I stop crying long enough to lift my head up and see whose talking to me. Normally, I'd be able to recognize them by their voice, but I'm just too fucked up to do anything right tonight. I see their face, then burst out crying again, like a child. I feel pathetic.
"Oh my God, Gabe, I don't want to deal with you right now, I can't!" I hide my face with my hands. I can't get any more humiliated as it is. I can only imagine what Gabe has to say to. Probably some comment on my crying, a wise remark about Victoria, a joke about my marriage. I just don't want to have to go through that right now. To my surprise, Gabe is silent. I hear the crunch of gravel. I hear steps approaching me. I hear him sit down next to me. He chuckles. Here it comes.
"It's really cold out, isn't it?" He blows air on his hands, then rubs them together for warmth.
... What?
I look at him with the most confusion in my tear stained face. He smiles at me.
"You should really get inside." I detect an unusual, impossible sense of compassion coming from him. Seeing this makes me start crying even more. I need physical support, so I cry on his chest. He doesn't move at all. He doesn't speak at all. He just lets me cry into his hoodie.
This is weird.
"Never speak of this ever again." I say, after a long while of bawling my soul out.
"Wouldn't even want to." He fired back. I finally stand up, crying subsided, but not entirely gone. I stick my hands in my pockets and look out on the town. The lights from the buildings are the stars of Chicago.
"You're not okay, so I'm not gonna ask if you are." I nod, still not looking at him. He stands up and sighs. "Well, I've gotta get back on my way home. Vicky-T is coming over tonight." He walks past me, patting my back.
"Gabe?" He turns halfway.
"Yeah?" I kick a poor and innocent rock with my shoe. That rock probably had a family.
"Thanks. For... Whatever that was." I groan. "I can't believe I said that, Gabe Saporta that is never happening again." He laughs, and continues left.
"I doubt that. You'll be thanking me for a lot in the future." He turns his head and winks at me.
Yep, there's the Gabe I know and despise.
After tonight, my perspective of Gabe has barely changed. He's still the douchey asshole he's always been, but maybe he is possible of having the tiniest bit of care for another living being.
-
When I get back to my house, after a embarrassing cab ride, my wife is already asleep; It's 3:47. I have tomorrow off. I will probably spend most of it away. I walk into my room to see my wife, not thinking twice about it. She's in bed alone, surrounded by crumpled up tissues. She doesn't like to have tears on her face (it makes her feel weak, like a baby), so she cries with a lot of tissues every time. Seeing this, seeing her, breaks my heart even more, to the point where I can't stand to look at her, not now, not anytime soon. I close the goddamn door quietly, but quickly. I leave a note on the counter, a lot more heavy worded than I had intended. I run down the stairs our of building and out of it. My taxi, for some reason, is still here. He steps out of the cab and yells to me.
"I had a feeling you would be coming back out." I don't know who this man is, or why he's doing it, but I say thank you ("Thank you, so much!") and run back inside, telling him the directions to a friends house. He starts driving right away, making small talk, introducing himself as Rian, but I can't focus. I'm thinking about why I chose to go to this persons house out of everyone. I couldn't face him. I couldn't tell him. Yet I had too. I have to look him in the eye and tell him exactly what happened, followed by a series of explanations and apologies. I'm going to his house for more than that. He's the only person I know who isn't upset with me or hates me right now. But give me a second. I can change that.
"Um, sir? We're here..." Rian interrupts me. I mumble a thank you, handing over a lot more than I should've paid. Without bringing anything with me, I dash to his apartment. I knock excessively until someone answer the door, with sleepy eyes and bed head.
"Patrick? What the hell are you doing here at this time?"
"Um... It's a long story..." I find speaking is harder to do to him. "Can I just spend the night?" His face drains, and his expression looks fully concerned, making me feel awful.
"Dude, what happened? Is it something with Elisa?" Tears are begging to break loose again, but there is no way I'm crying in front of him.
"It's, uh... It's complicated. I just need someplace to sleep tonight, but you know, if you don't want me to sleep here that's fine, really." I don't want him to be worried or concerned over me now. I'm horrible. The worst. He's such a nice person, I don't deserve to be his friend. His time shouldn't be waste on me. It should be fully used on good friends and Bronx and Meagan. Not me.
