Folie a Deux

Hey everyone, long time no see, as always, haha! Anyway, not much of an excuse on why this one took so long, basically same as last time, with added sickness. My doctor thinks I have a "mono-like" virus... Anyway. Let's not dwell on the negative, yeah? Straight to the good things.

I'm going to do some shameless self promotion, like always, and say that you guys should totally check out my website (www.contentsofmymess.webs.com,) follow me on twitter (@capillarystatic,) and leave me some stuff in my ask.fm (ask.fm/capillarystatic... This is actually the best place to reach me about anything involving a question, haha. Leave a question here, and you are guaranteed an answer, no matter what it's about.)

One more thing before you read, though- yes, Ashlee Simpson does appear in this chapter, and no, I do not have anything against her and that is not why she appears in the story as she does. It's all just part of the plot...

Anyway, I hope you all are still stickin' around to read!

Enjoy! xxee.

P.S. Editing for this is SO sloppy, I'm sorry.

---

Pete was fifteen minutes late. I probably wouldn't have noticed if I hadn't been staring at the clock from the moment noon rolled around, but I couldn't help myself. I needed a friend and I most certainly was not going downstairs to Henry (my mother was out buying milk or something, I hadn't really been paying attention when she told me,) for comfort, nor could I bring myself to pick up my phone and call Gerard back, because I knew for a fact that his voice would upset me all over again.

I told him I would wait until he could say "I love you," back, I know I did, but it felt like a lie. I didn't want to wait for him to say it back. I'd waited for a really long time for something to actually happen with this relationship, and when I tried to take it somewhere, he suddenly wasn't sure?
I just felt so betrayed.

When the front door's bell rung, I was practically tripping over my own feet all the way down the stairs.

I vaguely noticed Henry sitting in the living room, sipping coffee and reading the newspaper, staring at me as I ran by, but I didn't bother saying hello. I didn't blame him for staring; I'd locked myself in my room after Gerard left last night and basically did nothing except sleep and slam things around. He was probably assuming that I had anger management issues. I'd been told that a lot, when I was younger; as a kid I dealt with everything by screaming and throwing things. Luckily, as I got older, I'd kind of grown out of it, but recently the anger was starting to come back, and it was coming back way too often. It was like, instead of getting depressed like I had for the past few years, I was suddenly really mad at everyone and anything that I could be mad at.

When I finally got to the door, I wasn't exactly prepared for the wave of relief that flooded me when I saw Pete standing there. He looked like a puppy, or something, standing timidly outside of my house, bits of hair falling in his face. He stood there gazing around with his hands in his jacket pockets, until he noticed I'd opened the door, because then he met my eyes and smiled like I was the best part of his day (and fuck, it felt like forever since Gerard had looked at me like that, smiling honest and happy and fucking loving,) and dropped his hands from his pockets.

I practically flung myself at him, needing a hug more than anything else in the world right then, and he stumbled a bit, but hugged me back. I pressed my face against his neck and held onto him like my life depended on it, because right then, I felt like it kind of did.

It was amazing, the types of things a hug could do for someone. It could heal an entire night's worth of regret, it could take away the aching wish that I hadn't pushed Gerard away, and it could remind me all over again about how maybe pushing Gerard away was exactly what I needed, at least for a little while, because Pete's hug was a lot more comfortable than anything Gerard had provided me with the past few days.

Pete didn't try to push me away, and I was thankful for that. All he said was, "You okay?"

"I'm better than I was before you got here," I told him, his hoodie muffling my voice as I pressed my face tighter against him, my nose fitting warmly into the crook between his neck and shoulder. "But I still feel pretty shitty." Hugged him was so much different than hugging Gerard. Gerard's body melted easily against mine, he felt safe and warm and like home. Pete's hug was safe and warm, too, but we just didn't fit right, we didn't seem to know where to put our bodies, we didn't want to get too close to each other, but we still wanted to hug. It was awkward.

Pete sighed and leaned back, looking at me, and smoothed down my hair. "Poor thing," he sighed. "What happened?"

I couldn't help but think that if he were Gerard he probably would've kissed me, and I probably would've let him, but him being Pete, I wasn't actually sure what I would've done if he had kissed me.

"Not yet," I sighed. "I don't want to talk about it yet."

