She's My Winona (Patrick Stump Fanfiction)

A Little Less Sixteen Candles

I don't blame you for being you,
But you can't blame me for hating it.
So say what are you waiting for?
Kiss her, kiss her!
I set my clocks early 'cause I know I'm always late...

~

You may already think I am insane, having a breakdown because of something so trivial as my best friend having a date. God, I agree with you. I am insane. I am insane for loving Patrick Vaughn Stumph.

But I do.

And I suppose now I know he's got someone else, I feel like I've missed out. I had all those years to confess my feelings for him. But I didn't. Why didn't I? Hell, I could have said it this morning. But I didn't. And now I've missed out. This is killing me. I was too late.

Hey. No. Winona. Have hope. It might just be a date. I mean, she asked him yesterday. They barely even talk. Maybe they aren't dating. It could literally just be a date.

But why did he say yes immediately, then?

I'm still sat in the disabled bathroom, and I feel bad in case someone actually needs to use it. I bet they'd get a shock when they open the door, if they did, to see some random girl bawling her eyes out and a boy just staring at her. I'm pathetic.

I can't stop though. I put my hands over my eyes and weep bitterly, my body shaking with the sobs. I cry and cry until my eyes are stinging with the salty tears-the bathroom is filled with only the sound of my crying.

As for Pete, Pete doesn't say anything. I look up briefly from my self-pitied wailing, and see him sitting down on the floor in front of me. Legs crossed. Expression pained. He just watches me silently until I finally tear my head from my hands and look at him.

Pete Wentz, on reflection, is very attractive.

Well. What can I say? It is true. He's kinda tall, but compared to me he's a giant. His eyes are large, and soft, and brown. His hair is ivory-darker hair than anyone's, even blacker than Anna Smith's. I don't get how he hasn't had a girlfriend yet, to be fair.

"Don't cry, Nona. Please." Pete says sadly.

"I can't help it. I'm sorry. God, this is embarrassing. I feel pathetic."

"No, no, you aren't pathetic. Don't be sorry." He leans forward and takes both of my hands in his. "It's always okay to cry. I just don't want to see you sad. I'd rather you be happy."

"I don't like seeing you sad, either, Petey. But I do see you sad. Like, a lot. You're sad about more important things. I'm sad about something dumb."

"I thought you didn't know what was wrong with you?"

"I know why I'm sad, I just don't know what's wrong with me. What the fuck is wrong with me, Pete? I feel these messed up things."

"I feel you there, brother." Pete smiles softly. "I sure do relate. Well. You know that. I hope you don't mind me asking, but is this about your, uh, self esteem issues?"

"No." I think for a moment. "Kinda."

Was that a lie? Not really. Now I feel like shit, especially since Anna Smith is ridiculously pretty and I look like crap a lot of the time. Plus, I don't want to tell Pete about my feelings for Pat. I've had them for so very long, and now I feel like if I told him he'd be offended that I didn't tell him earlier. Also, he's Patrick's other best friend. I never told him earlier because I was scared he might want to tell Patrick. So I've kept it in, and I think I will keep it in longer. Bottle it up. Man, that's all I ever seem to do nowadays.

Tears are still streaming down my face, silently now, when Pete presses his forehead to mine. Our faces are so close. We do this a lot. He's like a brother; such a comfort. "Look at me, beautiful girl. How many times have me and Patrick told you? You're perfect. You need to stop worrying."