Pete
April 10th
Trigger warning
I wasn't lying when saying Patrick's room looked homely.
So homely, in fact, that there so much shit in his room that I can't see the damn room and it's pissing me off.
You'd think it would be the other way around, but he's the messy one and I'm the neat freak in real life and not on paper. Shit everywhere, and even boxes in the corner.
"Thanks..." Patrick mumbles.
I groan, standing next to him still. Why am I so fucking annoyed? This is ridiculous, I don't even know why the hell I'm mad. I was sad just a moment ago.
"You know you can sit, dipshit."
Patrick chuckles, but I don't think it's funny.
"Do you ever shut up?" I growl.
I back him up against his own door, locking it, I grab him by the throat. His face projects so much fear, so much worry and anxiety.
"HUH? DOES THAT PRETTY MOUTH OF YOURS EVER STOP SPUING NONSENSE? MAYBE YOU SHOULD PUT THAT MOUTH TO GOOD USE, AYE?" I turn us again so I'm against the door.
Pushing him down to his knees, and unbuckling my belt. I lace my fingers into his hair and I drown out his pleads.
"Pete please don't hurt me—I'm sorry about all of this and you need to wake up a-and realize what you're doin-"
What I'm doing?
What am I doing?
And all the sudden it hits me like a truck, I'm fucking forcing it on Patrick. Holy shit, this is not okay.
"Oh my god, Patrick—I'm so sorry, holy shit let me help you-"
I pull him up, staring at those hurt baby blues, tears running down his face. And I feel my eyes burn with that same feeling too.
"Patrick, I'm so sorry..." I choke out.
He just cries more into me, burying his head into my chest. I instantly wrap my arms around him and just hold him there.
"Patty, I'm...I'm so, so fucking sorry." I repeat the phrase, it seems.
He doesn't speak, not one bit. Not for awhile; and when my phone reads 3:49 and we're sitting on his bed wide awake, I speak up.
"What are we doing?"
He looks up from his lap, a book turned to a page somewhere in the middle of it. It reads 'Bridge to Terabithia' on the front cover. I swear he's too old to be reading it.
"Isn't this what you wanted?"
And this time it's my turn to look up at him with wonder in my eyes. He speak the truth—I wanted all of this. I deserve it.
I wanted to forget about Ashlee, wanted to figure my shit out with Patrick, choose the new leader of the Young Bloods, but maybe not sit on Patrick's bed a few hours after I almost raped him or something.
"That's true somewhat...never intended to end up here, though."
I like his Star Wars bed sheets.
He chuckles awkwardly, "Well...life, you know?"
And I do know. I'm learning life courses you in many different ways, directions and paths.
He leans a bit more towards me, our eyes still locked.
"Remember when we just grinded on each other in the church?" He snorts.
And I never though I'd be able to laugh about that, but I let out a low chuckle. This kid's adorable.
I could go on for years describing every inch and detail of his beautiful face that I've memorized, blue-eyed beauty.
He pushes himself forward, lips connecting to mine. His arms snake around my neck, and time passes on and he moves to be more in my lap.
I cautiously accept and pull him on me, my hand resting on his hips. His hands move up to my face, grabbing me closer for kissing.
He starts laughing into the kiss, and I groan annoyed but seem to admit laughs as well. He pulls away for a moment, properly sitting up in my lap.
He kisses me again, deeply yet softly. His hands run through my hair, mine holding the small of his back.
"You're so cute." I mumble between kisses.
Patrick giggles, a goofy and adorable noise.
And we kiss like this for a long time, him making funny noises every now and then. When his thumb brushes over my hip bone and moves down my leg to my inner thigh, I seem to snarl almost.
"Please, Pete." He kisses my neck.
"I don't...I don't want to fuck you." I say monotone.
He looks up at me confused, eyes worrisome, like he did something wrong.
"I just want to cuddle you." I finish.
He smiles, his heart melting in my hands. He raises an eyebrow.
"The Pete Wentz wants to cuddle someone who just offered to be fucked?" It's a hopeful tone.
I chuckle, and nod. He face is beating red. Cheeks decorated pink, nose too.
"Cm'here, Sandman." He pulls me into his bed and pulls down the covers.
And fully clothed, at 5am on a Tuesday night, needing to wake up at 6:30, with an alcoholic in the living room, in a bed with a boy, cuddling, with Travie in the hospital, and my identity on the line—I fall asleep faster and more peacefully than I ever have.
And I think Patrick does too.
