Wouldn't It Be Nice To Wake Up With You

To get you caught up, things happened that led me to having to pull my shirt over my head and my pants back up over my ass. She laid there in her bed looking at me dress. She had a screwed up smile on her face that made me laugh.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" I snorted.

"I feel like I'm in the middle of a one night stand," she stated simply, "Like I was only here for one good f.uck."

"No," I shook my head, "You're good for maybe three good f.ucks."

"You're an asshole Peter Wentz!" she laughed.

I jumped on the bed and kissed her goodbye, "The guys will be wondering what's going on."

She pushed me away, "What?"

Shit.. "Shit..."

"Patrick, Joe, and Andy are here?" she asked for clarification.

"Yes..."

"You gonna tell me that Ashlee is standing right outside that door too?" she steamed.

"I'd be scared if she was..." I trailed.

"Peter... you are an asshole, and I mean it." she muttered,"I don't want to see you."

"Jen, let me explain," I pleaded.

"Get out of my face," she turned her head and point to the door.

"Look, I'm just as confused as you are!" I yelled sadly.

"Yeah, but if you're confused, please don't do me next time. Get your head straight as your lower one and then come talk to me. Right now, leave me the hell alone."

My body trembled at her words. I felt broken.

broken hearted

I walked out of the door and made my way to the elevator. Minutes passed by until I hit the lobby floor. The world flew by as I trudged back to my hotel. I was about to push through the double doors, until I stopped and looked at myself in the glass. I had sex hair and I'm sure I smelled like her. My shirt was wrinkled and my pants were hanging too loosely on me. I'm such a slut..

I swallowed to make the dry lump in my throat go away. Patrick was going to find out eventually this happened. He'd probably know it instantly when he smells the perfume on me. He was always able to get the truth out of me... and this one was too big to just hide like all the other small lies I had. Walking towards our door, I paused. I knew I sank low and I don't think I'd be able to pull myself out of this one. I slid the key and walked in. Joe and Andy must've been sleeping or out because Patrick was the only one there. His headphones were on and I could hear him singing in the entertainment centre. And guess what he was singing? Calm Before the Storm. My body would've crumpled into a ball right there and then.

"This is me standing in the arch of the door
hating that look that's on your face
that says there's another fool like me.
There's one born every minute, there's one born every minute.

What you do on your own time's just fine.
My imagination's much worse, I just never want to know.
What meant the world imploded, inflated then demoted all my oxygen
to product gas and suffocated my last chance.

You said, between your smiles and regrets: "Don't say it's over."
Dead and gone, dead and gone, yeah, woah

Calm before the storm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight.
A reception less than warm set it off, and the sun burnt out tonight--"

He stopped and pulled his earphone out. It's like he knew already. His face was solemn and very calm. Mine I'm sure had something like this; eyes watery, trembling lip, and my body shaking from my crying... because it sure felt like that.

"She's here, isn't she?" he asked.

I nodded my head.

"And you were just with her, weren't you?" his voice seemed to crack.

I nodded again.

"And--?" he couldn't finish because I knew he knew, "Jesus fucking Christ Pete!"

He sank into his seat and leaned his head to his hand, pushing up his trucker hat.

"I can't blame alcohol or drugs on this either!" he complained, "You! You!"

Words couldn't express how upset he was and words couldn't express how apologetic I was. Words couldn't even leave my mouth I was so upset. Patrick was so broken too. Suddenly he shot up, laptop at hand. He went into our room and all I could here was rustling about. I walked over to the door and saw him. He packed his things and pushed passed me.

"Patrick?" I asked hoarsely.

"I'm going back to Evanston," he said as calmly as he could, "I just can deal with you right now."

And the door swung closed. I lost two, soon to lose a third, maybe a fourth and a fifth. That's when I finally fell to the floor and curled up into a ball. My own lyrics haunting my brain, the images and feelings of what's happened today not matching up.