Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

Amaya's parting words still echoed in Pete's ears as he twisted the ignition off. His hands found their own way back to the steering wheel and he pressed his palms against it until he was sure they were indented with the pattern. There was a knot of guilt in his stomach as he thought about the fate he had sent Amaya back to, which mingled with a helplessness when he considered his inability to protect her. He tried to console himself by repeating that he had done all he could have to persuade her to stay and that he couldn't force her into a fate she was unwilling to accept. It was unfair. Almost as unfair as what she was already going through. A sudden vision of fists and whimpers caused him to clutch at the wheel even tighter, almost as if his hands were willing him to drive to New York to rescue her. Quenching his hopeless urge, he pulled the keys from the ignition and balled his fist around them with determination before he could reconsider his actions. He slumped in defeat against his seat as he flicked his eyes up towards his house with the lights frosting the windows with welcomes. There was nothing in him that could restrain the sigh that dyed his lips as he wondered how it was fair that some people just got lucky while others drew short, frayed straws and spent the rest of their lives trying to knit them together again.

It took Pete a few moments to reluctantly reel his eyes from the house and consider leaving his car. By that time, the windows had been ghosted over with his weighted breaths and he could read each gasp of paranoia in the clouds. His hand slowly moved towards the car door, suddenly insecure of the world outside the vehicle and the possible threats that lay waiting like vipers on the driveway. Gradually opening the door, he allowed the air outside to chill him into logic before stepping out and approaching his house. His trek was slow and methodical, almost as if he savoured every step of freedom that he had. Pausing outside the house, he composed a smile before raising his key to the lock and, as the metal connected, his eyes wandered without restraint to the sky as if he would see the plane carrying Amaya back to her destiny.

Amaya hauled the curtain across the plane window, her head giddy enough without seeing the uncountable miles between her and solid land. She had kept it open probably longer than her fear of heights would have let her. She had fooled herself into thinking that she could still see Pete stood at the window of the terminal watching her, believing that he had a solution in his palm as small as a guitar pick. The truth was, she didn't need an open curtain to see the mix of expectation and disappoint that tinged his ebony eyes. The picture was emblazoned perfectly just beyond her eyelids with every shadow falling at the right angle to heighten the tragedy. She knew there were a gathering of chances in every plea he offered. Possible opportunities that she could, and should, accept - but wouldn't and she couldn't explain it to him.

As she chewed on her lip, Amaya bit down on the last words she had spoken to Pete and they tingled, spoken and useless. She hadn't meant them to be said but the hopeless heroic in his expression prompted them to life. She could only imagine the repercussions their ten-second life would cause. It wasn't that they weren't spoken in sincerity. She just knew that friendly affection was shown more subtly than hers had been. Something along the lines of midnight phone conversations and outstretched arms that never tired. Still, there was a faint smile at the memory despite her fears.

Resting her head against the window, Amaya thought back to her weekend with Pete, wondering what he'd be doing now that it was over. Her smile gradually diminished as she realised that he'd probably be with Jeanae. She gave a slight sigh as she thought how lucky Jeanae actually was to have won Pete's affections. It was something that made her clutch onto the arm rests to combat her jealousy - not one that craved the bassist for herself, only the passion that the two seemed to share. That depth of affection was something she believed she was never destined to have. It was only for maids with fairy Godmothers, princesses in ball gowns and girls like Jeanae that were picked from random by fate. It definately wasn't meant for a diner waitress with more bruises than hope.

Amaya's head lounged against the back of her chair with the weight of her thoughts. She smiled at the irony of the plane flight when her life was just as much up in the air as she was at the moment. She was sure that if she drew back the curtains she'd see her life written on the clouds like a diary. Settling the rest of her body against her seat, Amaya shook her thoughts free to calm herself. She saw no point in dwelling on what had happened, only in adjusting to what was going to. Taking a deep breath, she stretched out as much as she could, glancing around the plane at her fellow passengers. These were the last, few, precious moments she had left to herself before reality kicked in with the friction between rubber and tarmac. She was determined that she was going to make the most of it while she could.

