Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

He always loved playing the insomniac for no reason. While shadows were thrown against the wall in a splash of gothic creativity, he scrunched into himself and fell against his thoughts. He'd grown so used to the routine that he found it harder to slip into dreams despite the tense agenda he followed with dedication every day. It was the way he'd written himself. And you can't alter a person without a struggle.

Moonlight gathered at his feet, luminous loose ends that swam around his ankles. The only company he had for that night. And, in their flickering reflection, he could read the reasons why they were; he was a self-proclaimed fuck-up, the master of mistakes, breaker of heart-bound promises. Regardless of how hard he tried, he could never hit the perfect mark. And it cut him to the bone.

A scatter of photographs trickled towards his feet, edging towards his attention as his eyes drifted across the room. His hand reached for the closest one to him on its own initiative. A captivating smile drew his gaze to the frame. It was a smile he'd become addicted to, a smile that was hard to erase from his mind. A bundle of memories he kept reliving because he didn't have the strength to rid himself of them.

"I should have burnt you while I had the chance." he spat at the picture. Hurling it to the floor, he rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. Behind sealed screens was the only time that he could ever truly be himself. In front of the flashes and calls of the paparazzi, it was mask smiles and artificial happiness, promotions and scripted personalities. Never let the grin slid from your face or your sales may follow.

The reverberating ring of his mobile shocked him into reality. It never stopped dragging him from the quiet he craved regardless of the time. It always surprised him that there was an eternal queue of executive suits that wanted to speak to him, demands on free slots in his padded schedule, queries about a new product line. Sometimes he wished he could just throw the reigns away and let some naïve aspirer take control. But he was too used to repetitions to rebel now.

"Hello?" he sighed into the telephone.

"Pete?" a voice questioned. "Thank God I got hold of you. I was getting worried."

"Hey, Patrick." Pete answered in a tired tone.

"How are you doing?" Patrick asked, his voice rich with worry.

"I'm ok, man. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I mean, you didn't sound all that good when I saw you... you didn't look all that good."

Scraping his hand down his face, Pete attempted to convince himself it was concern that prompted Patrick's phone call and concern was no reason to hang up. Even if he didn't want to talk. "I'm all right. I'm managing." Pete confessed gently.

"Do you need someone to stay with you? You don't have to go through this by yourself."

"No. No, I... I'll be fine." Sighing, Pete closed his eyes from the guilt flashing before his eyes. "It's my own fault anyway."

"No, it isn't," Patrick reassured, his tone soothing to Pete's knotted mind. "I mean, she's as much to blame. She never played the ideal girlfriend."

"But I could have tried harder. I could have done something... " Pete pressed. I could have saved us, his mind added.

"Pete, don't put it all on yourself. Listen to me, it's not your fault." There was a pause as Patrick switched the phone to his other ear, a pause that allowed his words to whirl in Pete's mind, seeking a resting-place. "Do you want me to stay with you for a bit?"

"No," Pete replied quickly. "Don't get me wrong, Patrick. It's just... I wanna be alone for a bit. Throw my thoughts together. Sort things out."

"It's ok. I understand. Just... call me if you need anything."

A ghost of a smile rested on Pete's lips. "I will. Thanks."

"And you'll be fine."

"I hope so."

A hollow echo of footsteps rung against the pavement. The claustrophobic loneliness of the apartment and the memories throbbing inside it had begun grating against Pete's mood. He traded its boxed-in reminiscings for the open city streets with their inviting neon lights and humming traffic. His eyes vaguely took in the urban scenery; the closed stores, the homeless begging for the remaining coins of a stranger's change, the crowds of teenagers finding escape on street corners. And he kept walking deeper into the city until the night air began to penetrate his hoodie and he craved the warmth he'd left behind.

Stopping in his wandering, Pete rolled his eyes across the scene in an attempt to find a warm sanctum. His gaze stopped on a small café wedged between two competing shops and a sliver of a smile coated his face in relief. Approaching the café, he raised his eyes to the sign: "Hobos". A name he could relate to himself at that moment.

A bell rung as Pete pushed the door open, alerting his presence to the scattering of workers that glided around the café. Immune to its persistent clanging, they continued with their allocated jobs, never glancing up to view the identity of their latest customer. Pete sighed gently to himself. Invisible. Just the way he hated it.

