Hazy Eyes ~ Pete

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

If time can break us down
And not keep us around
I wont wait

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I wont mind
Not this time
I've started up the clocks

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[Pete Wentz]

one night to be confused
one night to speed up truth

[/b] Pete asked. "What's that...?" Pete asked, glancing at the label and then looking around at the shelf where all his pills were - the Xanax was missing. Pete was shocked, and he turned around to look at her. He was shocked, hurt, angry... so many different emotions. It probably wasn't a good idea to do that to someone who had just returned from a very unsucessful talk therapy session.
"Those are my pills!" Pete snapped. "What is wrong with you? I fucking understand you're going through your withdrawal but those are my pills! My pills! I fucking need them and you don't!" Pete said. He didn't want to shout at Brodie but right not the anger emotion was overtaking what would otherwise be shock and horror,which was drawing a close second right now for the most powerful emotion Pete was feeling. Those pills were his! They were supposed to be helping him, and there Brodie was, popping them like candy, regardless of that fact Pete needed them. Pete didn't even know if Brodie had taken any - he presumed she had - but was all together totally furious that she would be so insensitive, even if she was going through such a tough withdrawal. People had problems, and there were cures to those problems, and Brodie was swallowing Pete's cure perhaps only seconds before he had arrived.
"I invited you into this tour bus! I've been sleeping in a fucking different bus for you! I almost killed myself and my friend for you! I've driven my best friend crazy because of you! And now I come back to see you with my pills!" Pete raged, walking toward Brodie. He had seen red when he thought she'd attacked Patrick, and he was seeing red again right now. Pete didn't think that he would scare her this time though, Pete was more scared of himself these days. "You fucking backstabber!" Pete growled. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

we had a promise made
four hands and then away

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

It's time I left behind
And everything we've lost, disappears

[/i] and that would be the best part of it all. Out with a band, in a blaze of poisoned glory in true old Brodie style, even in her death she would have lived up to her name. Thats all she did, she knew she was doing it now. Why did he have to be so nice? So understanding and helpful - well when he wanted to be.

Brodie had turned up and caused all this trouble, she had turned up and destroyed this band and destroyed a friendship. She wasn't just trouble, she was poison. Part of her wished he would learn that, wished that he would just freak out and tell her where so belonged - out in the gutter. That way she would be able to walk away with out feeling like she had burned another bridge. That way she wouldn't have failed. Better to be feared then laughed at, and better to be hated them upset with.

His tone of voice alone was enough to send the fear of god in to her, she hadn't quite figured out why the hell she was so scared of him, he had the same accent as one of them, of one of her foster fathers that she didn't remember very well. She had selective memory, anything she didn't want to remember she wouldn't, all she remembered was crying because something had hurt, he had made it hurt. Brodie really had been to young to understand much, or in fact to really remember it at all. Though something had stuck.

Then again she had been told to get counseling on several occasions.

Maybe if she had she wouldn't be like this.

The pill bottle hit the floor, bouncing slightly before rolling away and Brodie employed her best defense, curl up, if you cant see it or hear it...it doesn't exist and if that fails - apologize like you have never fucking apologized before. "I'm sorry..." She said quietly, a slight shiver in her voice as placed her other hand over her head, the red nail marks were visible now, raised off her skin, glinted with like red half moons where the skin had broken and blood had seeped to the surface.

Maybe he would hit her and slap her awake, and this would all be a nightmare in the morning.

The whole of today was a nightmare.

