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

➽ Track Twenty-seven (London's POV).

Track Twenty-seven (London’s POV): I keep going back over things we both said, and I remember the slamming door and all the things that I misread.

(June 18th, 2008)

Now, everybody knew.

Just a few hours after Pete’s revelation regarding the you-know-what, I was sure that the media would be really busy. They would be researching about me, would be looking for me, and would want to contact me for an interview. People would be asking me all sorts of questions, people would be talking about me in social networks, people would print newspapers with the headline: ‘Pete Wentz gets back together with his ex-girlfriend’ or ‘Pete Wentz’s old girl becomes his new girl’—something along those lines.

“You should’ve told us that you’re dating that rock star!”

“What does it feel like? You know, dating a really famous person?”

As my friends (but I was starting to have doubts if they were really my friends), Allana Criswell and Irish Richmond, began shooting me a whole bunch of random questions about my connections and friendship with the band members of Fall Out Boy (which was why I didn’t manage to finish watching the interview of the boys on the TV; I mean, how the hell could I finish watching the live interview if the two girls had been blocking my view from the TV and if they have those vice-like grips on my wrists as they both pinned me down on the sofa), I felt a sudden migraine starting to form from behind my eyes.

“Sod off!” I yelled suddenly at the two girls (the migraine had worsen my temper, honestly), making them simultaneously shut their mouths as I pushed myself up from the couch. Without any hesitation, I grabbed my belongings and slipped my feet in my shoes.

“London, where are you going?” Allana asked me worriedly and even tried to tug my shirt sleeve for me to stop my tracks, but I was so mad at them and was so tired of everything already and I just wanted to go home and lie down on my bed. I ignored her and tugged my sleeve and went on walking towards the front door. Good thing none of them tried to stop me again, because if they attempted that, I probably would have skin them alive or do something even more terrible.

The migraine was bothering me so much, so decided to go straight home so that I could get some rest from everything “shocking” and “unexpected” that had happened that day.

Or so I thought.

When I got home, the second I had stepped on our foyer, I was bombarded right away with my parents’ comments and inquiries—“London, why didn’t you tell me and your mother about you seeing this Pete Wentz boy again?” “Is it true, what that Pete boy said on TV?” “Are you two really dating again?” “What have you been thinking, darling?” “Have you thought about things thoroughly?” “You haven’t forgotten yet what he had done to you, right?”

I wanted to tell them, ‘You don’t even know what’s actually going on in between us’ or ‘You don’t fucking know Pete that well so stop fucking judging him’ or ‘Mind your own freaking business’ (maybe I would be able to say that if only they weren’t my parents). I was getting tired of everyone asking me about my relationship with Pete and to those people who were trying to get inside my private love life. And I was getting tired of people telling me that my decisions were wrong. It was my life, and I owned it—not them. I wanted Pete Wentz to be part of my life, and they were all sucking out my happiness. I wanted them to leave me and Pete alone and let us be.

Ignoring all of my parents’ questions and the weird looks that they were shooting my way, I marched towards my bedroom and locked myself up in there. I was fuming mad – I was thinking that I might’ve turned into some kind of dragon since I could imagine puffs of smoke coming out from my nostrils due to anger – as I turned my computer on and impatiently waited for it to completely load.