"No, no! You can sleep here, of course. You don't even have to ask. I just wanted to know what's up." Pete stops me from leaving, turning the lights on in his apartment. "Come on." I reluctantly walk inside. His house looks exactly as it did when I left it. It's not messy, it's not clean. It's a suitable living space, but could be arranged better. Why am I-- moving on. I head toward the couch and sit down stiffly. I stare straight ahead, probably making me look paralyzed. I did feel it, but in a different sense. I felt paralyzed with guilt and fear and hate. Pete comes and sits by me.
"Okay, you've got to tell me what happened."
"Pete, I'll tell you, I will. But I don't want to right now. It's still heavy on my shoulders, and I'm having trouble even talking. I need to rest."
"But Patriiiiick."
"Please." He sighs in defeat.
"Fine. I'm holding this against you until you do tell me. I won't push you to say anything now, but tomorrow, I want to hear everything." He wants to say more, I know he does. He's Pete Wentz. He's known for being talkative. Yet, he stops there. He is about to stand up to leave, when a certain four year old walks from his room, running his eyes and hugging a blanket.
"Daddy? Why's Pat here?" I still hate the name, but I smile anyway. I think it's cute that a small child has come up a nickname for me.
"He's gonna sleep here tonight." Bronx's eyes light up.
"Really?" Pete nods. "Yay!" He holds the word out jumping. We both chuckle at his reaction.
"And you're going back to sleep." Pete says, picking him up and carrying him to his room.
"Noooooo, I wanna play with Pat!" I hear Bronx whine from down the hall.
"No, Pat's had a long day. He's tired, too, dude." Bronx makes one more sound of protest before saying 'Fine'. Pete comes back smiling.
"Sorry about him. He gets excited when friends come over."
"No, no, it's fine. I love seeing him like that." I laugh. Being around Bronx puts me in a much better mood every time.
"Well," Pete crosses his arms sighing. "I think I'm going back to bed."
"Okay. Goodnight, Peter." I grin
"See you tomorrow, Pat." He smirks back. I throw a pillow at him.
"I hate you." We both laugh before he heads back to his room. I contemplate contemplating, but decide it's for the best if I just try to sleep while I still feel like it.
-
The next morning, I wake up to Bronx poking my face, Pete yelling at him.
"No, Bronx, stop that. It's rude." He pokes my face once more before running off to sit with his father on the couch over. The TV is surprisingly turned off. I'd think that the morning cartoons would be on, or something.
"Hey," I push myself on the not-so sturdy cushions to sit up. "I thought you'd be cooking some breakfast, with an apron and everything." He smiles while Bronx plays with a random toy car on his lap.
"I did. But it's two in the afternoon, now. We just got back from lunch."
"... Wait, are you serious?" My eyes flick toward the clock. Yep. 2:14.
"Oh my God, I slept for so long."
"You really did." He pats on his son's back, gently pushing him off the couch. "Bronx, go play in your room for a bit. Pat and I want to be alone together for a second." Bronx nods, obeying his order. I wish he didn't. I'm not looking for this. I'd rather be dead. But that feeling happens on a good day.
"Pete..."
"Patrick, you promised to tell me."
"What? No I didn't, you convinced yourself that I did!" He groans.
"Just tell me." I sigh, sitting up against the arm rest, blanket still draped over me.
"Alright! Fine. Just... Don't get mad, okay?"
---
"My dear Elisa,
I'm sorry that I won't be here tomorrow. I've been through a lot tonight, and I need a break. I will be with Pete for most of the day, but please do not try to contact me. I can't talk with you just yet. Please don't be concerned about what I am talking about, you don't need to waste anymore time on me. I'm surprised and quite lucky you haven't left me yet. Also, I'd like it if you'd spend the day for yourself; have fun. You'll have much more fun without me there, I'm sure.
I'm also sorry for the stupid fight. Actually, for all the stupid fights. I don't know what got into me. I hope we can make it up. Though we shouldn't. I'm sorry again.
I love you.
- Patrick"