That was the answer.
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I'm calling, I'm calling out
For answers on the long walk home

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[Pete Wentz]

both under influence
we had devine scent

[/b] Pete asked angrily. "WHY?" he repeated. Pete didn't understand why she'd chosen to take his pills - the entire place was crawling with alcohol and drugs, and she'd chosen his anti-depressants over all of them? Pete didn't understand it. "I have done everything for you, I have fucking gone out of my way to make sure you were safe, and this is how you fucking repay me? By stealing my medication?" Pete said, raising his voice still. Pete put his hands over his face, shaking his head as he turned around.
Pete slammed the fridge door closed, turning around to face Brodie again. "You don't understand - you've spent everything in an entire different world to me. You dealt with everything in drugs and alcohol. I didn't, I never have. People talk more shit about me than you would ever fucking believe. I'm that fucking 'gay faggot from Fall Out Boy' to more than half the people who have heard of us," pete said. "I didn't run out and snort cocaine. I don't do lines or down a bottle of vodka to cure it all," Pete said. "We're from entirely different planets, Brodie!" Pete shouted. "And you're killing yourself - and you're going to kill me!" Pete said, half exasperated and half totally sick to death with everything that had happened recently.
"It hurts me to see you doing stupid fucking things, y'know why? You want to know why? Because you remind me of me," Pete snapped, stepping closer. "Thinking everything is my fault, blaming myself, hating myself, punishing myself, desperate to stay a kid for ever," Pete said. "Fuck it, Brodie, there is no Neverland! Grow up! Fucking. Grow. Up!" Pete raged.
Pete had never felt so horrid, his emotions so badly conflicting. He half wanted to break down, tell her how much he cared because they were so alike, and that he cared because he knew she was a good person. He half wanted to hit her and tell her she was the reason that for the last week he'd almost driven himself - and his band mates - insane. Pete was so torn between the emotions, the want to please - he was a horrible people pleaser - and the want to destroy her like she was destroying him. Bit by bit Pete was falling apart, it was slowly becoming more pronounced. Pete could hardly take care of himself, let alone anyone else, so for him to actually care so much about someone who, in reality, he knew very little about, was incredible. Pete had thrown himself into the deep end trying to save her, he'd been ignoring himself. He hadn't eaten for a while, hadn't even had a drink for some time. He was so tired, so very tired. He was sick of sleeping in the roadies tour bus without his band. So sick of following Brodie around like a lost puppy just to catch her when she fell. Pete wasn't doing this for some kind of personal amusement, he was doing this because he felt too involved not to now. As if Brodie was now his responsbility, but responbility like this was literally tearing Pete apart. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

to know what to say
mind is a razorblade

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

And now we're not the same
I'm running past the words

[/b] She said...almost too calmly. "I never asked you to do anything. I told you to walk away. I told you to give up before you started but you wouldn't. Your not like me, were not the same." She was trying to keep her voice down and stop this blowing in to a full scale riot but that wasn't going to work. "You might have people slagging of your sexuality in the tabloids, or people saying you sold out Pete, try having them talk about your six failed foster attempts." She said by now emotion and not quite so understanding of Pete's point of view. She picked up the paper and threw it at him. "Why don't you read what the rest of the world thinks of me Pete and get the delusion out your head that somewhere inside theres some part of me left, there isn't!" A slight pause if only for breath before she continued on. "I shoot myself up and hit the bottle because its the only fucking thing I know! It's the only fucking way I know of dealing with it! And you know what. I hate you for making it so damn easy to give up those pills, for making it so damn easy to hold on one more day."

She stopped dead in her tracks and just looked at him, this probably wasn't the best situation for either of them to be in at the moment, she had already said things to him she regretted. "You wouldn't listen to me when I tried to help you, I tried to tell you to give up on me and walk away but you wouldn't! Why wouldn't you listen to me! Then none of this would have happened and the world one be one fuck up down."[/blockquote][/ul][/color]

