Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips (A Pete Wentz Story), chapter 4
That he was distracted was obvious, that the bass he held in his hands was a diversion from strumming the thoughts in his head was hardly guesswork, that his mind was far away from the show he was about to play was clear, that he was upset was no jigsaw to be arranged, that any other face before him was obscured by the one in his mind was distressing, that he still loved her, despite it all, was tragic.
Patrick could do nothing but watch as one of his best friends writhed within his misery. Sure he feigned happiness and sure he repeated with conviction that he was fine, but no sixth sense was needed to read between the lie. All of Patrick's advice had fallen on love-deafened ears, the kind only accustomed to picking up I love you's rather than stark realities. And it was a fate Patrick was desperate to alter but couldn't. Every ploy had been played and still Pete remained love-torn and an insistent addict to the pain.
As the count-down to the show began, Patrick wondered if a similar one was rolling to detonation in Pete's head. One that could eliminate the personality he loved and leave a frowning cynic in its place. It was only a matter of time until the bassist was broken beyond repair and still the antidote hadn't been located. He wasn't sure if it could anymore. As the final second before the show wound to a close, Patrick grabbed his guitar and strapped a smile to his face. Nudging Pete's arm gently, he grinned in fake enthusiasm. "Let's rock." he enthused, knowing both of them were only fit to roll into shallow graves in vain.
"Are you ready to rock New York?" The deafening cheers of the bustling crowd only caused Pete's face to wrinkle further into confusion. "I said, 'Are you ready to rock?'" Louder peels burst from the audience with determined power, causing Pete to smile widely. "That's more fucking like it!" he exclaimed, glancing over to Patrick who, in turn, strummed the initial chords of 'Sugar, We're Going Down'. The lyrics were lost on his moving lips, carried away instead with passion by the audience before the four Chicago musicians. It was a deviation that prompted Pete to grin wider as he temporarily lost himself in a euphoria. His eyes sealed from the show, he revelled in the new washes of emotions overpowering him. On stage, he temporarily had control. On stage, he was bypassed by negativity. On stage, he was purged and free.
"That was an incredible show!" Patrick beamed, crossing the car park to the tour bus that was patiently waiting for the band.
"Did you see that crowd?" Andy laughed. "They went crazy!"
"It was awesome," Patrick reiteratyed, his face glowing with a lovestruck smile aimed in rememberance at the fans that weren't present. "They were awesome."
"They sure were," Pete echoed, the ecstasies of the show still dyeing his expression with rapture. "I hope all the secret shows will be as good as that."
"If they are, then this will be the best set we've ever played." Patrick thought aloud.
The sharp ring of a phone brought the band back to the reality beyond their show, one clustered with ringing phones and nagging emotions. Pete's hands plunged into his pockets and curses fell where affectionate praise had previously. "Damn, I've left my phone backstage."
As Joe murmured lovingly into his phone to his girlfriend, Pete turned to Mickey, who was trailing after the band. "I need to run back and get my phone, Mickey," he told him. "I'll be back now," he added as Mickey impatiently checked his watch. "I promise. I just need to get it."
Recieving a resigned nod of permission, Pete set back across the night-filled car park, back to the arena. His nerves still burned with ecstasy and his heart was still ridding his body of the last strains of adrenaline, but his mind was still focussed on one dismal and predictable thought. Yet, this time, he allowed his ideas to cross from a different angle. The optimism still reigning in his mind forced her adamant grasp to wither slightly and prospects to lighten in his head. The starlight shone truth on Mickey and Patrick's words as Pete reflected deeper on them and he realised his stupidity at hoarding something that meant nothing anymore. Shaking his head, he diverted his thoughts to memories from the show in order to heighten his mood once again. Crossing the car park with determination he almost wandered past a figure slouched on the steps of the arena if it hadn't had shivered into his attention. Frowning in concern, Pete stopped in his mission in an attempt to analyse the figure. "Hey," he called out gently.
As the figure raised its head, Pete's expression clouded with thought. There was something familiar about her onyx hair and jasper eyes and yet he couldn't place it. The recognition he felt was matched in her gaze, which slowly trickled to her ankles. "Hey," she greeted.
"You ok?" Pete questioned, still striving to place the abandoned fan in his collection of memories.
"I'm fine," the fan replied with a dismissive shrug. "Just waiting for my ride."
"A bit late?" Pete asked.