I can't say I would've been surprised, if he had kissed me- I knew Pete liked me, it wasn't new information, but he'd never really tried to act on it. But how do you politely not kiss someone? You can't just shove them away, because that was an asshole move, but you can't kiss them back, because that's leading them on and is equally as large of an asshole move as shoving them away would be.

Do you just... move back? Tilt your head away?

Or maybe you just shouldn't fucking think about kissing someone who's not Gerard.

I realized that we'd been standing there, awkwardly, for longer than normal, so eventually I just cleared my throat and turned around, hoping Pete would follow. "So, have you had lunch?" I asked him, leading him into the kitchen, glancing at him over my shoulder.

He shook his head. "No, I'm not that hungry, though, it's okay-"

"We have left-over pizza, though," I told him, because he reminded me of Gerard right then and I was not going to let him get away with that; luckily, left-over pizza was enough to convince him.

So we ended up sitting at the kitchen table together, with coffee and pizza and slow, easy conversation, about simple shit like school and how the guys at school had been lately, and about music and musicians and bands. It was nice and it helped me forget.

That is, until Henry walked in, leaning on the fridge and giving me a look that made me feel guilty about something that I couldn't place, like Henry thought I had committed some terrible crime that I had no memory of committing.

And then I realized, shit. Henry had just been introduced to Gerard last night, and he heard us arguing, and here I was sitting with a boy that Henry had never met, talking and chatting like everything was okay.

"Henry," I said, not sure how to go about introducing the two. "This is mine and Gerard's friend, Pete. Pete, this is my mom's boyfriend, Henry."

Henry relaxed slightly, hearing Gerard and Pete's name in the same sentence, but still looked

tense as he shook Pete's hand.

"So," Henry said, smiling easily. "You know Gerard?"

Pete nodded, smiling timidly back. Gerard wasn't exactly a comfortable subject for him. "Yeah, he's an okay guy."

Henry nodded, and sent me a look, and suddenly, Henry was giving me this stupid smart ass glance that said "I swear to god if you are cheating on Gerard I will make your life a living hell," and I was giving him a look that said "Oh my god, Henry, you stupid fuck, Pete is just a friend," but I'm pretty sure my message didn't get across.

"So, Pete," I said, standing up. "Wanna' go for a walk?"

He stood too, sending a nervous-looking glance at Henry. "Uh, yeah- sure."

I nodded slowly, sending Henry a look. "If Gerard calls," I told him. "Tell him I'm still with Pete, okay?"

Henry paused for a second, and then sighed. "Yeah. Okay. Sure."

I rolled my eyes.

---

"Does Henry know about you and Gerard?"

I nodded, looking across the street, glancing briefly at Pete. "Yeah. He does."

Pete nodded back. "Okay." He glanced at me, too. "Where are we going, Frank?"

"I have absolutely no idea."

"Oh."

We were silent for a few seconds.

"I told Gerard that I love him," I said.

Pete looked at me, eyes wide. "Seriously?"

I nodded. "Yeah." I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. "He didn't say it back."

Pete stared at me, and stopped walking. "Oh, god- Oh, Frankie, I'm sorry."

I looked at my feet, pausing my walking, too. "I- I don't think he's going to say it."

Pete's hand flinched in my direction, like he wanted to touch me, but wasn't sure how. He settled for brushing his fingers against my elbow, briefly. "I'm so sorry, Frankie..."

"It's okay," I said, even though it wasn't. We kept walking. "I didn't expect him to love me, anyway..."

Pete wouldn't look at me. "Just because someone doesn't vocalize their love doesn't mean that they don't feel it."

"But that's just the thing, Pete. I don't think he feels it at all anymore."

"'Anymore,'" Pete echoed, glancing at me. He put his hands in his back pockets. "You say that like he was once in love with you. What changed?"

I shrugged, staring at him for a few seconds, before forcing my gaze back to the sidewalk. "I'm not sure."

Pete turned his head to stare at the sky. "When I was fifteen," he said suddenly, honestly. "I hit a really rough place in my life. I tried to kill myself. Pill overdose. It didn't work. I always told myself I would try again."

I stared at him.