To finish up the faults
Cant come back
I wont wait
Wont live like that

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[Pete Wentz]

to call for hands of above
to lean on

[/b] Pete yelled. "You have no idea, you're nineteen years old, you have NO IDEA!" Pete shouted at her. "So you had a bit of a rough childhood - you're hardly alone in that boat, are you?" Pete asked. "No, maybe, I don't know about having a bad childhood, my parents fought a bit, they split up once, but it wasn't rough - but I know about the good versus the bad in life," Pete said, shaking his head in disbelief.
Pete threw the paper back at her without looking at it. "So you think shooting yourself up and doing lines will solve everything? And you're calling me delusional?" Pete asked. "I didn't give up on you, Brodie, even when you gave up on yourself. I care, because everyone needs someone to do so, everyone needs to feel that. Fuck, you can't be fucking bothered to help me to help you, can you? You're so fucking lazy, you're so desperate to believe everything that people say that you think 'hey, why not? Let's go shoot myself up because that's what everyone expects of me'," Pete said, probably too close for comfort now and yet he still raged on. "Maybe you're a people pleaser like me, or maybe you're a lazy, selfish little brat who finds it easier to ignore everything rather than solve them. Yes, we grew up on totally different pages, and we're still on different pages, but fuck it, Brodie, I didn't get here using anyone's money, and I didn't get here by snorting coke and playing the puppet for a bunch of label monkeys who want to add to their BMW collection," Pete said. "You honestly think you feel suffering and pain? YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT!" Pete shouted at her. "YOU KNOW NOTHING ABOUT IT BECAUSE YOU'RE TOO AFRAID TO FEEL HUMAN SO YOU FUCK YOURSELF UP AND HOPE IT'LL ALL DRAIN AWAY!" Pete cried. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

wouldn't be good enough
for me, no

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

We started running now
But I cant see straight

[/b] She yelled this time very close to tears as she just let it all come out in one messed up burst. "I fuck myself up so they cant!" She said, so close to the truth and yet she didn't even notice it coming out. "I don't need you to point it all fucking out for me! I already know! I already know what a fucking mess I am! I know what its like to read shit and start to believe it about yourself Pete! I'm not the only one who sees a cure in pills! Look at your fucking self before you start on me! For fuck sake you act like you know it all you don't! Do you know what it feels like to live without feeling like you have a home? You have a safe place at night, you have friends and you have people who would do anything for you!" Another hit though it wasn't worth it really, too much emotion and not enough energy. "I fucking hate myself alright. Look at me, what have I done thats of any worth? What have I done that could be counted as worth while. The only thing that I can say is I'm a fuck up of the highest order. I live my lie between cracks hoping from one thing to another hoping that someday someone will invent a pill that I can take and not wake up the next day, or that they would tell me how to put pure sun in my veins because I would fucking do it if it meant not living like this!"

Then she stopped dead realizing she had just hit him.

Ah another bridge collapsing on itself.

Nice work Brodie.[/blockquote][/ul][/color]

I cant communicate
I swear we never will

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[Pete Wentz]

