Illuminated Silence

34

"STELLAR!" Pete screamed, leaping across and grabbing her hand just in time as she dangled over the raging rapids. He grabbed onto her with both hands, Patrick helping pull her up and her and Pete fell backward and safely on to the ground, breathing heavily. Patrick ran his hands through his hair again as Joe and Andy ran up behind him, looking around wildly at them. "What the fuck happened?! " Joe yelled. He threw a twig at Pete's face. "You asshole son of a bitch! Do you know how worried we were? I thought my best friend was fucking dead twice!"

Pete avoided their gazes as he helped Stellar up. Patrick talked to the other two a bit before walking over to them. "Cmon. I'll drive you guys home. But Pete, dont think we're leaving you Alone for a second after today. "Pete didnt say anything, just walked back to the car with Patrick and the three arrived at Pete's apartment just before 1am. Patrick let them in to Pete's annoyance and sat Pete on the couch as he searched for anymore pills or drugs of any sort. Pete watched angrily as Patrick flushed a heap down the toilet, before coming back out and staring down at him. Pete just stared at the wall. "Well? Any thing to say Pete? Any explanation at all? No apology–"

Pete slammed his fist against the wall he sat next to, making the other two jump as a dent formed in the grey wall. "Not everything is about you Patrick so just back the fuck off. Stop thinking you're so fucking perfect and better than everyone else because you're not! I could be gone by now but you just had to ruin that didnt you! I HATE YOU!"

Pete stood up and stalked off to his room, slamming the door as he went. Patrick stood frozen in his former place, mouth agape and eyes wide, trembling slightly. "I–I– he hates me. My best friend hates me." Stellar jumped up and hugged Patrick. "He doesn't Pat, he's just confused and upset. " Patrick sniffled slightly. "I think I'm gonna just go. Will you be alright here?" She nodded. "Call if you need anything. " He ran off out the door, leaving her alone in the apartment with a suicidal man that had just bitten everyone's head off. She gave him a few minutes, then walked over to Pete's bedroom door and knocked softly. "Pete? Its just me, can I come in?" He didn't answer her, so she just slid down against it defeatedly and leant her head back.

"I'm sorry. "

She jumped, having almost nodded off, to the sound of Pete's voice behind her. He must be leaning against the door too. "I'm sorry too." They were silent for about another ten minutes before Pete spoke quietly.

"I love you."

She froze much as Patrick had done earlier, trying to see if she'd heard that correctly. "I love you Stellar Michaels. You don't need to say it back. Just please say something. Anything." He pleaded.

"Pig Bacon."

"What?"

"Why do people say tuna fish? We don't say pig bacon or beef cow. "

"I'm confused," He stated. She didn't reply, only stared at the floor, confused herself. Pete loved her? Pete Wentz loved her? What the actual fuck was happening? She didn't notice the door open, or the man that loved her pick her up and dump her on his bed. She only noticed when he flung a pair of shorts and a t shirt at her. "Huh?"

"You're clothes are wet. Put those on and I'll put yours in the dryer. " She nodded dazedly and stripped off, throwing her clothes at Pete who'd just barely managed to turn around. She'd changed by the time he'd come back, turning off the light as he went and they both jumped under the covers.

"Stellar," Pete said into the darkness almost an hour later. She rolled over to face him sleepily. "Hmm?" He continued staring at the blank darkness of the ceiling. "Would you really have jumped?"

She rubbed her eyes. She was so fucking tired you wouldn't believe. "A long time ago, I made a promise to someone that I'd hold on for them. So no, I wouldn't have, because I made you that promise Pete."

He sighed. "I never kept my promise did I?"

"Doesn't matter now. Promise you won't do it again though."

He was silent. "I–I"

"Pete."  Pete groaned. "I promise. " She smiled into the dark. "Can I ask...why?"

Pete knew this would be coming. It really was inevitable, so he gave a brief version. "I feel like shit now and I've felt like shit for weeks if not months. Its not really any one thing, more like a build up of too many. "

"So you're still suicidal?"

He sighed, she could just make out how he threw his hands over his eyes. "To an extent, yes. I dont know what else to say," She grabbed one of his hands in hers, much warmer and bigger than her own. "You don't need to. Just get a good nights sleep, then you'll be in a better head space and we'll talk in the morning. "

"Okay." He agreed, still not letting go of her hand. At least not for a few hours. He couldn't sleep, he was too wound up and his head wouldn't shut up and he just wanted to stop thinking for a moment. They always say the most dangerous times occur late at night in your head, and Pete had been having way too many of those nights for his liking.

He slipped out of bed quietly, trying to not wake the sleeping girl as he padded out of his bedroom slilently and over to his couch, glancing at the clock on the living room wall.

4.18am.

He felt like throwing something at the wall or sticking his head down the toilet, although the latter probably wasn't preferable seeing that he'd endured enough of that in middle school, not to mention it was probably unhygienic. He shook his head, grabbing the TV remote and flicking it on, leaving it on the Jetsons, envying their so put together lifestyle. Oh, the wonders of nightime television. The shows and advertisements that would only ever be seen by insomniacs and night shift workers or the occasional restless soul such as himself, otherwise to remain a mystery to normal sleeping society. Sleeping, the kind of thing he ought to be doing right now. He hated himself for not being able to right this moment. He hated himself for a lot of things. Especially his head. It just didn't silence in the waking hours, becoming even worse when the city quieted itself, making the volume of his thoughts increase and the violence with which his ears rung increase along with it.

So he did what he did best and put his thoughts to paper, if only to quell them for the night.