"Stop looking at me like that," Pete mumbled, covering his eyes with his arm as he lay sprawled across the floor, "I'm not giving in." The unmistakeable weight of a paw on his chest caused his arm to fall from his face, his hand tracing across Hemingway's thin layer of fur. After a five second staring match, Pete's determination slid into an affectionate smile that was reflected in Hemingway's pleading eyes. "Cheater," he said as his fingertips ruffled the dog's fur. As Hemingway made himself comfortable beside the bassist, Pete rested his head back against the carpet, glancing up at the ceiling for some sign of reassurance. "I'm worried about her, Hemmy," he said, "I know it's her choice and she doesn't want help - but I can't help thinking there's something I can do. I know she won't let me because she's scared. I don't even want to think about what he's doing right now, how many bruises she has to hide..." Pete raised himself up from the floor in an epiphany, causing Hemingway to raise enquiring eyes at his owner. "I should phone her. Just to make sure. What do you reckon?" Pete glanced down at Hemingway for an answer, receiving a lowered head instead. "I'll take that as a sign of submission," Pete told him, skating his hand over Hemingway's head. Standing a little unsteadily, Pete wandered over to the sofa where he'd dropped his coat in his previous melancholy mood. Drawing his phone out of his pocket, he wasted no time in dialling Amaya's number, holding his breath impatiently with every ring that echoed in his ear.

"Pete?" Amaya's voice came sudden and surprised.

"Amaya," Pete replied as he attempted to quench his relief, "I just thought I'd phone and see you got back safe."

"Liar," Amaya said, a smile in her tone, "I sent you a text earlier to let you know that."

"Oh...yeah," Pete mumbled, frowing slightly, "Guess I'm not that good a liar then."

"No," Amaya agreed, "You're a bit too forgetful to be."

Pete pressed his lips together in an attempt to form a smile before scraping his hand through his hair. "So...how are things?"

"They're ok," Amaya replied, her tone genuine and relieved, "He's not home yet. So I'm safe for now."

Closing his eyes, Pete shook his head at her final sentence. "Why didn't you stay?" he asked in quiet desperation.

"Because I couldn't, Pete," Amaya answered, her voice brittle through the phone, "You know that."

"I know. It's just..."

"I know what it just is, Pete, and I've told you. You're no Archilles, you're Pete Wentz," Amaya told him, "Your weakness is a soft heart not an exposed ankle."

Pete sighed. "I can't help thinking I got the worst one."

"Well, it hasn't killed you yet," Amaya told him, "Be hopeful for once. I know your media image doesn't allow it but, hey, break a few boundaries before it's too late."

Sinking back to the floor, Pete smiled slightly at Amaya's words. "How do you do that?" he asked, tucking his legs into his chest.

"Do what?" Amaya questioned.

"Stay so optimistic. After everything you're going through, you still sound like hope in human form."

"Habit, I guess. I've been smiling too long to remember how to frown."

"Maybe we can trade," Pete suggested, his hand stretching out as Hemingway joined him against one of the chairs, "I can teach you how to be miserable."

"That sounds like a really bad lyric," Amaya teased with a soft laugh.

"Or a really shitty chat-up line," Pete added.

"Are you saying you're trying to chat me up, Wentz?" Amaya asked, her grin almost deafening through the reciever.

"All depends if you'll accept me or not," Pete replied, "I'm not gonna expose my heart to be turned down."

Amaya laughed. "How could anyone turn you down, sugar?"

"Pretty easily apparantely," Pete replied.

"Fools," Amaya almost whispered. Through the silence, she could hear Pete smile and offered a small one in relief. "Pete?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't worry about me."

"Too late for that," Pete confessed.

Amaya sighed at his inevitable answer, pausing the conversation long enough for her to switch the phone to her other ear. "I have to go, Pete," she told the bassist, "He could come home at any time."

"Amaya..." Pete started, almost in warning.

"Don't worry," Amaya assured him, "I've got Superman on speed dial."

"Just...promise me you won't leave it too long before you let me know everything's ok," Pete said.

"I promise," Amaya pledged, "'Bye, Pete."

"'Bye." Pete echoed, waiting until the dial tone reverberated in his ear before hanging up. Slowly placing his phone on the floor, he glanced down at a dozing Hemingway beside him with a anemic smile lighting on his lips. "She's fine," he mumbled to the silent room, "She's gonna be fine."