one night of magic rush
the start a simple touch

[/i] insane. He began to wonder if this was a nightmare and that he'd wake up soon and realize it was still 2001 and he had college to attend. Pete began questioning whether he'd made the right decision to drop out of college for all of this. Where had it got him? Nowhere, really. Funny how the anonymous strive for fame, and the famous strive for anonymity, wasn't it? Painfully ironic. Pete wanted whatever he couldn't have at the time. Was the biggest irony of all life itself? Was living just a waste of time, to put off the inevitable death? There was nothing to be achieved. Most people in the world would end up being a footnote in the book of history, and Pete kind of hoped he too would become nothing more than a footnote in the books of everything.
Pete was so drawn to fuck ups like himself - Sid Vicious, Kurt Cobain, Ian Curtis, and Vincent Van Gogh... Pete loved it all, because he was fascinated by why these people were like that. Why they'd driven themselves to be like, why they'd spaced themselves from everything and then ended it all in very public and very deliberate deaths. Did they have people caring about them? Had they left behind weeping people or just crocodile tears from those who would only become footnotes? Pete shut his eyes again; his heart was beating faster now. Thump, thump, thump. His eyes were shut tight as he continued to analyze not only himself but also why he was who he was. Why he did what he did.
Pete didn't even know if he was driven by the want to be a fuck up or driven by the fact he was a fuck up himself. Pete didn't want to join the club, he wanted to be a footnote. A footnote in everybody’s books. He didn't want to be known for anything, and he didn't want to be known to anyone. He just wanted to be Pete again. Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. Not 'Pete Wentz the bassist of Fall Out Boy with the big mouth who spoke his mind and didn't shut up when he was supposed to and landed himself in a shit load of lawsuits'. Right now Pete would have done anything to wake up and be an entirely different person. Pete didn't want to be himself anymore; he didn't want to feel the emotions running through his body as his heart beat against his chest. His heart was the only thing that signified that he was alive right now, as he shut his eyes again.
Pete loved to make other people happy, loved to see the smile on their face and the rush of nothing that he had put it there. That was his drug. But it also drove him to become something of a media darling, where people would stalk him and he would just smile and accept it. Pete wanted to live for himself and yet he couldn't seem to break the cycle of living for everyone else, and living for all the wrong things.
Brodie is right, he thought, I do rely on my pills. They were his cure all, but they were never enough. People seemed to love to be able to chuck pills at Pete and tell him everything would be all right and whisper lies in his ears as he went about everything he was doing. Of course, Pete didn't believe them, but deep down he wished that the pills would do everything. Pete wanted to break free from all this, but he was so scared of not being able to rely on something to keep him afloat and above water. Right now Pete could feel himself losing it, falling under the water, pushing down under the surface. The only person holding him down, he now realized was himself. Pete Wentz was holding himself back.
'Stay gold, Ponyboy', Pete thought to himself as he sat up again. His heart was beating faster again. Thump thump thump. Pete didn't understand why, perhaps because he was shocked, scared... something like that. Pete had been desperate to cling to being a child that was he continually ran home to Chicago when things got back. Ran home to the part of his life that he had been in thorough control of. The part that no longer existed. His life had spiraled out of control, and now he was unable to even do the simplest of things. Pete wanted to find that part of Neverland, to stay young and stay careless. Pete wanted the recklessly of being careless again. His best years ever had been as a teenager, and most people could see the regression in Pete. There was no Neverland now. No way to 'stay gold'. No second star to the right. No easy answers. No quick fixes. And, maybe, in some cases, no way of fixing it at all. Maybe Pete wasn't broken - maybe the rest of the world was.
"Please don't make me a joke," Marilyn Monroe had pleaded. And yet, after her death, the world had disregarded her plea - they made her into nothing. They'd degraded her in the worst possible way and then attempted to 'make it up to her' by writing so many biographies and theories on her that she wasn't just a joke anymore, she was a nothing more than the writer's own interpretation. They could color a picture to the world of being 'feisty' or 'elegant' or any number of things in the world. It didn't change anything though, the world had made Marilyn Monroe a joke. Pete had become the same.
Journalists could paint the picture however they pleased - sincere Pete, arrogant Pete, depressed Pete, happy Pete, funny Pete, sarcastic Pete... It didn't matter, because it would all roll together in the end and create a distorted version of reality. Pete would still wake up to find the press on his lawn, and he would still wake up to be the same old Pete Wentz, painted by numbers by the journalists. Some of them even attempted to capture Pete in several lights - sincere Pete who could be arrogant but at the same time was depressed but had happy moments. Pete found it hilarious how they wanted to go deeper into his personality than even he did. Pete didn't see himself as a significant person in the world, and yet perhaps they did.
When people wrote hurtful comments they wrote it about a picture and not about a person. They wrote about the Pete Wentz with the grin and the 'growl' that made funny faces in pictures and 'stole the spotlight'. There was nothing to have been stolen though, because photo shoots often involved Pete being asked to be at the front. Pete didn't like it, having people standing behind him while people treated him like he was the only member. Journalists always quoted how Joe and Andy and Patrick felt on the matter, but they never asked Pete about his feelings. About how disgusted it made him. How he hated seeing himself on the front of magazines. How he probably was sicker of his own face than many of his haters were. Everyone knew 'Pete' but not Pete. Everyone knew the Pete that they wanted to know rather than the truth.
The only reason Pete liked talking in shows and what not was to give the impression that he was someone that perhaps he wasn't. He was able to hide behind the journalists given persona of him. Pete hated it and loved it at the same time. Pete didn't have to face himself half the time, because the journalists wrote what they liked. They made up some garbage and pretended that he was with Saint Pete or the complete opposite. There was never any truth to what people saw, or wrote, or read or what they wanted to see. When the curtains went down and the cameras were off, Pete could have a few minutes to be him, when the lights went down everyone started acting like the person they were really. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

one night to push and scream
and then relief

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

You will never break me down again
So just please just understand
I can take it away

