2016/03/04 Friday
Previously, I had never really understood the true hatred people had for school. Even when I'd still gone to public school, I guess teachers were dicks and people simply got in the way but at the end, I still spent most of my day in the physics classroom talking about crazy and exciting things with crazy and exciting people whose names I could never really quite remember.
I like physics and I like chemistry and I like history. And that's why I took them, not because I had to: because I wanted to. I'd probably end up being a doctor or some shit: using a bullshit touching story about how inspiration doctors were when they were helping with my legs when they were actually dicks.
I'd never understood why people complained about homework or extra tasks because I'd always liked them for as long as I could remember. But now, that I had other things to think about (namely: Pete Wentz) nothing seemed as interesting as him at all.
Nothing seemed interesting enough to block out the memories of his too-slow eyes that turned to look at me slower than the rest of his head or his lips, which flicked upwards uncontrollably. Nothing could stop me from thinking about his donkey laugh or the way he sung I Can't Feel My Face to me that one day in the car.
I couldn't find anything important enough than the way he'd dropped me in the parking lot or how his hands shook when he brushed his thumb over my hand. His long dark eyelashes, and now platinum blonde hair that we'd bleached.
I liked Pete's voice and I liked his accent and I liked his face. I liked it better than I liked physics and better than I liked history and I liked most things more than I liked chemistry, if I was honest with myself. It was like Pete had suddenly replaced everything that I liked with his stupid face.
I thought about what Dr Stump had said. I knew that therapists weren't allowed to do that, they weren't allowed to tell you what to do. Dr Nestor was rude sometimes, okay, she was always rude. But I don't think that she'd ever told me what to do and what not to do and if she had: I clearly didn't care enough to do it.
I guess, I could've used that against him. Maybe I could find something wrong with every therapist I got so far, throw my toys every time I got one so that I wouldn't have to deal with them anymore. It had to come to an end eventually, right? They wouldn't keep trying.
The plan seemed perfect, really, because it meant that I could act out as much as I wanted to and it wouldn't have to deal with therapists. Which were both good things, on my front. But something about Dr Stump made me think that it wouldn't be a good idea. Maybe now was a good time to simply play with the cards that I'd been dealt.
I was glad when Pete swung around after lessons and reminded me that I'd sworn to dye his hair pink today. I still wasn't very happy about having it be bright pink and it wasn't exactly the best thing that we had to do it at my house. But we did it anyway.
It was gross and it smelt bad, just like it had yesterday, but Pete didn't seem to notice. Because, whereas we'd been avoiding the subject before, he now seemed keen to discuss the boundaries between Best Friends for Life. He didn't say that, no, he simply said what are we? And I stared at him for a long time, understanding the question but not knowing the answer.
I thought about what had happened yesterday with Dr Stump. I wanted to do it – I wanted to tell him how I felt. Today just really wasn't the day to do it. And I was slightly upset that Pete had brought it up before I was prepared. Because now I didn't know what to say or what my facial expression was going to look like, I tried my best to keep it neutral
Are we just friends? Or are we boyfriends, now, Mikeyway? I didn't know what to say, so I just stared at the sink that I was filling with water. I closed the tap and continued ignoring Pete, focusing on what it was that I wanted to say or do. I didn't want to say or do anything at, if I was perfectly honest with you. But now I'd learnt that these things don't just go away.
What do you want to be? I asked. I wasn't annoyed or frustrated but I felt like sighing even though I knew that would make me look inconsiderate or rude. If he picked friend: we couldn't overstep the boundary anymore but if he picked dating: I'd be dating someone who was dying. It wasn't the time to contemplate those things right then but I did anyway. Wouldn't it just be better for both of us if we didn't talk about it?
I was upset that he'd chosen to ask the question right then because it meant that I'd have to make a decision right then and I sort of liked walking the fence in between because I wasn't all that sure whether I wanted to be on either side of it.
I mean this in the nicest way possible, relationships are like jobs. They take a lot of time and energy and while most of them are worth it, some of them are a complete waste. Pete Wentz, at this moment in time, was a dead end job like no other. Because there was no way that you could get promoted or upgrade now when you knew that you were on the brink of losing it. I was on the brink of losing Pete so I should be running from him like I would run off of the titanic – except that I wasn't.
Pete was different, even if he was dying and I knew I was going to get hurt, it was worth it for everything that was happening. Getting hurt was worth gaining the experience of ditching therapy to spit wine on to white snow. I reckoned it was a fair trade – happiness right now for some heartbreak later. Even though, if I had the chance, there would be no heartbreak at all.
