A boyish, excited grin.  I blushed a little bit.

"Oh" I whispered "Y-you don't have to do that.  I'm really not in it for the money"

"Never said you were" he shrugged.

"Really, don't get me anything"

"Why not?" he tilted his head in confusion.

"I've nothing to give back" I frowned.  He laughed gently.

"You've already given me a lot.  And you don't see it.  Come on, I'll take you home" What'd he mean by that?  I grabbed my phone off the table following him close behind.  We walked into his garage that held at least ten cars.  Well, thats when I gave up counting.  "Which car should we take?" he asked smiling at me.  Boys and their toys I suppose.  I pointed to the simplest one in the room.  "You take quite a liking to that one"

"It looks like a normal car, not something Speed Racer drives" I shrugged.  He grabbed the keys off a giant set.  How he remembered what key was which I had no idea.  We both got into it.  Even the inside was simple looking.  This car was very, simple. 

"Are you okay?" he asked.  I looked up at him "You look pale"

"I'm fine" I mumbled.  I laid my head against the window closing my eyes.  I was not fine.  I woke up sick.  But Pete didn't have to know that.  His finger tips touched my hand then disappeared.  Like he considered grabbing it but stopped himself.  I moved my hand finding his and entwined our fingers.  It felt nice.  Warm.  He squeezed tightly.  Like I'd never see him again if he let go.  I let out a cough.

"You're sick aren't you?" He asked.

"I'm fine" I said sleepily.  He drove down the road.  I held his hand tighter.  I didn't want him to let go.
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He shook me awake.  I looked at my apartment building and frowned.  Our hands were still together. 

"Do you want me to come inside?" he asked "You seem pretty sick-"

"It's okay.  Really Peter" I smiled and let his hand go.  "Thank you for taking me home"

"Call if you need me"

"I will" I kissed his neck just so I wasn't close enough to get him sick.  He kissed my forehead taking me by surprise. 

"I mean it, call me if you need anything.  Even if it's just chicken noodle soup.  Call me"

"I promise" I smiled weakly and left the car.  He fucking cares.