Pete had returned to sprawling across the carpet when Jeanae arrived, Hemingway tucked beside him like his shadow. She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip and an amused smile decorating her lips as she contemplaed where the man ended and the dog began. "You know, I don't think I like the new decor," she started, stepping into the room, "I'm pretty sure they said bassist rugs were out this season."

Pete's eyes flickered open at Jeanae's voice and a grin grew across his expression. "Just so you know, this isn't an invitation for you to walk all over me," he told her.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jeanae assured him as she walked over. Bending down, she placed a soft kiss to his forehead before kneeling beside him. Running her hand over Hemingway who made a disagreeable noise in return, she smirked. "Now, are you two sprawled out because you're lazy or because you're tired after a guy's night in?"

"Definately a guy's night in," Pete replied, "Hemingway passed out after the third bowl of water."

With a laugh, Jeanae traced her eyes across Pete before laying down beside him. Draping one arm delicately over his waist, she nestled her head into his neck, taking in his scent before pulling away slightly. "You left early this morning," she told him, "You didn't even wait for sunrise."

"I had to go take Amaya back to the airport," Pete explained, his arm winding around Jeanae protectively.

"She get back ok?" Jeanae asked.

Pete bit his lip at the innocent question, swallowing every response that rose in his throat. As his fingers coasted along her spine, he couldn't help contrast Jeanae's naivety to the void in Amaya where hers should have been. A sort of injustice wedged itself in his mind and it took him a while to suppress it before he could reply. "Yeah," he said finally, "Yeah, she did."

Raising her head from Pete's shoulder, Jeanae glanced at the bassist, her eyes dangerously penetrating as she watched him. "Are you ok?"

Feigning confusion, Pete looked back at Jeanae with what he hoped was an equal amount of intensity. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"I'm milimetres away from you, Pete," Jeanae told him, "I can hear you swallow back every sentence you don't want me to hear."

Pete smiled guiltily at Jeanae's explanation, his hand skidding to a rest at her waist as he contemplated an answer. "Sorry," he apologised, almost as if he was bidding more time to create a valid response, "It's just...I don't know."

"Nothing's happened, has it?" Jeanae asked, her concern flashing like headlights in her eyes.

"No," Pete assured, his arm tightening around Jeanae, "I just..learnt something new about Amaya this weekend that I'm not sure I wanted to know. I mean, I wanted to know but...it's just not pleasant."

Jeanae's expression was the picture of understanding as she tilted her head. "You want to play super hero again, don't you?"

"I wish I could. I'm hardly super hero material," Pete replied, his head colliding with the carpet in defeat.

"You don't have to be a super hero to be appreciated," Jeanae soothed, her hand tracing reassuring circles across Pete's shirt, "Look at all those kids who look up to you. You mean more than you allow yourself to admit." Resting her lips against Pete's cheek, Jeanae paused long enough to hear his breath ease back into a regular rhythm before drawing back once more. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know if I can," Pete started. Looking at Jeanae's poorly-surpressed surprise, he nestled his spare hand against her cheek. "It's not that I want to keep secrets from you..."

"It's just that you don't want to share hers," Jeanae finished with a slight nod, "I can understand."

"Even if you don't like it," Pete added.

Jeanae smiled slightly. "Am I that easy to read?" she asked the bassist, shifting closer against him as he nodded, "Damn," she cursed silently, "And there's me trying to hide it."

As Jeanae slotted her head against Pete's shoulder again, he placed a lingering kiss to the top of her head almost apologetically. He could feel her smile against his skin but knew that her mind was probably a turmoiled mass of arguments and contradictions at his reluctance and that wedge of guilt in his stomach meant for Amaya stretched out to her as well. He knew that Amaya had never outwardly told him her confession was meant as a secret, but he also knew that ones with that much hurt and depth to them were hardly told on demand. As he pulled Jeanae closer, he hoped that somehow her understanding would over-ride that sliver of jealousy bound to be building inside her. Raising his eyes, he allowed them to rest on a patch on the ceiling and thought back to the weekend spent with Amaya, playing truth or dare and analysing the smoke stains decorating the hotel room. It was all he could do to stop the sigh that threatened to tumble from his lips, knowing that Jeanae would read the true meaning in it. With a bitten lip, he closed his eyes and, although he wasn't the most religious person, he offered a mental prayer that Amaya would be all right - if only for that one night.