Pete spun the straw around in his drink, twisting the liquid around in representation of his thoughts. Releasing the grasp he had on the straw, he watched as it spun helplessly around the glass before settling with relief against the edge. He repeated his bored game a few times before leaning against his chair. His head bowed he let his attention float within his thoughts, pulling at loose ends trying to loosen them. Despite his best efforts, the knots only got tighter and the tension in his head clouded into a headache.

"Pete?" a voice pried into his silence. "Pete Wentz?"

Raising his head, Pete glanced up at a nervously grinning girl, a napkin folded in her hand. Boldly revealing her Clandestine shirt, she stepped forward slightly. Forcing a smile onto his face, Pete nodded slightly at the girl. "Hey."

"Can I have an autograph?" the girl asked, her eyes settling on the table with nerves.

"Sure," Pete replied, gently coaxing the napkin from the girl's clutch. "What's your name?"

"Tanya." the girl replied, suddenly animated by the contact. Her eyes took in Pete's scrawled message with glowing ecstasy. "I swear, I'm your biggest fan. Ever," she burst. "I know you probably hear that a lot but I am." She pressed her lips together as she took her re-formed napkin from Pete. Not wanting to end the moment just yet, she slowly worked her eyes up to meet Pete's. "So what you doing around here?" she quizzed, her tone buzzing with excitement despite her efforts to remain placid.

"Just relaxing." Pete replied tonelessly, deadening the lie with a slight smile.

"Winding down after the tour, huh?" Tanya asked.

"Yeah, something like that."

"That was one awesome tour," Tanya beamed, her eyes lighting with memories. "I went to a show last month. You guys just rocked."

A genuine smile lifted Pete's sullen mood. "Thanks," he answered. "It was just as much fun to play."

Tanya grinned. "So I guess it'll be a new album next."

"Yeah," Pete nodded. "We've already started working on a few new songs. A few surprises thrown in."

"Can't wait." Tanya glanced briefly over her shoulder at the emptying café. A solitary male stood at the door, waiting impatiently for her, beating an annoyed rhythm on the tiled floor. "Anyway, I'd better go," Tanya sighed, turning back to Pete. "My dad doesn't look too happy."

Pete smiled gently. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Tanya. Maybe I'll see you at a show sometime."

Tanya beamed at the possibility. "Hopefully." She took one faltering step towards her father before turning back to Pete once again. "Good luck with the album."

"Thank you." Pete responded, watching as Tanya approached her father with a dismissive shrug. Feeling a gaze resting upon her, she glanced over her shoulder, catching Pete's final smile before she left.

"Love struck fans, hey?" a voice questioned.

Pete twisted in his seat to see a waitress clearing the table beside his. "Yeah," he smiled fondly, glancing back at the door. "I love them just as much. They make everything seem better." he mumbled to his drink. He glanced up again to view an empty space beside him, the table cleared and gleaming, its chairs upturned on it. A cue for leaving. Pete recognised these better than the previous sentimental rejection; a snapped-off comment, a coat hurled at him, a fleeting kiss tasting of goodbyes. The smile faded from his lips, his head drooped with his expression, a slideshow of his mistakes scrawled painfully in slow motion across his eyes and his hands climbed to his face in an attempt to prevent him from seeing anymore.

"Here you go, sweetheart."

Pete trailed his hands to the table to regain his vision again. The same waitress stood in front of his table with another glass in her hand. She placed it gently on the table with a careful smile. "What's this?" Pete asked, frowning slightly at the unexpected gift.

"Cherry coke." the waitress replied. Tilting her head to the side, she swept her gaze over Pete. "It's your chosen poison, isn't it?" she asked.

"Well... yeah." Pete answered, confusion keeping his hands folded around his first, if empty, glass.

"Well, there you go then." the waitress nodded, her face brightening as she smiled a little more confidently. "On the house." she added with a secretive wink.

"Um... thanks." Pete said as his hands slid from around his glass to rest uncertainly on the table.

"No problem, honey," the waitress smiled, leaning forward to take Pete's glass. "Between you and me, I could never stand to see a sad pair of brown eyes."

Me neither, thought Pete as he began disorientating the straw of this drink. That's why I smashed my reflection last night.