"A month later someone transferred into my math class and I fell in love. And then the next year, he was in my History class, and he sat in front of me. We were never really friends but sometimes we talked about music, and I blushed a lot and dropped things. I've never really been a nervous person, but he was always so nice about everything; he picked up the dropped pencils and smiled at my jokes, and once he said he liked my hair and that's why I haven't changed it since then, because I've been hoping he still likes it... But I don't know if he remembers any of that, or not. He doesn't have many friends and I don't think he's ever considered me one of them... But now it's two years later, and having that boy in my English class has been keeping that love going, and so I dumped all the pills in the toilet because I thought maybe I had a chance." Pete glanced at me and then shifted his gaze quickly back to the clouds. "I decided to live because I thought I had a chance at love. Love does crazy shit like that sometimes- it can take away a lifetime of pain and hate and just wanting to die, or it can put a million years worth of damage into someone's head. And it can change faster than the weather, Frank."

I didn't know what to say, and even if I did, I wouldn't know how to say it.

"Give him a chance," Pete sighed. "That's what I'm trying to say. Don't let this be the bottle of pills in the back of your throat and week in the hospital and a life time of shitty therapy sessions. Just wait until Gerard dumps out the pills and gets stable with his emotions and is ready to actually talk. Just wait for this storm to pass, enjoy the sunshine, and be prepared for the next cloud."

I was silent for a long moment. "Peter Wentz?"

"Yes, Frankie Iero?"

"Who was it that you fell in love with that saved your life?"

Pete smiled a small smile. "A sweet, cute kid from New Jersey with an asshole attitude and a stellar personality."

I rolled my eyes at him, and bumped my shoulder against his. "You're an ass, Pete." I blinked suddenly, remembering how often Gerard and I used to do that, bumping shoulders while we walked, laughing at one another.

"And you're cute," he shot back.

I think I blushed, and suddenly, Pete's lips were against my cheek, warm and gentle and soft and dear.

I shifted awkwardly when he just looked at me afterwards.

"What was that for?" I mumbled, staring at the way my feet shuffled against the ground.

"For being sweet."

"I called you an ass," I said, smiling slowly. "You think that's sweet?"

"I think it's sweet that you care enough to even notice me."

I glanced at him, raising my eyebrows. "I feel like it would be rude to not. I mean, we are friends, aren't we?"

Everything felt off.

It should be Gerard, here, next to me; but it wasn't. Because Gerard didn't love me.

But Pete did. I couldn't help but wonder if Pete felt how I felt, not being loved back. Was his pain as bad as mine? Was it worse?

I looked at him as we paused on a corner, his eyes focusing in on his shoes as he shuffled his feet around, trying to get something off of the bottom of his red and black sneakers, which I suddenly realized matched his hair. Pete seemed like a strong person. He was confident around everyone but me, and I couldn't help but wonder if his confidence was a defense mechanism of some sort. Pretend to be happy, people think you're happy. Pretend to be confident, everyone will believe you. It was simple logic; so how long had his depression gone on unnoticed? Did it just get bad when he was fifteen, or was it there before then?

Pete announced suddenly; "I wish I could kiss you."

And I didn't know how to answer because I'd never had anyone but Gerard tell me that before.

"You don't have to answer that," he said quickly. "I mean-" he sighed. "I know it's stupid. You and Gerard have a lot of history. I've been creepily crushing on you for, like, three years now. I'm hopeless, I know."

I glanced around, not sure how to respond to that. "There's a cemetery about a block away," I realized, trying to change the subject.

Pete was quiet for a moment, and looked like he was going to say something. I stared at him, confused. Did he know someone buried there?

"Behind St. Peter's Church, yeah," he said, like he was remembering something. His eyebrows moved slightly but I couldn't identify the emotion he was trying so desperately to hide. "I used to spend a lot of time there. Haven't been in a while..."

I smiled at him, trying to distract him from the sudden seriousness. "St. Peter's? I guess we have a right to be there, then..."

He laughed, just barely. "You callin' me a saint, Frankie?"

I couldn't help but giggle at him. "Well I ain't calling you an angel, that's for sure."

"What, black isn't allowed in Heaven?" he said, glancing down at his skinny-jeans. "That's a serious insult, motherfucker!"

I took a few quick steps forward, and grinned at him over my shoulder. "What'cha gonna' do about it, Peter Pan?"

He laughed, his face lighting up fully for the first time since we started our walk. "Oh, that's it, Frankenstein, you are going down."