"Yeah," the fan trailed off as she checked her watch. "About...an hour late." She laughed brightly despite her situation, causing Pete to smile in return. "It teaches me for trusting a man." she joked. Looking up at Pete, she smiled. "No offence." she added.
"None taken," Pete answered, grinning. The confusion in him deepened as he scrolled through the streams of fans he had met to locate the girl. Shaking his head slightly, he placed his hands in his pockets to draw out the answer. "Um...this may seem rude but...have we met before? I recognise you."
Tugging slightly at her black combat trousers, the fan smiled shyly in surprise. "And there's me thinking you'd never remember me," she said.
"I remember faces. Never names," Pete explained.
"You'd have a harder job remembering mine. I never told you it," Watching the frown deepen on Pete's face, the fan grinned. She tilted her head to the side as she chewed her lip in thought. "Let's just say you got a free drink out of a fan the other night."
A montage of thought crossed across Pete's face as he slipped from confusion to rememberance. "You're the waitress from that café," he told her.
"Hobos," the waitress informed him with a grin. "And, yeah, I am." Her hands straightened her combats although they remained unwrinkled. "I'm Amaya," she told her Converse.
"Amaya," Pete repeated slowly. "Unusual name."
"Yeah. That's my parents trying to be deep," Amaya explained in a tone suggesting that she had worn down this explanation in numerous ears. "It's a Japanese name meaning 'Night rain'."
Pete smiled in appreciation. "Nice," he complimented. "Makes 'Pete' sound bland beside it."
Amaya laughed lightly. "I like 'Pete'," she told him. "It's a regular name. Not confusing."
Pete smiled down to his feet as he saw Amaya tug at the bottom of her combats once again as if tugging at her mind for something to say. Looking briefly at her through the corner of his eye, he smiled at her sudden insecurity compared to the ease she had talked to him with before. "You know, I never properly thanked you for that drink," he told her. "You managed to cheer up an upset guy."
"There's no need for thanks," Amaya answered, smiling warmly at Pete. "A show as amazing as that one is payment enough for me."
Pete smiled shyly to the steps in front of his feet. "It was fun," he added. "You guys were just as great."
"It was definately a lively audience," Amaya agreed with a reminiscent nod. "I got pushed, hit, trampled on and suffocated...it was great!" she added with a grin. Watching Pete's grin develop with disbelief, she laughed. "Sorry, that's the masochist in me coming up for air. I should really beat it down or something."
"Let me know if and how you managed it so I can give it a try," Pete told her.
"Will do, honey," Amaya promised, shuddering as a heavy breeze danced over the two. Winding her arms around herself, she attempted to suppress the cold she felt. Sensing Pete's eyes fixed on her, she smiled slightly to reassure him. "He promised he'd be here on time," she told him. "But, then again, I guess an hour late is pretty good for him."
"Who you waiting for?" Pete questioned as he sat on the bottom step and strained his eyes into the shadows in an attempt to see a car he wouldn't recognise.
"My boyfriend." Amaya replied, hugging her knees tightly. Her head fell onto them in a deflated manner that Pete put down to the annoyance of the wait. A gentle silence drifted between the two as Amaya became absorbed in her own thoughts. Pete watched the slideshow of emotions drift across her expression and frowned as it seemed to settle on resigned acceptance. "Damn, it's cold," Amaya murmured, suddenly forgetting Pete's company.
Moving cautiously so as not to disturb her reverie, Pete removed his Clandestine hoodie and held it out to Amaya. "Here." he offered gently.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Amaya glanced at Pete and the extended hoodie, shaking her head adamantly. "Oh no," she protested. "I couldn't."
"Please," Pete pressed. "I'll be getting onto a coach soon. Who knows how long you'll be waiting?" With a grin, he passed the hoodie to Amaya who accepted it with an amazed reluctance. "Anyway, how are we supposed to go platinum again if our fans are frozen?"
Amaya's laugh was muffled by the hoodie as she slid it over her head. Gently pulling it down, she straightened the hoodie out to admire the design. With a smile glowing with gratitude, she looked up at Pete. "Thank you."
"It's all right." Pete's smiled back, watching in amusement as Amaya's gaze fell down to the hoodie again to admire it.
"You know you don't have to buy your fans though, don't you?" Amaya asked, fixing Pete with a grin.
"We don't?" Pete questioned in feigned surprise. "So I've been wasting my money for no reason."
