She's My Winona (Patrick Stump Fanfiction)

A Little Less Sixteen Candles

I wish I could believe that. I really do. But if I can't believe it from the boy I love, I can't believe it from one of my closest friends. I lift a hand to Pete's cheek and stroke it softly. "You're perfect. How come you get sad and think the opposite?"

Pete's eyes roam over my face, and his eyebrows knit together. "No-one knows why they're depressed, sweetheart. It's not like they wished to be. People know the reasons why they're sad, but they don't know how it started. How they went from a happy little kid to 50 shades of fucked up. They just get sad. That's the way things are."

I look at Pete, my poor broken Pete, and think. I think back to the day we met. The first day of high school.

He fell over his shoelaces in the schoolyard, his books flying everywhere, and some guys stood around and laughed at him. Me and Patrick noticed and went over to pick his stuff up, pick he himself up, and ask him if he was okay. I'll never forget how grateful and happy he looked. He never had many friends in elementary school, my poor Pete, but he does now. I'm here. And Pete is delicate. So sweet and so wonderful, but fragile emotionally. He can change his mood like a flick of a switch without meaning to. I've told myself to always stick by him and look after him no matter what, because he's always stuck by me and probably always will. He's like that, Pete. Sometimes I forget how great he is.

And y'know? I really wish I could make him happy. I know that sounds stupidly simple, and I know it's impossible to take away all of his sad thoughts, but I do. I wish I could rid him of his depression and make him see how amazing he is. But I can't. He won't believe me when I tell him. Patrick, Andy, Joe and I all know about his depression, so whenever he has a particularly bad night one of us goes to his house and sits with him. He's done the same with me, and I'm not even depressed. I tell him every time that he is loved, and cherished, and how I couldn't live without my perfect Pete. He doesn't believe me, and that's really frustrating.

Maybe that's how he, Pat and the rest of my friends feel about me. Frustrated. I doubt they actually think I'm perfect, but they always tell me I am, and I always deny it. Only Pete knows I don't like myself, so I don't know why they say I am too. I have theories. I think they probably tell me that a lot so that I don't get a really low self esteem, like poor Pete. Well, sadly, they're too late. My self esteem is already virtually non existent.

Or maybe the guys tell me nice stuff because they can already tell I have negative self confidence sometimes. Like how I actively avoid mirrors at all costs. Either way, I don't believe it.

But I am not depressed. Even though I think this-ironically-as I am crying, I swear I am not depressed. Yes, I don't like the way I am, but it isn't depression. I just get jealous and stupid about other girls. I could never compare that to what Pete goes through. And a lot of the time, apart from being concentrated on my irrevocable love for Patrick, I'm one of the happiest people you could meet. Maybe if I believed what Pete told me I was, that would make him happy. So I'll make another vow. I'm going to try and believe him every time he compliments me. It'll probably benefit the both of us, emotionally. Yeah. I'll do that.

"I'm so sorry you feel shitty, Pete."

"I'm so sorry that you feel shitty now, Nona."

"It's stupid. Never mind. I need to stop crying." I smile and move away from his forehead to wipe my eyes with my sleeve.

"Hey. Your problems are never stupid to me. You don't have to tell me what they are or why exactly you're crying, but I'll always try and help you. If you ever feel bad, you must come to me, okay? It's like a "you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours" thing, right? We 're both on hand to give hugs when either of us feel bad." Pete assures me.