Pete
April 16th
"I don't want to be alive." I take a swig of beer.
Ashley chuckles, clinking our bottles.
"That's no attitude a king should have." She sits on the bleachers next to me.
It's around four, a think. Most kids have gone home, others just leaving from after school clubs.
The two of us sit and talk about her new kingdom, me making it apparent early on that I don't like her and the ideas in her kingdom being spread, but she just laughs it off.
"Well...I guess I'm a bad king then." I stare off at the sky.
She nudges my shoulder, "come on, man...you're a fine king. I'm confused why you've shifted your morals though."
"Ashley, bullying and hurting people for who they are isn't something I want to have anymore among my people." I growl.
But, again, she just chuckles, "that's alright then, I'm just scooping up some of your folk then."
"How many now?"
"Around 65. Fatrick still has around 400, and you've now got around just under 300. I guess Hopeless Fountain kingdom is for rebels."
"Don't call him that." I groan.
"Fatrick?" She tries.
"Patrick. His name is Patrick," I stand up, "Ash, I should be off."
She grabs at my pants, standing up with me.
"Why so soon? C'mon, Pete, just a little mo-"
I shove her away, "listen here, slut face, don't ever fuck with me or Patrick's kingdom's, Okay? You and your bully-ass dickheads won't win this. Your Fountain kingdom really is hopeless." I walk away, down the bleachers.
Parking lot, dizzy, busy head. I need to drive home, three beers, no food, one hour only. Need to call, Patrick, where's my phone?
"What's shakin' bacon?"
"Patty, pick-pick me up from school, please." I say.
"Everything Okay?"
"Yup. I, um, I drank. Im sorry. Im okay though. Just buzzed, but a little angry at Halsey. We talked, she's evil, babe."
I hear him sigh through the phone, "I'll be there in ten."
———
I climb into the backseat next to Patrick, Gerard driving and Frank in the passenger seat.
"Why?"
"She offered and I'm not happy." I stated matter of factly.
"You said you wouldn't." Patrick looks out the window.
He doesn't look mad, just...disappointed. Calm possibly before the storm? Soft face and porcelain skin all the same.
"I know," I mutter, "I'm sorry."
"Sorry doesn't cut it, Pete. I don't want you drinking." He looks at me.
Icy blue eyes staring into what feels like my blackened soul, soul that color both emotionally because of my messy head and physically because I smoke. Well, used to, I guess. Last time I was at the church to light one up was a couple Sundays ago.
