The Wife Draft (Peterick)

pittSbUrgh: The devastatioN

My new fic Paint by Numbers is now out! It'd be really cool if y'all checked it out!

Joe was pissed, to say the least. He slammed his coffee mug down on his desk when I walked past his office to my new one. I sighed and took a couple steps back.

"Yes, Joe?"

"You ditched the party? Seriously?"

I shrugged. "I didn't ditch. A lot of stuff came up. My brother lives with me now."

Joe scoffed. "Pete, your brother is a teenager. He can fend for himself for a couple hours."

"Joe, I promise you. Patrick and I had intentions to go. She even made the pies you wanted. Then Elliot came over and things blew up."

"I'm only forgiving you because you're Pete Wentz," Joe said.

I rolled my eyes and walked away. Joe would have been over it by lunch, anyway. He didn't scare me, and he didn't concern me. He was my friend. And I knew he wasn't going anywhere. He was a year older than the draft cut-off. I was stuck with him.

My new office was what I worked for my entire career. I dreamed of having it when I was just a journalist. But now, the office felt like nothing. I didn't want to be the publisher of scandals and stories for attention. I didn't want to rip apart the government for fun and exploit myself for profit.

Being with Patrick made me realize what kind of life I was living. My entire career was only a selfish abuse of power. It still was.

I sat down on the chair behind the desk in the large, vacant office. I crossed my arms on the desk and dropped my forehead onto my wrists.

Leaving the paper crossed my mind, but I pushed it away. My heart knew that my conservative Southerner would love for me to step away from the media, but my mind knew that he would kill me for disposing of our income during wartime.

I needed Brendon. I needed to talk to him. I would give anything to see him again. I needed someone who wasn't my husband to talk to me about my job. My personality. Who I am and who I once was.

I wasn't a selfish jerk any longer. Hell, I had a family to take care of now. I knew I had to get over my crazy ideas. So I did something I never thought I would do again.

"Hello?"

"Mom," I muttered. "I need help."

"Peter? Help with what? Did Patrick take your money and leave you? Is Elliot causing trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. Ever." I shook my head and sighed. "I want to leave the paper."

"That is ridiculous!" she shrieked.

"I know," I replied. "Talk me out of it."

"Patrick will leave you if you resign! No money means no expensive wife."

I felt a yell grumble in my throat. "Will you leave Patrick out of this? She's my wife and it's time for you to get over it."

"Peter, you need to keep that job. When she leaves you, at least you will still have a job to refresh your profit."

"Thanks, Mother," I said, annoyed. "Goodbye."

I hung up the phone. Maybe she would never accept Patrick, but at least she knew that I had to keep my ass in the chair I had.

I unpacked the boxes that held the stuff from my old office. I spent the day filing papers away and setting up the typewriter at my desk.

When I sat back down, I felt completely empty. Brendon was gone. I didn't have my best chap to celebrate with. The bottle of whiskey Armstrong left for me in the desk was going to go to waste. Brendon wasn't there to chug from the bottle.