It's Only a Lie If It Gets Bought

"Feeling any better?" Patrick asked me. I looked up from my book, than back down. I shook my head.

He climbed up the bunk bed ladder and sat down beside me. "Go Ask Alice?"

I nodded.

"Favourite book?"

Nod.

He looked at the rest of the pile beside me. "Catcher in the Rye, To Kill a Mockingbird, Dracula… the entire Shopaholic series?"

Nod.

He sighed. "Parker, c'mon. Hun, you can talk to me."

I looked up at Patrick, my heart pounding in my chest. "Patrick, I don't know what's wrong with me." I threw the book against the wall. "I'm going insane! My life's a fucking wreck!" I burst into uncontrollable sobs, my face drowning itself in the softness of my pillow. I felt two arms wrap themselves around me and sit me back up. I looked at him. "What's wrong with me, Patrick?"

He wiped my eyes. "I don't know, hun. I just don't know anymore."

I got to my feet and jumped off the bunk bed. My feet stung as I landed, but I kept walking. I needed to tell him. That had to be what was bothering me. Not telling Pete how I felt. Once I told him, I'd be fine. Yeah, that's what I needed to do. I grabbed my slip-ons and darted down the steps.

"Where're you going, Parker?" Cam asked, watching me rush by her table.

"To free myself."

She gave me an awkward look but didn't do anything, watching as I kept walking.

I headed round the stage and looked for Pete. No doubt he was here. He'd already gone to the IHOP for breakfast and his pass was gone. I flashed my own and walked to their dressing room. I knocked on the door and took a deep breath.

"Come in," said a voice.

I opened the door cautiously and peered in. "Hello?"

"Parker?"

I smiled and closed the door behind me as I saw Pete on the couch in the far corner. He was playing his bass.

"What're you doing here?" he asked.

"I-uh. I came to talk to you actually."

He set his bass down and walked to the mini-fridge. "Want a beer?"

I shook my head and approached him. "Pete. We've been friends for a really long time."

He took a sip of the Heineken and laughed. "Yeah, since we were toddlers."

"And we always told each other everything. No matter what, right?"

He nodded. "Yeah, of course. You're like a —"

"NO!"

He instantly became startled. "What? What's wrong?"

I backtracked to the door. "You-you almost said something I did not need to hear," I stuttered.

He set down the can and walked up to me. "Parker, calm down, please."

I shook my head, my back pressed up against the wall. "You don't – you don't –"

"I don't what?" he asked, two steps away from me.

"Sister."

"What?"

"I'm like a sister to you, aren't I?"

"Parker, I –"

"Just say it!"

He hesitated.

I stood there, feeling completely stupid and absolutely heartbroken. I swung open the door and slammed it behind me, running as fast as I could down the hall.

"PARKER! WAIT!" Padded steps sounded behind me as Pete picked up speed.

"FOR ONCE PETE! LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE!" I called back. I threw open the stage doors and stopped completely. I looked at the scene behind the building. It was so calm, so serene. So breathtaking. I loved the mountain view, the peaks of the trees making everything look lush and overgrown. It was rejuvenating. Just not enough so.

I heard the door open again. "Parker-Lynn!"

My heart was thrashing in my chest as I struggled to catch my breath.

"Parker-Lynn Rachel Broussard, what the fuck is wrong with you?" he yelled.

I looked up at Pete. His face was twisted with pain, agony and a fury I'd never seen before. "I-I-"

"Is that all you can say?! I have a show in ten fucking minutes and you come in and throw me off?! Fans are out there, fans who came to see us at the top of our game and you just, ugh, for fuck's sakes, what's gotten into you?"

"Do you really think that if you don't give the best performance in the whole damn world, they're gonna hate you or something?" I spat.

"They deserve the best!"

I backed away from him. "Stop trying to out-do yourself, Pete, and open your big Bambi eyes. Take a look around! There's more to life than fans and sheet music and popularity. Who cares how many fucking people yell out your name or how much they paid for a ticket, or how many goddamn spins you do in an hour?! NOBODY CARES PETE! NOBODY WHO GIVES A DAMN ABOUT FALL OUT BOY CARES ABOUT ANY OF THAT!"

He looked at me, shocked, confused, and aggravated.

I laughed pathetically. "You wanna know the truth Pete? The truth is that, crowds are won and lost and won again, but our hearts beat for the diehards." I fought to look him dead in the eyes. "I know mine does."

His face fell and I knew then, he felt like shit.

That was well-deserved.