Patrick
April 10th
Seeing my mom is always a challenge.
It's not easy watching the person who's raised you alone their entire life vomiting up pills, or see them with needles in their arms trying to flush drugs out of their system. It takes a mental toll on me, and knowing that Travie could actually die and that Pete may have a stroke over worrying about him isn't helping much either.
My mother, weak, sitting in a chair with a sad and broken smile on her face. As soon as I see her I start bawling—and I run to her. I had hugged her and hugged her for ages it seemed. Then she hugged Frank and Gerard saying it was lovely to see them.
And leaving is alway the hardest part.
Frank holding me and shushing me as tears and sobs brake from my body, Gerard rubbing the back on my neck.
The ride to the hospital where Travie is was quiet and emotional—none of us spoke, just listen to the softer music from Green Day and Radiohead.
And as soon as I saw Pete, he lost it.
Crying, grabbing, pulling; He was so torn. Broken and torn. Torn away from his best friend, the one who's laying in a hospital bed struggling to breathe.
I saw Travie.
He was smiling.
He said it didn't matter. It didn't matter one bit if he died, because we'd all remember him and eventually get over it and move on. He asked how Pete was, and I said not good.
His smile faltered, but only for a second, then he said to tell him that everything is going to turn out alright with whatever happens.
And I did.
Back in the waiting room, this just caused more Pete tears and choking sobs.
The clock struck ten, and Bob, Hayley, Frank, Gerard, Brendon, Dallon, myself, and Pete (might I add happily) were on our way to a diner to get some late-night dinner.
We took two cars, and it surprised me when Pete was okay with everyone randomly getting into cars instead of splitting up into Soul Punks and Young Bloods into two different cars.
I had sat with Gerard, who was driving; Frank, leaning into Gerard in the passenger seat; and Pete, practically on top of me with his face buried into my neck in the backseat.
I had ran my fingers through his black hair, wrapping my arms around his waist and holding him. He didn't even budge when I kissed his forehead. It was platonic, of course.
And when we arrived and he looked up at me with teary brown eyes and a concerned expression, I just smiled back and kissed his head. Then pulled him out of the car, him keeping our fingers intertwined.
So here I sit now, in a booth at an old diner.
I'm up against the wall, Pete next to me and Bob in the end, the other side mirror us but with Gerard, Frank, and Hayley. Dallon and Brendon pulled up some chairs at the head of the table.
"Can I give a toast? To Travie?" Brendon raises his glass, "and for all of us to just get the fuck along."
I smile, raising my cup of root beer. All out glasses clink and people's head's are tipped back as they drink.
"I love you guys." Hayley glows.
"I love you too, Hayls." Bob mutter.
Gerard, Frank, Hayley, and me all look at each other with shock; Dallon, Brendon, and Pete giving a confused gaze.
"BOB SAID HE LOVES SOMETHING HOLY SHIT." Frank says frantically.
Hayley snorts, "I'm not a thing! I'm a person, dipshit."
"Whatever," Frank glares at her, "Bob said he loves someone. Happy now?"
Hayley smiles, "Yup."
A few chuckles erupt from the table Bob just groans at the attention.
"But I love you too, Hayley. I'm so glad you're in my life." I say softly.
Pete grabs my hand under the table, pulling it into hid lap in his. His eyes show something of unconditionalness and pain, but he's smiling.
'Travie getting to you..?' I mouth.
He just nods quietly, seemingly willing tears away.
"Me three." Gerard smiles.
"Me four. Hayley you the man-woman...bitch." Frank laughs out.
Hayley face palms, laughing her little heart out.
I look back to Pete, sad face and all. Those wide eyed browns and soft darkish skin.
I squeeze his hand, hoping to feel something back.
Anything back, even if it's him smacking my hand away or crushing my fingers. I need to know he's still here—still down on earth. I don't loose him. I fucking can't.
I can't, I need him.
I fucking need him.
Fuck, I can't loose him.
I need him-
And I feel a tough squeeze on my hand in his lap, and his thumb running over my knuckles. And I'm so damn thankful he's okay for now.
———
"Patrick..?"
I hear his voice, sweet and sad. Quiet and hurt. Damage lacing that tone. Pain and intolerance, frustration and anger no where inside that word he just spoke. My name, he's asking me something.
"Yes..?"
I watch the blue night, car passing ours. Purple and black skies, sun asleep while the moon takes the night shift of life.
"Can I..." Pete pauses, "Can I sleepover yours...?"
He voice cracks and Gerard and Frank can't hear him in the front seat, too focused on their own special world they're in together.
He quickly speaks again, "I mean, I'm sorry that was a dumb question. It's really late, I'm sorry. I'll just go home-"
"No, I want you to..." I bite my lip, "if you need someone I'd absolutely love to be that person."
And I watch as Gerard's car pulls out of my driveway and into the night.
I walk into the complex, through a hall and to the stairwell. As Pete and I ascend slowly I decide it's time to warn him.
"Darrin...my mom's boyfriend...He-"
Pete hushes me, stopping me in the middle of walking.
"I know, we'll be quiet. My mom has an ex-boyfriend like him...I get it."
I nod awkwardly, Pete placing our hands together once more. I take out my keys and push them into the key hole. The door opens, and I walk in to immediately see a drunken, passed out Darrin on our couch. Well my mom's and my couch. Beer bottles surround him, some sort of porn thing on our TV.
I clench my fists, mad. He's not supposed to be here, and I feel tear brimming in my eyes.
But Pete runs his fingers up and down my arm, calming me down quite a bit. And with that I'm dragging him towards my room.
Opening the door we're greeting with a dark room, the outlines of a small, full bed and a few tables as well as a chair at one of them, the thing I call my 'desk.'
"Looks nice in here. Homely, might I add." Pete mutters.
I thank him, glancing at his twisted face.
And it seems gone are the hours of sadness and numbness, and here are the days of pain and anger.
Lots of anger.