I laughed, too, and took off running- Pete chased me, all the way to the cemetery, and I couldn't help but grin the entire time.

I felt like a little kid- I felt happy. I hadn't felt that way in a long time.

I stopped running as soon as I was inside the cemetery, but Pete didn't quite get the memo, and slammed into me, laughing as we stumbled.

"Fucker," I grinned, shoving him off of me; it was hot out and his body heat was uncomfortable. "Motherfucker."

He stuck his tongue out at me and winked. "The only person I want to fuck is you, Frankie."

I rolled my eyes, laughing. "I'm pretty sure Gerard would murder you."

"Are you saying you would let me?"

I paused, feeling my cheeks heat up. "I- I never said that, Pete, I-"

He giggled a bit, looking away. "Calm down, Frankie, I was kidding. I'm not- I mean." He took a deep breath, suddenly serious. "You and Gerard have a thing. I respect that. I know I keep bringing up, like, if things were different, but... I'm not going to try to change anything, between you and Gerard." His jaw shifted slightly; he was chewing on the inside of his lip, I could tell. I'd seen Gerard do it before. "I mean, unless you want me to." He glanced at me, looking hopeful, and I just turned my gaze to my feet. "Yeah," he said. "That's what I thought." Pete paused, looking around as if seeing the cemetery for the first time. "I have a friend buried here," he told me, his voice suddenly hard.

I glanced at him, and then around at the graves. "A friend?"

He faltered. "Yeah, but it's- it's not important who."

I frowned a bit. "Do you want to visit him?"

"Her," he corrected quickly. He was squinting at the sun and I rolled my shoulders. It was so hot outside, it was torturous. "And yeah. I think she'd want to meet you."

I nodded, glancing around, not questioning his odd use of present tense, like this mysterious girl was still alive. "Lead the way."

Pete nodded and we wove our way through the graves- we both stripped off our jackets, leaving them on the steps of the first mausoleum we passed.

Pete pointed towards a bench under a short, lonely looking tree. "She's over there."

I nodded and followed him over to the bench and tree, and I stood under the shade; Pete stood next to the closest grave to the bench, and I peered over his shoulder. "Ashlee Simpson," I read out loud. "Beloved daughter and friend." I blinked at the dates on the simple, gray tombstone. "She... She was thirteen..."

Pete just stared at the ground. "We were gonna' get married, yknow? We were kids but- but we had it all planned out. She's was a year younger than me. We were gonna' get married one day and have kids and own a tattoo parlor, she was gonna' do piercings and I- I-"

He looked at me suddenly and I blinked back. "Oh, Pete..."

His chest was rising and falling at too fast a pace, his fingers were trembling. "I was going to marry her Frank, and she left me."

I hugged him, unsure of how else to handle this.

"She left me," he said, roughly. "Oh god, Frankie- she's gone, she-"

I wrapped my arms around Pete as tightly as I physically could and he buried his face against my shoulder.

"Her mom found her," he said, voice cracking. He was crying and I didn't try to stop him. "S-slit wrists, empty- empty pill bottle, and-" He was shaking everywhere. "I could've done something to help her, I should've-"

"Pete," I whispered, touching his hair. "It's okay, Pete, it wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault."

His fingers curled against my shirt. "I didn't know," he said hoarsely. "I knew she was unhappy but I never thought-"

"No one ever thinks," I interrupted. "No one ever knows unless they ask for help, Pete. And she didn't ask for help, so how could you be expected to know?"

Pete fell silent and I continued to hug him, even though his shaking shoulders had gone still.

"I loved her," he declared roughly, lips touching my neck. "She was all I had to live for."

I pressed my face into Pete's hair.

"I'm here," I told him. "I'm here for you Pete, you know that, right? We haven't been friends long, I know, but I'm here for you and I'm not leaving any time soon."

He nodded.

We stood there for maybe another minute or two, before Pete slowly pulled away. He wiped his eyes roughly with the palms of his hands and turned away from me, back towards the tombstone.

"Frank," he said quietly, roughly. "This is Ashlee. Ashlee, this is Frank."

I blinked at the back of Pete's head, and then looked at the tombstone.

"It's nice to meet you, Ashlee," I said to the ground. I glanced up at the sky, wondering briefly if that was the proper place to look instead, but then I remembered that I didn't fucking believe in God, anyway, so why should I believe in angels?

