City of Delusion

"Joanna?"

I turned to see a strange, yet familiar, face behind me.

"Do I know you?" I stared at him for a bit, prompting him to speak again.

"Yeah. We went to high school together. We were in band..."

"Oh..." I faked remembering, grabbed my coffee and walked past him into the chilly Los Angeles weather. He followed me.

"You don't remember, do you?"

"Does this really matter at the moment?"

"I'm Paul. Paul Morales..."

Realization hit me. "Oh, yeah, I remember now..." I began walking again, hoping he would get the hint this time.

He didn't.

"How have you been? I heard you moved to Chicago..."

I stopped in my tracks and sighed, trying my best not to break out in tears.It seemed to be my new hobby. Instead, I pursed my lips together turning to look him in the eyes.

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Oh... something bad happen?"

"Yes," I replied, continuing my losing battle against my emotions. He smiled weakly.

"I know how you feel. My fiancée was killed in a car accident two weeks ago."

I looked up at him slowly, wondering what sort of feeling would be creeping across his face.

Thinking he was pulling some sort of cruel joke, I was surprised when I was met with an emotionless blank stare, shoulders hunched over a bit in a defeated stance, the stature of a person who simply didn't care anymore. I wondered if that's how I looked.

He started walking away without another word. I sighed and watched him, watched the small careful steps he took, the steps of a man who didn't know where he was going and dreaded it. Without a second thought, I followed him, hoping there would be some way to console both him and myself.

"Hmmm... what's this?"

Upon arriving back at Patrick's house, both he and Pete had decided to dissect my luggage. They seemed to be having a bit too much fun poking around the dingy rags that were my clothes.

"Hey, look at this..." Pete held up a corset and matching thong. I stared at it in surprise.

"Where did that come from?"

"I don't know... you tell me..."

"Heh... someone planned to have a little bit of fun... where's the whip?"

"Hey, I did not pack that!"

"I'm not even going to ask…"

"There was like two good articles of clothing in here…"

"What? The thong?"

Another book flew towards Pete's head.

"I don't understand, why would I wear all of this ugly stuff?" I exclaimed, throwing what was in my lap back into the suitcase and standing up, hands in my hips. This prompted a look from Patrick and Pete at my current outfit. Apparently, a pair of Patrick's shorts and Pete's shirt were not going to cut it.

"I have no choice... don't start..."

"Whatever you say... Pat kept all your old clothes upstairs, in hopes that you would come back..."

Patrick glared at Pete, "I knew she was coming back..." Pete shrugged. I looked at Patrick, smiling weakly.

"Really?" I reached over to hug him. He returned the hug, and then looked at Pete, who shook his head.

"What?"

"You're totally ignoring the lonely guy..." He motioned to himself.

"Whatever, you have Ashlee at home," Patrick said, getting up and then helping me up. He grabbed Pete's keys off the floor and started upstairs. Pete began yelling something about not losing his keychain or all hell would break loose.

Patrick laughed, "What? You'll call your mommy?"

Pete jumped up and began chasing us up the stairs. Patrick grabbed my wrist mid-laugh, dragging me into the room that had been locked earlier. We were in total darkness, making Pete's banging on the door sound louder. I was on the floor, currently leaned against something that felt like bars; meanwhile Patrick was somewhere else entirely, laughing his ass off.

"Pat?"

"I'll turn on the lights..."

Light filled the room almost immediately. I sat in my spot, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness, surveying where I was. I wasn't the least bit surprised to see two cribs pushed against the walls, one of which I was leaning against. I looked up at Patrick, who had stood up and was now pacing back and forth, stopping to look out the window occasionally.

"Why so nervous, Pat?" I grinned. He looked so adorable, pacing back and forth, a nervous demeanor over him. He looked adorable all the time.

"I'm just wondering what you think of this... my holding on to everything that was here when you were... You probably think I'm weak."

"No, I don't think you're weak. Don't you dare think that. I'm glad you did. It'll help me figure out who I was and maybe why all this insanity is happening," I got up and smiled at him, taking his hand. He laced his fingers through mine and smirked a bit. I kissed him on the lips and he returned it just as passionately, wrapping his arms around my waist. I wrapped my arms around his neck, just as he began pulling away. He grinned at me, then looked towards the door.

"Pete's not pounding on the door anymore..."

"Figure it's safe to venture out of here?"

I quickly grabbed a few things out of the boxes and changed in the bathroom. When I was done, we walked out of the room and down to the living room, only to be greeted by Pete singing that lonely song by Akon. He had started a fire in the fireplace, using all my "Paul" clothes to feed it. Next to him were marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolate, all ready to be made into s'mores. He grinned at us.

"My mommy said you can't have any."

"Whatever Pete. Your mother loves me." Patrick grabbed some of the graham crackers and began munching on them. I smiled and took the keychain out of Patrick's hand, handing it to Pete.

"Why do you have the key to a door in Patrick's house?"

Pete looked up at Patrick, who made no indication of replying, "Because I was concerned for him. He locked everything up in that room, telling us that he would get rid of it eventually, but just started torturing himself by wandering in there every so often. He was convinced that if he did, you'd come back. Joe stole the key from Patrick and gave it to me. Andy has the other copy. We figured we had to help him somehow."

Patrick had disappeared by now, his footsteps echoing from the kitchen. Pete shot me a worried look.

"I guess he still doesn't want to admit how depressed and delusional he got when you left. I'm sure he's probably still trying to figure out if this is real or not."

I nodded and walked into the kitchen, where Patrick was leaning against the counter for support, a glass of something in one hand. He downed it when he heard the door open, turning to look at me. I shrugged, not knowing what to say. We stood there awkwardly, until he walked over to me and stroked my cheek. I looked him in the eyes, still unsure of what I could do.

"Are you sure this is real?" he asked, confirming Pete's suspicions.

"Yes," I replied, placing my hand over his, nodding my head. "Yes, it is. I won't ever leave you again. That is a promise I'm not willing to break. Ever."

He leaned his forehead against mine and sighed, "I'm glad."