TURMOIL

You Wear Me Out

I can't breathe. They must be lying. His parents would've told me. We been best friends for 8 years. They would've told me that Pete killed himself. Oh, god no. The teachers have to be lying.

I get up from my seat in the back of the auditorium. I hear my brother calling after me. "Mikey! Stop, Mikey!" But I don't stop. I don't stop because Pete is dead. He fucking killed himself and I didn't know. The announcement said he died three days ago. That would've been Saturday. That was the night I feel asleep early, with my phone on silent, and woke up from 27 missed calls, all from Pete. I had tried to call him back. He never answered. He was already...

"Mikey, would you wait a fucking second?!" My brother shouts.

"Gerard, he's dead. Pete is dead! How would you feel is Frank fucking killed himself, huh? How would you feel if you had to find out at a god damn school assembly?" I yell at him. I fall to my knees, sobbing. Sobbing because I haven't yelled at my brother like that since I was five. Sobbing because people are starting to gather around me. Sobbing because my best friend is dead.

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"Mikey, are you going to school today?" Gerard steps into my dark room, wearing a look of concern.

"No." I answer simply.

"Gerard, honey, give your brother some time." I hear my mother say from her spot in the hall. Gerard leaves and my mother enters my room, sitting on the edge of my bed. "I'm sorry you're hurting, dear. I wish I could take it away from you."

I look up at my mom, eyes welling up with tears. She kisses me on the forehead and leaves, knowing I need space.

I lie in bed for most of the day while my parents work and my brother gets an education. I momentarily forget why I stayed home and grab my phone off my night stand with the intention of texting Pete. I pull up our conversation and start to type, when I finally remember. So I delete the message and type, 'Is this a prank?'. I never get a response.

I don't eat the entire day. I can't sleep either. I am sitting in bed, looking at old pictures of Pete and me from when we were little. We became friends in 2nd grade for no reason other than the fact that we were both outcasts. We never had any common interests except for playing bass guitar and hanging out together.

I hear the front door open and close so I check the clock. 4:30. Gerard is home. I hear another voice, too. Frank. They don't come near my room and instead head to Gerard's room on at the other end of the house.

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I don't leave my room for a week. Its a good thing I have a bathroom attached. I don't even feel hungry despite not having ate since Thursday, which was five days ago. I spend most of my time crying and looking at pictures of Pete and texting him, hoping for a response.

Gerard checks on me once a day and my mom twice. I know my sadness is hurting them, as well. I just can't bring myself to do anything besides grieve.

If Pete were here, he would do everything in his power to make me laugh. He wouldn't let me be sad. He was always really happy for an 'emo'. Or at least, he seemed happy. But happy people don't commit suicide. So I guess Pete wasn't very happy.

I decide to finally leave my room.

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I'm on my way to Pete's house. I need to see his parents. Its not a long walk. He lives a few streets over.

When I reach my destination, I almost turn to leave. But I knock three times, softly. His mother opens the door. She looks at me for a minute, eyes filling with tears. She breaks down, starts to cry right there in the doorway. I do, too.

"Did you see it coming?" She asks me, through tears.

"No. Never. He was always so happy." I respond. "Was there a note?"

She nods and leads me inside, upstairs and down the hall, to Pete's room. She stands in front of the door for a moment, almost as if she's wishing to open it and find him sitting on his bed, writing songs or playing bass. I know exactly how she feels.

She gently turns the knob, slowly opening the door, disappointment not only on her face but showing in her shoulders as well. She quickly walks over to his desk in the far corner of the room, picks of a folded piece of paper, and hands it to me.

She closes the door and walks me downstairs, to the front door.

"You should read that on your own. But bring it back, please. There is some stuff that I think he would want you to have." She looks at me, near crying again. I nod and lean in to hug her. We stay like that in the doorway for almost a minute before I turn to leave.

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I stare at the folded paper on my bed in front of me for over an hour before finally deciding to pick it up and unfold it. I'm absolutely terrified of what it will say. I look down and see Pete's handwriting, slanted and thin as if written quickly.

'Dear Mom and Dad,
I don't want this to hurt you. Just know that I am hurting immensely. The pain inside of me is too much to handle. Ten thousand pounds of heat and hurt are pressing on my heart and its about to bust. I love you both so much and I'm so grateful for all you've given me.
Dear Mikey,
I love you. Not in a brotherly way either. I'm gay for you. I know, its stupid. I didn't always have feelings for you. Only for the past year. It kills me that you'll never feel the same way, being heterosexual and all. You're the best friend anybody could ask for though. Thanks for always being there for me.
Dear Patrick,
I used you. For the past four months, I've been using you. I' m so damn sorry. You're an amazing guy and you deserve someone who will love you for real.'

Now I have two questions. Pete loved me? And who the hell is Patrick?