Smiling widely, Amaya nodded. "Sorry, sugar," she answered, placing a bold hand on Pete's shoulder. "They've played you for a fool."
"Again," Pete added.
"You know how to solve that problem?" Amaya quizzed, her eyes glowing with mischief.
"How?" Pete asked, leaning back slightly in trepidation.
"Kick them in the balls," Amaya informed him, her eyes diverting to the road again. Shaking her head to release the sigh she'd been imprisoning, Amaya watched the steady flow of traffic. "Which is what I'm going to do when my boyfriend gets here." Her gaze drifted over to Pete, suddenly clamouring with confusion. "Hey, haven't you got to be going some place?" she asked.
Pete delved into sudden thought before shaking his head. "Nah. I don't wanna leave you by yourself."
"I'll be all right, honey," Amaya assured him. "I promise I won't fall apart, freeze or talk to any strange men."
"Well you've already broken one of those promises." Pete joked.
Amaya grinned as she leant back slightly to look closer at him. "Looks like I have, but at least I got a free hoodie out of the encounter," she answered. "Can't be all that bad." Pete grinned as Amaya began playing with the hoodie once again, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye like a child at Christmas. The statement he was about to make died on his lips as a screech pierced through the night air, causing the duo jump out of conversation. Sighing, Amaya stood. "Here's my boyfriend," she announced.
Pete watched a swerving car screech to a halt in front of the arena. One window rolled down to reveal the silhouette of a man whose voice reverberated across the empty, and quiet, street. "Amaya! Come on! Get in!"
Amaya rolled her eyes in response. "Always the perfect gentleman," she told Pete.
Pete smiled sympathetically. "Nothing a kick in the balls won't solve," he suggested.
Laughing, Amaya stepped down to the pavement. "Well, thank you for waiting with me." Glancing at the hoodie, she hooked her finger underneath it. "You probably want this back," she said, preparing to release herself from it.
"Nah," Pete answered. "You can keep it. I can get another one easily. Call it payment for the drink."
Grinning widely, Amaya straightened out the hoodie once more. "Well, thank you. Again," she beamed.
"My pleasure," Pete answered, watching as Amaya pounded a path to her boyfriend's car, stopping at the door to look back at him. Out of the glow of the arena, she was another silhouette to him, her features blurred with the shadows. He reflected her wave back to her and watched the car swerve onto the main road again before finally going to collect his phone.
Patrick could do nothing but watch as one of his best friends writhed within his misery. Sure he feigned happiness and sure he repeated with conviction that he was fine, but no sixth sense was needed to read between the lie. All of Patrick's advice had fallen on love-deafened ears, the kind only accustomed to picking up I love you's rather than stark realities. And it was a fate Patrick was desperate to alter but couldn't. Every ploy had been played and still Pete remained love-torn and an insistent addict to the pain.
As the count-down to the show began, Patrick wondered if a similar one was rolling to detonation in Pete's head. One that could eliminate the personality he loved and leave a frowning cynic in its place. It was only a matter of time until the bassist was broken beyond repair and still the antidote hadn't been located. He wasn't sure if it could anymore. As the final second before the show wound to a close, Patrick grabbed his guitar and strapped a smile to his face. Nudging Pete's arm gently, he grinned in fake enthusiasm. "Let's rock." he enthused, knowing both of them were only fit to roll into shallow graves in vain.
"Are you ready to rock New York?" The deafening cheers of the bustling crowd only caused Pete's face to wrinkle further into confusion. "I said, 'Are you ready to rock?'" Louder peels burst from the audience with determined power, causing Pete to smile widely. "That's more fucking like it!" he exclaimed, glancing over to Patrick who, in turn, strummed the initial chords of 'Sugar, We're Going Down'. The lyrics were lost on his moving lips, carried away instead with passion by the audience before the four Chicago musicians. It was a deviation that prompted Pete to grin wider as he temporarily lost himself in a euphoria. His eyes sealed from the show, he revelled in the new washes of emotions overpowering him. On stage, he temporarily had control. On stage, he was bypassed by negativity. On stage, he was purged and free.
"That was an incredible show!" Patrick beamed, crossing the car park to the tour bus that was patiently waiting for the band.
"Did you see that crowd?" Andy laughed. "They went crazy!"
"It was awesome," Patrick reiteratyed, his face glowing with a lovestruck smile aimed in rememberance at the fans that weren't present. "They were awesome."