Pete looked at me through his lashes – like he wanted to be kissed. And said boyfriends. I nodded my head, not really agreeing with his choice but deciding eventually that it was just as good as any other choice. I didn't kiss him though, only told him that it was time to wash the dye out of his hair.
I rinsed it for him and tried not to feel guilty – it was very visible that Pete wanted to be kissed, but I didn't lean in. Didn't acknowledge it. It didn't feel necessary, not really. Kissing was just there for when they were needed – they were unhygienic, anyway. No matter how enjoyable it might be.
Pete seemed to go on though, and nothing changed. When we'd finally finished it and Pete's hair had started drying, it was the most atrocious shade of pink I'd ever seen before in my life. That's, wow, that's pink. There really were no other words that I could use to describe it because pink just described it so perfectly.
Pete only laughed but when he looked at his reflection in the mirror I think I could see the small traces of regret falling over his face. They disappeared quickly, though, and I wondered whether the Huntington's treatment had done anything to his brain. Because I don't know if anyone sane would do something like this to their hair.
I didn't like children all that much and, while I admit Cherry was cute, I don't think I wouldn't done anything like what Pete was doing. Was that what I was supposed to be doing? Was dyeing your hair an atrocious shade of pink a normal way of showing support and affection? Should I do it too? Should I do it for Pete?
I took one more look at Pete's head – swallowing a giggle and deciding that it probably wasn't a very normal response if that's what Pete was doing. He looked at the time on his phone, frowning at it and muttering shit before announcing to me that we were going to be late for group therapy.
I didn't care, quite frankly, they didn't take attendance and Dr Stump wasn't forcing me to do it so I didn't mind skipping it. It seemed important to Pete, though, so I tried wheeling out of the bathroom and he tried pushing me out of the bathroom and, all in all, we spent a good 30 seconds trying to get out of the bathroom together.
Pete got me into the car fairly quickly but I hit my head on the doorframe when he picked me up and he apologized to me a million times, kissing my hairline where it'd been hit 6 times (I counted) and put me into the car. I closed my door, so I couldn't hear it but as Pete went around the car I could see his mouth moving like he was talking to someone. I rationalized that he was either doing a monologue – on how annoying wheelchairs are (I would join him) – or he was apologizing to me even though I couldn't hear him.
I reasoned that, either way, I loved both of those things. I loved the way Pete apologized a million times and I loved the way his mouth moved. And I loved the way his hands shook. Pete got into the car and grinned at me, before looking at the wheel with a second of hesitation. I knew what he was thinking.
That while ago when Pete had said that he wasn't allowed to drive. I wondered whether I should stop him from driving. It would be a good excuse as to why we couldn't go to group and, well, I had a tendency of getting into car accidents. I gripped Pete's hand. He looked at me and grinned again, but it looked like of sad.
I leaned in as much as I can, depending on him to lean in the rest of the way for our lips to meet. He did, he leaned in and he kissed me in the silence of his car. His hand grazed my cheek, and went into my hair. I knew that the rule was to close your eyes – but I wanted to look at him. His long, dark eyelashes fanned over his collar bones.
His face looked awkward from such a close angle but, all the same, he stayed as beautiful. When we were this close I could see the pours of his skin which I couldn't usually see, even if I was wearing my glasses, and I could see the extra hair growing at his eyebrows. And I could see, most importantly, the pink.
It was a long, open-mouthed kiss and Pete sighed happily into me and then pulled away and I tried not to look like I'd kept my eyes open the whole time. Let's stay here, Pete. I whispered into his face and for a moment it looked like he hadn't heard me. But he took my hand in his and said okay.
He carried me inside and put me on the couch – all of this due to the fact that he'd forgotten to take my chair out of the car. He brought the chair in afterwards while I channel surfed until I found anything remotely interesting. And we end up watching Pointless.
It was a British game show with a name that suited it just perfectly – pointless. Because Pete and I didn't watch it at all, we spent too much time cuddling until I eventually fell asleep against him and enveloped in the smell of his cologne.
Regardless, I hope that I see him again tomorrow. And the day after that. I hope that I can see him every day for what was left of forever.
Mikey
Because I haven't updated in too long.
Vote and comment because I need some kind of affirmation in my life.
And my favourite thing right now is me. Actually, scratch that. My favourite thing is my boyfriend at this point.
Undying affections from yours truly,
Brendon.