City of Delusion

I had always noticed him.

Those glances he gave me when he thought no one was looking. Those long, thoughtful glances, ones that revealed exactly what he was thinking. He wanted to be near me, in more than a friendly way, yet knew that as Paul's friend, and mentor in a way, he couldn't.

Yet he didn't resist when I invited him over for dinner during one of Paul's random "business trips."

The phony story about being lonely, the "accidental" brushes against his arms, his legs, any inch of his body I could bump against, we both knew what they were leading up to.

Any idiot could have seen through my lie. I loved being alone. It gave me time to think and an excuse to keep away from everyone. He and Sarah were the only two people I still talked to, aside from Paul, who didn't truly count anyway. Talking to Paul was like talking to a tree. It was living, but did absolutely nothing to show it cared. Along with being lonely, I hated contact with other people. I would stay inside our home, staying where I believed it was safe, not realizing this was my circle of hell, my death sentence.

That night, neither of us could have known exactly how much this one act would change our lives.

During dinner, there had been wine. Lots and lots of wine. Afterwards, the lustful, hormonal passions took hold and we couldn't keep our hands off each other. He made love to me, making me feel more special, more beautiful, more loved than Paul ever could. The breakdown of my "perfect" life began when we both lay panting next to each other, drenched in sweat. He looked over at me and smiled, wrapping his arm around my waist.

"I love you, Honestly, I do."

I flinched a bit, tears welling in my eyes. I remembered Paul and how he treated me, my flinch a result of that treatment. I wasn't used to being appreciated. Paul had stripped me of all romantic emotions. Then I remembered Patrick. How much he had loved me, how much hurt I had caused him. The thought made me break down in tears. I turned away from my latest mistake, knocking his arm off of me so that I could sit up. I began letting the tears fall, at the same time trying to stop them so that no questions would be asked.

Unfortunately, that was the first thing he did.

"What's wrong?"

He came around to face me. When I didn't reply, he turned on the light. It was the worst thing he could have done. Immediately, I grabbed the blanket and tried to cover up my body, but failed. He noticed the scars, the cuts, the bruises that lined my arms and legs like a bad wallpaper pattern, the traces of abuse that I covered up with long clothing and a fake smile. It took a few more minutes of coaxing to get me to tell him everything. When everything was said and done, he understood.

That was when John decided I didn't deserve to suffer with Paul anymore.

When I woke that morning, I half-expected to find myself back at Hell House with Paul, waking to find that everything had been a dream. I was so relieved to instead find myself awake next to Patrick, who was still sleeping soundly. I kissed him softly, bringing a slight smile onto his lips.

"Good morning, sleepy head."

"I'm not ready to get up…" He groaned. I kissed him again. "Okay, maybe I am."

He sat up and pressed his lips to mine. I giggled, flipping him onto his back and straddling him.

"Is it too early for this?" I asked, my face lingering just inches from his.

"Never."

His cell phone found that moment was the perfect time to ring. He groaned, rolling over on top of me to grab it. I tried to bite back the giggles as he tickled me. He smiled, staring at the screen of his phone, then sighed and flipped it open.

"Yeah, Pete?"

Pete's muffled voice cheerily greeted from the other end. Patrick nodded his head a few times, and kept mumbling, "Yeah, sure, whatever."

Five minutes later, Patrick ended the conversation with a swift "See you then, bye," and threw his phone on the nightstand.

"What did Pete want?"

"He wants to record. Right now." He sighed and climbed off the bed, stumbling towards his closet.

"Drunk much?"

"No, I tripped over your stupid box."

I laughed and jumped off the bed, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him on the cheek.

"I love you, Patrick."

"I love you too, Joanna."

He turned around to kiss me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I left mine where they were, bringing him in closer to me. His phone interrupted once again.

"Dammit, can't I have some privacy?" He groaned, letting me go and walking over to pick up the phone. I smiled at his annoyance and waltzed over to a box that had almost killed Patrick earlier. Its contents were some of my clothes from before the "incident," as Patrick and I had started calling it. I still couldn't explain my mindset during that time, but I did know that depression had had something to do with it. After all, I had just gone through some traumatic experiences. It was only natural to be depressed. When I had shared these thoughts with Patrick the night before, he mentioned that I sounded like my old self, which I took to mean that soon I would know exactly what had happened.

Patrick hung up the phone and turned to me. I stopped picking through the clothes and looked up at him.

"Pete again?"

"Yeah, this time telling me that we better hurry up and get over there, since he doesn't approve of us having sex yet. He said we've only been back together for a few days and that it's 'not proper.'"

"Says the guy who used to date girls rapid-fire before he settled down," I commented, grabbing some jeans and a Fall Out Boy tour shirt.

"Hey, look! It's you!" I squealed in mock surprise, pointing at the picture on my shirt. He shot me a questioning look and I giggled.

"Never mind… joke lost in translation…" I smiled, pecking him on the lips before running to the bathroom to change. I was still wary to change in front of Patrick, since I knew that some of the bruises and scars still lined my body. I didn't want him to find out the truth and make everything more complicated than it already was.

"I'm ready!" I walked out of the bathroom, pulling on one of Patrick's hoodies. There was no reply. I walked into the bedroom, giggling when Patrick's arms enveloped me again.

"Shall we go?"

"Let us go."

***

At the recording studio, which was located in a very busy area of Chicago, Patrick and I met up with Pete, Andy and Joe. Pete and Andy greeted me with hugs and "good morning's." Joe, who hadn't "seen me in forever and a day," hugged me for a very long time before mentioning that he missed my burritos. To which Patrick mentioned that he'd had one, which made Joe make me promise that I would make him one soon and bring it to him. To which I just nodded in confusion and stepped back to let them go about their business.

I sat down in the small lobby area outside of the production room and studio that Fall Out Boy was using. After a few minutes of mindless flipping through an old issue of Cosmo, Patrick came out and smiled at me.

"Done already?" I teased, placing the magazine back onto the table. He laughed, "I wish... that way we could get out of here and spend some time alone."

"Hell no! She's making me a burrito when she gets home! I'm following you home Pat!" Joe yelled out, his face appearing in the tiny window that separated the rooms. We laughed at how Joe pressed his face onto the glass in an attempt to glare at Patrick, which failed miserably. Patrick turned to me and smiled again.

"What are you going to do while we argue and do close to nothing even though we should be doing something?"

"Uh, well, when you put it that way, maybe I'll explore a bit. I'll be back in a while."

"Okay, we'll be here," Patrick kissed me and smiled as he did, mostly because I had seen Pete and Joe coming in to drag Patrick into the studio. They each grabbed an arm, mumbling something about how their singer wasn't doing his job and maybe they should get a new one. Patrick looked at me helplessly as he went, to which I laughed and blew him a kiss before leaving.