I walked over to stand next to Pete in front of the tombstone and then slowly sank to my knees. The ground was dry and warm and the grass was stiff, but I pressed my palm against the earth and sighed. "You have yourself a great friend, Ashlee," I told the grass. I felt kind of stupid, but I also felt like I was doing something sort of noble. "Pete is a wonderful guy. I'm gonna' keep him safe for you, okay? I'll make sure he stays alright. I promise."

Pete fell roughly to his knees next to me and his fingers touched mine for a fleeting moment; I heard him take a sharp breath inward and I wonder what he had felt right then.

Did he feel Ashlee's touch again, when he touched my hand? Or just the rough back of my hand and the dry grass between my fingers?

I didn't know if Pete was religious or not and I didn't want to ask.

I looked at him, though, and wondered what more I should say.

He was staring at my hand on the ground.

"Pete?"

His eyes flickered to my face, and then back to my hand.

"Pete, am I- am I really your reason?"

He sighed and shifted his legs around, until he was sitting kindergartner-style on the ground. I mimicked the motion, our knees touching. "My reason for what?"

"For not killing yourself?"

He titled his head back and looked up at the sky, like the easy answer was written in the clouds. "When I was a kid I was never happy," he told me. "Ashlee made me happy. When Ashlee died, I thought- I thought I'd never be happy again. But..."

"But I made you happy?" I asked, intrigued.

Pete nodded, finally meeting my eyes. "You make me happy."

I glanced away and when I looked back, he wasn't looking at me again. "You went all that time without saying anything," I told him. "I never would've known-"

"I love you," he said, before I could get another word in. "I mean, I just- Fuck." He frowned. "I haven't said that, like, directly to you. I've said it a ton, but not, like, not directly, and- Shit."

I blinked at him.

He didn't look at me. "I feel like an idiot. We barely know each other, how can I say that? You don't know much about me, I don't know much about you."

"It's okay," I said quietly. "I get it."

"I just- I always told myself that being 'just friends' would be harder than admiration from afar, y'know? So I never really tried to get closer to you. I mean, I know that's complete bullshit, now, having you as a friend is a lot better, but I always- I always figured you were straight."

"Honestly," I told him, sighing. "I thought I was for a long time. Because that's what I had been taught, yknow? I'd always been told that boys were off limits emotionally."

"I tried a lot, though," he said, defending himself.

"Yeah, you tried a lot," I agreed, remembering every conversation he had ever sparked with me about music or art or whatever the topic of the moment happened to be. He'd always looked so shy when he did that, I realized. He had always been waiting for me to approach him first and when I didn't, he got nervous.

"If it weren't for Gerard," I told him. "I would never have spoken to you outside of our old conversations. He was the one who told me to sit with you at lunch."

Pete paused. "If it weren't for Gerard," he told me. "I could be kissing you right now."

I looked up at the sky, too. "Yeah, I guess you could."

"Would you let me?"

"Kiss me? Would I let you kiss me?"

"If you weren't dating Gerard," he clarified. "Would you?"

I continued to stare at the sky; it was a beautiful shade of summer blue. "Probably, yeah."

"Knowing that he doesn't love you," Pete continued. "But also knowing that he probably does; will you let me kiss you?"

"Will I? As in, will I let you kiss me right now?"

Pete nodded.

I sighed. "I'm sorry, Pete."

"Not even just for a second?"

I stared at him, his sad eyes, sad lips, sad face. Pete was so, so sad; how had I never noticed that before?

I considered it. Would Gerard be mad? For some reason, I didn't think so. I could see him feeling upset, a bit betrayed, but I also felt like he would understand. Gerard was a smart boy, he knew me better than that. He would understand...

I closed my eyes. I didn't know where the fuck I was going with this. "I'm counting to ten," I said. "And on ten, I'll be back in reality. Until ten, I'm going to pretend like no one outside of this cemetery exists. Okay?"

Pete faltered. "Okay."

I started counting, out loud, at first-

"One."

Lips pressed warmly against mine.

Two.

His fingers touched my hair.

Three.

I pressed my eyes shut tighter, let myself kiss him back.

Four.

His fingers skimmed down my cheek.

Five.

