A Break From Reality

He had to tell him. He just… had to tell him. This was the best thing he’d ever thought of. Seriously, this idea could beat the shit out of every single dumb word or stupid lyric he’s put to paper. If there were a Nobel Prize awarded for best idea ever, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III would surely earn it.

“Patrick,” he panted. It was hard to keep his huge-ass grin plastered to his face and catch his breath “can I talk to you?”

“Pete, you okay?” Patrick asked placing down the pencil he had just used to write music. He was pairing Pete’s words with his notes and was casually singing them to himself. Patrick didn’t like his voice much, but he sang the songs Pete wrote. He always felt bad because Pete’s word deserved such a nicer voice. Pete thought Patrick’s suited the job perfectly.

“Patrick,” Pete beamed a smile, he could hardly contain himself. If Pete had his way this idea would make fucking history books! “I had this idea…” Patrick’s eyes lit up. Pete’s idea usually led to Pete’s lyrics. He adored Pete’s lyrics, he felt honored to be able to sing them. Sometimes, in his dreams, Patrick pictures Pete writing a song just for him. He doesn’t know Pete writes every song for him; every word, just for Patrick.

“Yeah?” Pete had Patrick’s full attention.

“Well…” Pete had to word this perfectly; it was the world’s best idea, after all. “This morning I was in bed.”

“And…?” Patrick smiled, his friend’s joy had begun to rub off on him and the two sported matching wide white-toothed grins. Patrick knew Pete should smile more, he had a pretty smile, it was contagious.

“And I was happy, Trick. So fucking happy.”

“That’s great!” The singer was so thrilled for his friend. He was tired of putting up with a depressed Pete.

“…Then I woke up.”

“Oh. I see.” Patrick said in the smallest of small voices. So much for a change of pace…

“And that’s when I realized it.”

“Realized what?”

“How happy I was when I was asleep!” The smile on the older boy’s face grew as the one on the younger’s disappeared.

“And…?” he muttered in an equally small voice.

“Dreams, Trick, it was the dreams.”

Patrick was lost. It’d take a fucking psychic (or maybe a psycho) to get what goes on in that kid’s head.

Patrick didn’t even bother ask Pete what he had to say next; he had lost interest in his friend’s “great idea”, he didn’t like where things were headed.

“So, I figured, if I could always be asleep, then I could always dream, and if I could always dream, I could always be happy!”

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Patrick snapped. “This is the real world, Pete, you won’t be able to continue your life living in a dream.”

“Exactly.” Patrick was going to get sick. He sat down on the beaten hold couch and wrapped his arms around his stomach. He could picture it; he would vomit right then and there all over his carpet and Pete’s black converse. Surely he wasn’t talking about…no, he couldn’t be. Could he?

“Pete…I…”

“No, don’t say anything. I’ve made up my mind. I’ll take…20 sleeping pills, sleep for a year, wake up and it’ll all be okay.” Pete had no idea whether taking twenty sleeping pills would make him sleep for a year or not, but it was worth a shot. “The worst thing that could happen is-”

“Is you could not wake up. That’s suicide, Pete. I won’t let you do that.” Patrick lost the feeling of nausea and gained one of anger. His best friend was being a unreasonable idiot; he couldn’t stand for that.

“It’s not suicide! It’s… taking a break. A break from reality.”

“That’s insane! I won’t let you do this!”

“Yes you will.” Pete’s smile found it’s way back upon his lips, “Because you’re coming with me.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Here.” Pete handed his friend a bottle of God knows what kind of pills. “Have some.” He poured the pills onto his friend’s hand. They were a soft pink, the color of love.

Patrick stared at them. He counted each one. Seventeen. Pete said twenty. So if twenty could make you sleep for a year, what would seventeen do? He’d be fine, wouldn’t he?
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it. There was a repeating voice in his head that refused to stay quiet. That’s probably the better idea anyway, throw the seventeen pills right back in Pete’s face and walk out of the room.

But, still, could living in a dream with Pete be so bad? Yes, it could be so bad once you die. Pete doesn’t even know what the hell he’s taking about. Drop the pills and take him to a hospital, stop supporting his crazy ideas!

“Pete…I…”

“Patrick,” Pete took a deep breath and held onto it. It would be his last. “I need you to do this with me. I’m doing it either way.”

“I…” Tears were swelling up in both boys’ eyes. Pete was being crazy, but he thought he was reasonable. Patrick was being reasonable, but he thought he was crazy. Well, you can’t say for sure who was which; they’re matters of opinion.

Pete grasped Patrick’s hand and pulled him close. There was no space in between their bodies. This is the way Pete had always wanted it to be.

He smashed their lips together. Patrick was stunned but he liked it. He let Pete kiss him a little harder and a little deeper until he tore off.

“I…I have to do this.” He stuttered.

“No, you don’t.” Patrick reassured the boy and pulled him into a hug. He let his seventeen pills drop to the floor and Pete let his bottle join it on the carpet.

Patrick sighed; this was a victory and a defeat. He’d kept Pete alive, but he’d have to keep doing it.

And let’s face it: taking care of that kid ain’t gonna be easy.