"They sure were," Pete echoed, the ecstasies of the show still dyeing his expression with rapture. "I hope all the secret shows will be as good as that."
"If they are, then this will be the best set we've ever played." Patrick thought aloud.
The sharp ring of a phone brought the band back to the reality beyond their show, one clustered with ringing phones and nagging emotions. Pete's hands plunged into his pockets and curses fell where affectionate praise had previously. "Damn, I've left my phone backstage."
As Joe murmured lovingly into his phone to his girlfriend, Pete turned to Mickey, who was trailing after the band. "I need to run back and get my phone, Mickey," he told him. "I'll be back now," he added as Mickey impatiently checked his watch. "I promise. I just need to get it."
Recieving a resigned nod of permission, Pete set back across the night-filled car park, back to the arena. His nerves still burned with ecstasy and his heart was still ridding his body of the last strains of adrenaline, but his mind was still focussed on one dismal and predictable thought. Yet, this time, he allowed his ideas to cross from a different angle. The optimism still reigning in his mind forced her adamant grasp to wither slightly and prospects to lighten in his head. The starlight shone truth on Mickey and Patrick's words as Pete reflected deeper on them and he realised his stupidity at hoarding something that meant nothing anymore. Shaking his head, he diverted his thoughts to memories from the show in order to heighten his mood once again. Crossing the car park with determination he almost wandered past a figure slouched on the steps of the arena if it hadn't had shivered into his attention. Frowning in concern, Pete stopped in his mission in an attempt to analyse the figure. "Hey," he called out gently.
As the figure raised its head, Pete's expression clouded with thought. There was something familiar about her onyx hair and jasper eyes and yet he couldn't place it. The recognition he felt was matched in her gaze, which slowly trickled to her ankles. "Hey," she greeted.
"You ok?" Pete questioned, still striving to place the abandoned fan in his collection of memories.
"I'm fine," the fan replied with a dismissive shrug. "Just waiting for my ride."
"A bit late?" Pete asked.
"Yeah," the fan trailed off as she checked her watch. "About...an hour late." She laughed brightly despite her situation, causing Pete to smile in return. "It teaches me for trusting a man." she joked. Looking up at Pete, she smiled. "No offence." she added.
"None taken," Pete answered, grinning. The confusion in him deepened as he scrolled through the streams of fans he had met to locate the girl. Shaking his head slightly, he placed his hands in his pockets to draw out the answer. "Um...this may seem rude but...have we met before? I recognise you."
Tugging slightly at her black combat trousers, the fan smiled shyly in surprise. "And there's me thinking you'd never remember me," she said.
"I remember faces. Never names," Pete explained.
"You'd have a harder job remembering mine. I never told you it," Watching the frown deepen on Pete's face, the fan grinned. She tilted her head to the side as she chewed her lip in thought. "Let's just say you got a free drink out of a fan the other night."
A montage of thought crossed across Pete's face as he slipped from confusion to rememberance. "You're the waitress from that café," he told her.
"Hobos," the waitress informed him with a grin. "And, yeah, I am." Her hands straightened her combats although they remained unwrinkled. "I'm Amaya," she told her Converse.
"Amaya," Pete repeated slowly. "Unusual name."
"Yeah. That's my parents trying to be deep," Amaya explained in a tone suggesting that she had worn down this explanation in numerous ears. "It's a Japanese name meaning 'Night rain'."
Pete smiled in appreciation. "Nice," he complimented. "Makes 'Pete' sound bland beside it."
Amaya laughed lightly. "I like 'Pete'," she told him. "It's a regular name. Not confusing."
Pete smiled down to his feet as he saw Amaya tug at the bottom of her combats once again as if tugging at her mind for something to say. Looking briefly at her through the corner of his eye, he smiled at her sudden insecurity compared to the ease she had talked to him with before. "You know, I never properly thanked you for that drink," he told her. "You managed to cheer up an upset guy."
"There's no need for thanks," Amaya answered, smiling warmly at Pete. "A show as amazing as that one is payment enough for me."
Pete smiled shyly to the steps in front of his feet. "It was fun," he added. "You guys were just as great."
"It was definately a lively audience," Amaya agreed with a reminiscent nod. "I got pushed, hit, trampled on and suffocated...it was great!" she added with a grin. Watching Pete's grin develop with disbelief, she laughed. "Sorry, that's the masochist in me coming up for air. I should really beat it down or something."