[/b] She said reaching forward and placing a hand on his shoulder ever so gently she shook him as she felt her heart in her throat. He couldn't have, he wouldn't have. "Pete...please...wake up." She said again, this time with that more than tangible thread of fear that wrapped itself round her words. "Please wake up..." Now she was begging him, looking round she felt her breath hitched - not a panic attack. Not now. Not helping at all!

"No...no...no." She whispered gently as she began to feel somewhat mainly responsible for all this, in fact she was pretty much responsible for the whole nights events. "Pete...please wake up..."

Only this time she was frightened, not of Pete...but of what he could do to himself. She was scared for him like she was scared for herself.
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Our time is running out
And I can see it in your...
I'll be there when you hit the ground

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[Pete Wentz]

ten days of perfect tunes
the colors red and blue

[/i] had been why he was sleeping, he supposed, as he leaned over and threw up onto the grass. Pete had been ill recently anyway, and taking the pills had made him feel bad as well, but it was nothing significantly dangerous. Pete wasn't stupid enough for that, he knew what he had, and what other people around him had, and he didn't want to take that from him. Fall Out Boy wasn't really the same with any member missing - they all needed to be together.
"Whaddya want?" Pete asked, hs words slurring slightly as he tried to wake himself up a little more. Blinking back the fatigue and sleepiness, the kind of other-worldly drowsiness that followed a nap that took place during the day he looked around, wondering where he was. He felt sick again, feeling his head, which felt slightly warm to him. Pete groaned and moved himself over, shutting his eyes again briefly and then looking at Brodie. He was trying to forget that she had hit him, and for a second his world spun. He felt dizzy and he just wanted to go back to the tour bus and sleep for ever and ever. He put his hands back against his head and glanced up at Brodie.
Pete didn't meant to sound so snappy toward Brodie, but it simply came out like that because he couldn't really think of anything else to say. After a few seconds it kind of clicked that she thought he'd done something stupid. "I'm alright," Pete told her. [/color][/size][/blockquote][/ul]

we had a promise made
we were in love

[Brodie Dhonchaindh]

How do you notice
Speak up and stop ignoring the fact
That you let me down
Just answer me

[/b] She said rather loudly but somewhat hysterically. "What have you taken?" She asked him, shaking now as she saw the worst case scenario fly though her head. He could die because of her, because she was so stupid and selfish and did we mention stupid? "What did you take?" She asked him again, begging him for an answer because she needed to know, she needed to know so she could get him help and make sure he was ok. Because he did that for her didn't he? Even if she was a selfish bitch and he knew it, but he was still there when she needed him.

And Brodie hadn't thanked him really had she?

"I'm sorry." She told him with urgency and conviction, she was, she was sorry more than she had ever been. "I'm sorry I tried to take your meds...but you don't understand...what its like. your blood runs cold and it hurts and you can't get it to stop. I'm sorry I yelled at you, I'm sorry I was such a selfish bitch. I'm sorry that I hurt you, that I hit you and I take back every word I said. I don't hate you." She stopped, fighting back tears and biting her lip. "I'm so sorry...I'm sorry that I was such a cow and I hate myself for it." She stopped and looked at him, crying now, pleading with him because she didn't know what else to do. She didn't know what he had done either. "Pete..." She stopped and just looked at him...wondering what the hell she was going to do.
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You know I need it all
Yeah you hold it inside
You cant breathe in
I swear you never will

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