I fell backwards, into the grass, and he landed on top of me.

Six.

He bit my bottom lip.

Seven.

I sighed against his mouth.

Eight.

His fingers touched my hair, my face, my shoulders, my chest.

Nine.

His lips pressed harder against mine, like I was oxygen and he was drowning.

"Ten," I said, as he pulled away, sitting back up quickly.

I stayed on my back for a second, eyes closed. I heard him move, he leaned back, laying next to me.

"Thank you," he said softly.

I opened my eyes and stared at the sky.

I touched the inside of my bottom lip with my tongue lightly. Pete tasted so clean compared to Gerard's nicotine-stained lips. It was refreshing. Like a glass of water after a hot day.

"Never again," I told him.

His hand found mine and I forced my fingers to go limp as he curled his around them. Every instinct was suddenly screaming for me to play dead, because maybe then he would leave me alone to think in peace.

"You're never kissing me like that again, Pete Wentz," I said sharply. "Understood?"

He faltered. "You're angry," he breathed.

I closed my eyes, tight. I didn't want to yell at him. "Not at you."

His fingers squeezed mine and I didn't squeeze back.

I sighed. "I'm not mad at you, Pete. Just at myself."

There was a short silence.

"Do you regret it?" he asked.

I sighed. "Pete, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"It's okay," he interrupted. "It was my fault. I shouldn't have asked." He moved his hand away from mine. "I'll never do anything like that again, I promise. I won't even bring it up. We can forget it happened, if you want to. Because you're with Gerard."

"Yeah," I said, taking a deep breath of air. "I am."

---

Pete went home. I hugged him before he left, and he sighed, apologized again. I apologized, too.

"I shouldn't have let you..."

He shrugged, glancing down at his feet, like he was hoping the earth would swallow him whole. "I shouldn't have asked."

We stood in silence for a second; we were on my front porch, it felt like a scene from a movie. Two lonely boys caught in some stupid love triangle that wasn't even a triangle at all, just one quivering line and two broken strings.

"You have to tell Gerard," Pete said. "If you don't, I will, and I think it'll be a whole lot better coming from you."

"I'll tell him," I sighed. "I'll do it today."

Pete nodded, glancing at the window nearest us. "Can they see us from inside?"

"No."

He kissed my cheek, softly, lips lingering too long. When he moved away, he just stopped and kind of stared at me for a second. "That's the last time," he said softly. "I promise."

I looked at my feet. "Bye, Peter."

His fingers brushed my elbow as he walked away. "Bye, Frankie."

---

The walk to Gerard's house felt like a walk of shame. It was a strange, shame, though. It was shame caused by lack of guilt.

I didn't feel guilty for kissing Pete. Not at all. It felt normal, actually. Every teenager did that at some point in their life, didn't they? Kiss someone who they probably shouldn't have kissed?

It was a slow walk to Gerard's house, and it was too warm, so warm it made me want to curl up in die. Glancing at the sky, I realized a terrible thing; Pete and I had left our jackets in the cemetery. I cursed out loud, reminding myself to pick them up later.

When I finally arrived at Gerard's doorstep, I wasn't quite sure if I should knock or try to work out something to say first.

I decided to just knock.

I saw the curtains in the living room move, and caught a small glimpse of Mrs. Way; she must be back from the family visit. I heard a faint call from inside as the curtains fell back into place.

"Gerard, get the door, please... I- I'm busy..."

I made a mental note to thank Mama Way later.

A few seconds later, the door cracked open.

Gerard stared at me.

He looking like shit. Tired and upset and sad. He looked scared and angry and depressed.

"Gerard," I said, "We need to talk about something, I-"

He hugged me, around the waist, pulling me in tight and resting his chin on top of my head. "I missed you," he choked out. "Fuck, please- please don't leave me again."

I hugged him back, my arms looping around his shoulders, my face pressed against his neck. "I missed you, too," I said slowly.

We stood like that for a minute, and then he asked, his fingers combing lightly through my hair, "Why are you crying, sweetheart?"

I took a shuttering breath of air and held him tighter. Once I said it, he would think the tears were from the guilt. He would think it was from the regret.

But there was no guilt, no regret. Just a hollow chest and an over-crowded mind that was constantly wondering why love was so confusing.

"I kissed Pete, Gerard."