Illegally in Love

“’I wish I could remember the first day,
First hour, first moment of your meeting me;
If bright or dim in season, it might be summer or winter for aught I can say
So unrecoreded did it slip away,
So blind was I to see and to forsee
So dull to mark the budding of my tree
That would not blossom yet for many a may
If only I could recoollect it!
Such a day of days!
I let it come and go
As tactless as a thaw of by-gone snow.
It seemed to mean so little, ment so much!
If only now I could recall that touch
First touch of hand in hand!
-did one but know!’”

I sighed deeply and flopped on my bed on my back, my Shirt squishing up a bit. I stared at the ceiling. I turned my head a bit and looked at Andrew Hurley, the drummer for Patrick and Peter’s band. He smiled, “I like it.”

I returned the favor and rolled over onto my stomach, my head facing my poetry buddy. Me and Andy both have the same secret obsession with poetry and when we started talking about it together, we realized we have a lot in common, and we quickly became Best Buds.

I noticed his bushy brows were furrowed. “what’s on your mind, Bud?” I asked, poking the tip of his nose.

He looked at me after wrinkling his nose for a second, his hazel eyes piercing my honey ones, “Just trying to figure out who your muse was for that love poem....”

I tried my best to keep a straight face, and not make my ‘oh-crap-I-didn’t-think-about-that face as I shrugged. “No one, it was just, I don’t know, came to me, I guess.” I Sputtered.

His eyes narrowed. Damn! He knows I’m lying. Damn you Andy for knowing me so well! He opened his mouth to say something, most likley to bitch me out for lying, when he was interrupted by Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the fucking Third barging into my room.

I rocketed up from me bed, pissed. I glared at him, “Can you not read Rockstar-man? The door says ‘STAY OUT’! Not once but FIVE TIMES!” I bellowed at him.

He looked from me to Andy to me again, before glowering and grabbing my arm roughly and dragging me out of my room.

Once we got out into the hallway I ripped my arm from his grasp, “What the hell!” I hissed.

He glared at me, and bluntly growled accusingly, “Are you sleeping with him?!” he gestured to my bedroom door.

I gaped at him, before coming back to my senses and getting mad. I lashed out and kneed him in the family jewels. He doubled over in pain, groaning.

“I can’t believe that you would think that! Am I that much of a whore in your eyes?” Hell, I hadn’t even slept with Patrick. Doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it, but so have thousands of girls my age when it comes to Patrick.

Through his pained stupor, he was able to glare up at me from his position on the floor and moan out, “Like mother, like daughter.”

I snarled in rage and lunged at him. I felt strong arms hold me back, and a crooning in my ear, whispering in my ear sweet nothings. I relaxed a bit in Patrick’s arms. But the moment he loosened up, I lunged at Peter again. No I felt Andy’s arms wrap around me, trying to get me to stop as well. I saw that Ryan and Joe were helping Pete up while Ashlee appeared and started screaming at me like a banshee.

I kicked and screamed as Andy and Patrick pulled me down the hall. I screeched the entire way,” You stupid mother fucker! You know nothing about my mother! NOTHING! I hate you! And if you ever say anything about her again I’ll fucking kill you! You here me? I’ll kill you!”

Next thing I knew we were in the upstairs bathroom, Andy was slamming and locking the door, and Patrick was setting my down. I screamed frustration and balled my fist, putting it through a wall. I was happy my shoulder was almost all the way healed so my entire right arm wouldn’t be fucked up.

I sat down on the cold tile and glanced at my hand. I could see the bones in my knuckle and I was bleeding a lot. A hand handed me a towel and I wrapped it around my fist as the tears started falling down my dark face. Someone sat next to me and put their arms around me, pulling me into their chest. I inhaled and smelled Pumpkins and coffee.

Patrick.

I lifted my head, the tears flowing like a creek in a storm. His soft calloused hands rubbed my tears away. “Baby, baby, baby…..”

I sniffed. “he had no right to say that Patrick! No right.”

He nodded. I saw sadness but mostly anger in his eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so mad, but he was containing it well for my sake. “He Thinks I’m sleeping with Andy, Patrick! Andy!”

“W-what?! Where the hell did he get that idea?” Andy squeaked. I shrugged. He sighed and rubbed his face tiredly.

The tears were still flowing from my honey eyes when I felt Pat’s hand lift chin up so my eyes were level with his green-ish blue ones. He leaned down and kissed under my right eye, then my left, kissing away my tears. He then gave me Eskimo kisses but rubbing the tip of his nose against mine lovingly.

“So, Pat’s the one you wrote that poem about.”

I looked wide eyed at Andy, but I relaxed when I saw his expression was soft, not angry or disgusted. I smiled a bit and nodded, kissing Patrick gently on his lush lips.

When I pulled away he was smirking. I furrowed my brow in confusion.

He smiled, “You wrote a poem about me?”