"Let me know if and how you managed it so I can give it a try," Pete told her.
"Will do, honey," Amaya promised, shuddering as a heavy breeze danced over the two. Winding her arms around herself, she attempted to suppress the cold she felt. Sensing Pete's eyes fixed on her, she smiled slightly to reassure him. "He promised he'd be here on time," she told him. "But, then again, I guess an hour late is pretty good for him."
"Who you waiting for?" Pete questioned as he sat on the bottom step and strained his eyes into the shadows in an attempt to see a car he wouldn't recognise.
"My boyfriend." Amaya replied, hugging her knees tightly. Her head fell onto them in a deflated manner that Pete put down to the annoyance of the wait. A gentle silence drifted between the two as Amaya became absorbed in her own thoughts. Pete watched the slideshow of emotions drift across her expression and frowned as it seemed to settle on resigned acceptance. "Damn, it's cold," Amaya murmured, suddenly forgetting Pete's company.
Moving cautiously so as not to disturb her reverie, Pete removed his Clandestine hoodie and held it out to Amaya. "Here." he offered gently.
Snapping out of her thoughts, Amaya glanced at Pete and the extended hoodie, shaking her head adamantly. "Oh no," she protested. "I couldn't."
"Please," Pete pressed. "I'll be getting onto a coach soon. Who knows how long you'll be waiting?" With a grin, he passed the hoodie to Amaya who accepted it with an amazed reluctance. "Anyway, how are we supposed to go platinum again if our fans are frozen?"
Amaya's laugh was muffled by the hoodie as she slid it over her head. Gently pulling it down, she straightened the hoodie out to admire the design. With a smile glowing with gratitude, she looked up at Pete. "Thank you."
"It's all right." Pete's smiled back, watching in amusement as Amaya's gaze fell down to the hoodie again to admire it.
"You know you don't have to buy your fans though, don't you?" Amaya asked, fixing Pete with a grin.
"We don't?" Pete questioned in feigned surprise. "So I've been wasting my money for no reason."
Smiling widely, Amaya nodded. "Sorry, sugar," she answered, placing a bold hand on Pete's shoulder. "They've played you for a fool."
"Again," Pete added.
"You know how to solve that problem?" Amaya quizzed, her eyes glowing with mischief.
"How?" Pete asked, leaning back slightly in trepidation.
"Kick them in the balls," Amaya informed him, her eyes diverting to the road again. Shaking her head to release the sigh she'd been imprisoning, Amaya watched the steady flow of traffic. "Which is what I'm going to do when my boyfriend gets here." Her gaze drifted over to Pete, suddenly clamouring with confusion. "Hey, haven't you got to be going some place?" she asked.
Pete delved into sudden thought before shaking his head. "Nah. I don't wanna leave you by yourself."
"I'll be all right, honey," Amaya assured him. "I promise I won't fall apart, freeze or talk to any strange men."
"Well you've already broken one of those promises." Pete joked.
Amaya grinned as she leant back slightly to look closer at him. "Looks like I have, but at least I got a free hoodie out of the encounter," she answered. "Can't be all that bad." Pete grinned as Amaya began playing with the hoodie once again, looking up at him with a gleam in her eye like a child at Christmas. The statement he was about to make died on his lips as a screech pierced through the night air, causing the duo jump out of conversation. Sighing, Amaya stood. "Here's my boyfriend," she announced.
Pete watched a swerving car screech to a halt in front of the arena. One window rolled down to reveal the silhouette of a man whose voice reverberated across the empty, and quiet, street. "Amaya! Come on! Get in!"
Amaya rolled her eyes in response. "Always the perfect gentleman," she told Pete.
Pete smiled sympathetically. "Nothing a kick in the balls won't solve," he suggested.
Laughing, Amaya stepped down to the pavement. "Well, thank you for waiting with me." Glancing at the hoodie, she hooked her finger underneath it. "You probably want this back," she said, preparing to release herself from it.
"Nah," Pete answered. "You can keep it. I can get another one easily. Call it payment for the drink."
Grinning widely, Amaya straightened out the hoodie once more. "Well, thank you. Again," she beamed.
"My pleasure," Pete answered, watching as Amaya pounded a path to her boyfriend's car, stopping at the door to look back at him. Out of the glow of the arena, she was another silhouette to him, her features blurred with the shadows. He reflected her wave back to her and watched the car swerve onto the main road again before finally going to collect his phone.
