Patrick
April 11th
My alarm screams at me, and I go to stretch to slam my fist on it, but realize I can't because of the arms holding me in place.
This terrifies me for a moment, but when I turn around see a peacefully sleeping Pete Wentz, all the memories come flooding back and I feel a lot better.
I carefully unwrap his arms from around me, and reach out and light punch my alarm clock in the face.
I sit up completely. I groan and rub my eyes, 6:30am. Whoopty-frikin-do. I only got an hour and a half of sleep last night and my head is killing me.
I turn my face to look at Pete. He looks so beat; tired and stressed, yet in a beautiful way, like all the worry has been drained from his face.
I don't want to wake him up—he needs the sleep.
I carefully stand up and leave my room, quietly closing my door behind me. As I wonder though my apartment, I find myself sighing at Darrin. He's still passed out of the couch. The same porn on the TV. I walk over and turn the TV off, then throw a blanket over him.
Into the kitchen, and I think about what I could make Pete and myself to eat. I check cabinets and all we have is cereal. Fuck.
On an unreal thought, I dial the number scribbles messily on a sticky-note that's been on my wall for years.
"Hi, Mrs. Graystone? It's Patrick Stumph and I'm just informing you that I'm really, really sick and I'm not gonna be able to come into school. Also, Pete Wentz won't be able to either, he told me to tell the principal because his phone isn't working and he lives down the street." I say in a trained, calm voice.
And just about everything I said was a lie in some way or another.
"Okay, thank you, Patrick. Why didn't Ms. Wentz call me though?"
Shit.
"Oh, she's at work and just asked Pete to call, but his phone isn't working so Pete asked me."
"Oh, Okay. Feel better, Patrick."
"Thank you, Mrs. Graystone. I'll hopefully see you tomorrow."
I hang up the house phone and speed walk back to my room, Pete still in the same place I left him.
"Yo, Wentz." I jump on the bed.
He stirs a little, but doesn't budge much.
"Gaylord! Get up!" I kick his sides.
His head raises off my pillow, and he looks around confused for a moment, then seemingly remembers the previous events.
"Gaylord? Who the fuck are you calling a Gaylord?" Pete mumbles in a raspy morning voice.
"Piss off." I kick him again.
"I'm gonna best your ass if you don't fuck off, wimp." He mutters, sitting up in front of me.
"I called us in sick to School, we get the day off." I smile proudly.
A smirk/smile thing forms on his face, "Hell Yeah...can we just sleep all day? Visit...Travie later, maybe...?"
He cringes, and I stroke the back of his neck.
"Patrick, I don't think he's gonna be okay..." he rushes out.
"It's in God's hand now." I say calmly.
He scoffs, "you're religious?"
"Nah, I just thought it would be a nice thing to say." I laugh.
He snorts, "well you were right."
He pushes off the bed a bit and pulls me down on top of him, our stomachs touching. I bury my face into his neck, and his arms pull up my blanket, then wrap around me.
"Am I gay?" He asks calmly.
"Do you like me?"
He scoffs, "Yes, Idiot."
Asshole.
"Did you really love Ashlee?" I say with no hesitation.
He groans, "Yea, so what?"
"Would you ever date Ryan Ross?"
He tilts his head, "the fuck?"
I roll my eyes into his neck, "He doesn't identify as male or female. He uses he/him and they/them pronouns. Would you date them...or rather someone like them."
Pete makes an 'egh' noise, "I don't fucking know, Patrick."
"Let's just go with...bisexual. You're bisexual, Pete."
"Yay," he mumbles.
I snort, "congratulations."
———
"Travie, How would you feel if I told you I'm gay?" Brendon bites his lip.
Travie's tired form shrugs, and he speaks in a damaged and quiet voice, "I don't know, what does Pete think?"
"He's fine." Dallon says.
I lean back in my chair. Dallon, Brendon, Pete and I have decided to visit Travie. It's 3 o'clock, and Dallon and Brendon skipped last period. I feel bad for Gee, he was all alone for art class.
Pete's in the bathroom and I 'have earbuds in and won't be able to hear this conversation' but I totally can.
"Then I'm fine with it." Travie says.
The happy looks on Brendon and Dallon's faces bring me life. It's new life, a blossoming world.
Pete re-enters the room, sitting next to Travis. "What's up, dude? You feeling better?"
"No," Travie laughs, "still dying."
And he says in so casually. Like it's a joke, like how you say you're starving when you're just hungry, or burning when in the sun. Like he's fine and talked to us back at the church. All childhood fun and games.
No one laughs, we just sit quietly.
And little did I know that was the last time I ever saw Travie alive.
