From Under the Cork Tree

"What's this for?" Pete said softly, his hands rubbing my back, up and down.

"I need someone," I croaked against his shoulder.

Pete didn't reply, he only pulled me closer, my face had slipped against the side of his neck. He cooed softly as I began to cry again, wetting his skin and shirt. I tried to apologize, but all that came out was a mangled sob, and Pete just continued to rub my back.

"Angel, I think you should lay down," he murmured, "a storm is comin'. It's gonna thunder and stuff, where's your dog?"

"Downstairs," I said thickly, sniffing as I pulled back.

Pete put his hands on my waist firmly, "You don't look so hot, are you gettin' sick?"

I shook my head, "No...I'm just tired...'n I don't have makeup on."

He smiled at me, "Neither do I. I don't look so tired, huh?"

Pete managed to get me to smile, "Nah, you sure don't."

He let me go, and helped me to the couch. I plopped down, sniffling again. Pete turned and closed the door, locking it, then looked out the bay window behind my TV, pulling a couple of blind slips down to look outside; it was cloudy, the sky was blue and black, hazy. Kind of like when you get a black eye, the black and blue shined more than purple could.

"Where's Hemingway?" I asked him.

"My brother took him to Chicago. I'm going there for thanksgiving in a few days," he turned back to me and came over, plopping beside me, "I don't like to fly, especially in the winter, and it's snowing in Chicago."

"Why'd you ask about Cupid?"

"I didn't want your dog to disturb you while it's thundering...does he bark at loud noises?"

I smiled again, shaking my head, "No, Q is a coward."

Pete chuckled, "Sounds like Hemy. He crawls into my bed when it's thundering."

"Cupid does too."

Pete placed his arm around my shoulders, to which I leaned in and rested my head on his shoulder. We were back in that comfortable silence. There wasn't a word to be said, and we both didn't even have anything to say; I know I didn't.

I was drowsy from crying, and Pete was so warm and comforting. Falling asleep against his side was inevitable, Pete didn't even seem bothered by it. I snuggled into him naturally, wrapping my arms around his torso. Suddenly, I felt so guilty, but my drowsy head and eyes wouldn't think or bother to go any further with the bad thoughts. I fell asleep with a heavy heart and a twisting stomach.


I woke up lying on the couch by myself. The sound of heavy rain pounding the roof had awaken me. Rubbing my eyes, I peeked them open and saw Pete lying on the floor, looking up at the ceiling.

"What're you doin'?" I pondered tiredly.

Pete looked over at me, "Listening to the rain...it's comforting."

I smiled lazily, my lips felt as if they'd sagged, "Yeah, it is."

"I got up to eat," he added, "sorry if I put you in an uncomfortable position."

I raised a brow, then sat up, "No, I'm fine."

"You were saying his name in your sleep," Pete sat up too, "did you...were you dreamin' about John?"

I shrugged, "Probably, I can't remember."

Pete nodded to himself, then stood, "I made hot pockets, want one?"

I chuckled, "Yeah, sure."

Pete smiled back at me as he headed to the kitchen. I listened to him, and the rain, and then grabbed the afghan hanging over my couch, and wrapped it around me. I laid back against the couch, found the remote and turned the TV on. It didn't take long for me to find some cartoon to watch, and then Pete returned holding a plate, "It's kinda hot."

"Hmm, so am I," I joked.

Pete snorted, "Oh babe, I know."

He sat down with me, handing my plate with a napkin. For a moment, life felt so normal, as if nothing was wrong. I wasn't depressed and my heart wasn't going to burst at the seams upon losing my husband.

"Thank you," I spoke softly.

Pete hummed, "No problem. I wanted to check up on you."

I swallowed, looking at him, he looked at the TV, eating; "I meant it. Thank you, ya'know, f-for being here for me. For not...not being afraid to talk to me."

Pete looked at me, he looked speechless. I felt silly for a moment.

"I know how you're feeling because I've felt the same way. You wanna die and you don't care who you hurt because you want to stop your own hurt. You...you just want the noise and the pain to stop, right?" I nodded, "I know what you're going through, and I know what it feels like to have everyone "afraid" of you. I didn't--don't want to do that to you, Angelus."

I smiled sadly, I could feel the emotion in my face; I was going to cry again, but I managed to suck it all back in. I exhaled, wiping away escaped tears; I placed the plate on the coffee table, feeling nauseous.

"I have to--" I stood up and raced to the bathroom.

As I knelt over the toilet, I vomited nearly nothing, only water and stomach acid. As I heaved, I felt Pete gathering my hair back. I managed to say thanks before heaving again; he rubbed my back, not saying a word.

Once I was all out of puke, I leaned back, sitting on my butt, having Pete sit with me. He had let go of my hair and pulled his knees up; "You alright, Angel?"

I nodded, "Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. Sorry."

"Don't be," he said, resting his arms on his knees.

"I feel like a broken record, ya'know? Like...like I can't stop dwelling on John, and I can't stop crying and having someone take care of me," I sniffed and wiped my mouth on the sleeve of my pullover. "I feel broken and hopeless."

"You know you're not, right?" Pete murmured; I could feel his eyes on me. "You're important, just like everyone else. You're the sun and the moon to your baby, Angel."

I sniffled again, "I know. I just can't stop thinking about how dead I feel inside."

Pete scooted closer to me, "I felt that way too...music helped me through it."

"You've got the perfect life, why--how could you of all people ever feel dead inside?"

"I wanted to kill myself," he began, "I'm bi-polar, I take medication. I stopped last year because I thought I could go through everything without them, and then I...I had a breakdown and swallowed a bunch of pills."

"When?" I asked, rubbing the tears from my eyes.

"Right before we met," he said, "and since I was being the biggest drama queen, I had to buck up and go through life."

My head tilted as I looked at him, "How come you never told me?"

"I'm ashamed," he swallowed, "I'm still ashamed that I let myself get to that dark place, Angel. It wasn't pretty, I was so out of my fucking mind...I just wanted the noise to stop. It wasn't the first time I tried to kill myself either...I thought, third times the charm."

I wanted to ask about the other times, but I decided not to. Instead, I scooted closer to him and wrapped my arms around his middle. He exhaled, his arms wrapping around me.

"I'm grateful for you, Pete Wentz."

He chuckled, "Ditto, Angelus."