You're Not Even Mine to Miss [Fall Out Boy - Wattys 2014]

➽ Track Twelve (London's POV).

Track Twelve (London’s POV): So here’s to everything; coming down to nothing.

(May 9th, 2008)

“Can you guys just please start recording now?”

“As what I’ve said, Donnie, I’m not even finished with the songs yet. Plus, we still need to have rehearsals and more meetings before we can actually start recording for the album.”

“Hurry up, then! Go finish that song right now!”

“I’m not gonna finish this if you keep on bugging me.”

“Excuse me, smart-mouth, I’ve only asked you a few times!”

“You’ve asked me that very same question for the sixth time in the past half hour. And to think that I’ve said the same answer for each time you’ve asked me that—”

“That wasn’t six times, for your information! It was just probably two or three times—”

“If your relentless yapping goes on, my head’s gonna burst and I’m not going to finish any of the songs today and I blame you for that. Three-fourths of the band is going to have a word with you.”

Knowing that he was right (but being the stubborn kind of girl that I was), I stuck my tongue out at Patrick to spite him even more. He rolled his eyes and shook his head in annoyance before concentrating again to the piece of paper and in strumming his guitar. I knew that I should just leave him alone to focus, but, as always, I was just really excited to hear him sing (or even just hum, maybe. I wasn’t exactly in the right place to be picky) their new songs.

At least I remained silent as I watched him click his tongue in irritation and furrow his eyebrows together.

We were in his bedroom, with him sitting on the floor with lots of pieces of papers spread out around him and holding his guitar (not to mention that he was wearing the woollen sweater that I had gotten him for his birthday), and with me on top of his bed, lying on my stomach as I rummaged his box of Fall Out Boy album CDs and EPs.

I looked at the back side of the ‘From Under the Cork Tree’ CD as I told him, “I can’t believe that you guys have been in the music industry for so long—”

“Just shut up and listen,” he ordered me, not even letting me finish my sentence. I was supposed to say something witty in return, but the strumming of his guitar and his soft humming had shut my mouth. His head was nodding slightly and his eyes were closed as he started singing, “‘Sometimes, I wanna quit this all and become an accountant now, but I’m no good at math and besides the dollar is down. Plant palm trees on Lake Michigan before it gets cold. I gotta feel the wind chill again before I get old.’”

Patrick then opened his eyes and looked straight at my eyes, as if telling me something. But I wasn’t so sure of what he wanted to tell me—he seemed sad all of a sudden. I noticed that his eyes softened a little, and the next lines of the song seemed to haunt me. “‘I wanna scream 'I love you' from the top of my lungs, but I’m afraid that someone else will hear me…’”

Everything happened so fast, and before my slow brain could even comprehend what the heck was going on, Patrick had already torn his gazed from me. A bit of a buzz kill, but alright.

He then looked back down at his guitar, nodding his head with the rhythm and watching the fingers of his right hand strum and his left hand’s fingers press the guitar strings as he continued singing, occasionally looking at the paper where the lyrics were written. “‘You can only blame your problems on the world for so long before it all becomes the same old song.’” Patrick’s voice then changed – and he started singing in falsetto. “‘As soon as we hit the hospital, I know we're gonna leave this town…’” And then it went back to normal, still sounding perfect as ever. “‘…and get new passports and get, get, get, get, get out now.’”