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

➽ Track Fourteen (Pete's POV).

Author’s Note: This chapter (which is surprisingly lengthy) involves of a quite short explicit scene. If you are uncomfortable reading these kinds of scenes, you may just skip that part and just skim through the story. This also has self-harm scene, so if you are easily triggered by these, please be aware. The scenes in here play important parts in the story, but they will be explained in a later chapter.

Nevertheless, I do hope that you will enjoy reading this chapter, as well as the many others that will be coming very soon. Cheers to Fall Out Boy!

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Track Fourteen (Pete’s POV): I’m having another episode. I just need a stronger dose.

(May 10th, 2008)

On the whole afternoon of May 9th, I had waited for Alexis outside the studio where she had her photo shoot for Burberry (or so I thought), only finding out from their staff that she had left already in the morning. I waited for Alexis to call me or even just text me to let me know where she was, but she didn’t—remembering that I had smashed my phone to bits. I tried to call her using a nearby payphone, but she wasn’t answering any of my calls. I had spent all of my change trying to contact her, but my efforts were useless.

I waited for her outside our apartment that night, ignoring my urge to sleep. I was fighting my tired eyelids, wanting to keep them open before Alexis would arrive. I wanted to welcome her.

I was sitting on the hood of my car as I waited for her to come back home, come back to me. But when morning broke already, she wasn’t even back yet. I was getting suspicious, but I was trying not to think that she was avoiding me, or worse, she had left me already.

When I had gone inside our apartment, I found out that her things weren’t there anymore. Not her clothes, not her shoes, not her makeup kit—none of her things was left. Then it dawned to me, Alexis had already left me. I looked at our shared closet, but her clothes weren’t there anymore. Only mine. I checked the bathroom, only finding my toothbrush on the sink and my shampoo and towel on the shower. Her toothbrush and her loofah and her shampoo and her bathrobe were missing.

My apartment room looked… empty.

I started to panic as I paced back and forth in my bedroom—our bedroom. No, we aren’t over yet. It’s still ours. I tried to calm myself down by running my hand over my face and through my hair, trying to coax myself that our relationship wasn’t over yet. It was just a small fight. We would get over it. Alexis would come back to me. She would. She really would.

I was having another episode. It had been the first in months.

Before I knew it, I was rummaging through my medicine cabinet in the bathroom, looking for the pills that I had hidden from Alexis. I wasn’t sure why, but I never told her about what happened to me in the past – my suicide attempts and bipolar disorder. Perhaps it was because the topic was never brought up, or maybe it was because she never bothered asking me.

I needed to calm down. I needed to focus. I needed to breathe. I needed to relax. My doctor told me that I was fine already, that I could stop taking my medicines that he had prescribed me, but I needed them. They were my only refuge. They could pacify me. They could understand me and my needs.

I found some leftover pills at the back of the cabinet, hidden by bottles of capsules and tablets to relieve headaches, cough and colds. I had poured all the remaining anxiety medication pills on my hand – one, two, three… I wasn’t sure how many pills there were. Ativan, Zoloft, Xanax… I wasn’t sure what pills were on my hand anymore. I couldn’t see them clearly; my eyes were blurry all of a sudden. Were those my sweat, or my tears? I wasn’t sure, and I didn’t care.