Busted Lips and Lust-Bruised Hips

The night air was filled with a piercing cold that caused Pete to gasp air into his lungs rather than breath it. He slapped his hands together in an attempt to reignite the feeling in his numbed fingers and scoured the scene attempting to seek comfort in the night. The breeze was as deadening as novocaine and his body was beginning to feel it. The balcony to his hotel room only provided a partial view of the city, one crammed with neon lights and darkened, concrete towers. He slumped against the railing built between him and the fifty feet to the ground and tumbled into thought. Lost within the confines of his mind, he didn't hear the footsteps creaking across the floor of his hotel room but he never flinched as Joe stepped beside him. Instead, he smiled in private amusement as Joe gratefully nested a cigarette between his lips. "I thought you quit." Pete said, his eyes never wavering from the miles of city in front of him.

"I did," Joe answered calmly as he lit the cigarette and reveled in the first inhalation. "For a week. It's a record."

Laughing lightly, Pete settled with more confidence against the railing and looked sideways at Joe who was tentatively savoring the nicotine entering his system. "Is that the only reason you came in here?" he asked with a grin.

"Of course not!" Joe protested. Through a release of smoke, he noted Pete's amused and knowing expression. "Patrick wouldn't let me smoke in his room." he admitted finally, causing Pete to laugh.

In companionable silence, the two musicians watched the city buzz and slip into sleep, their vision occasionally obscured by the smoke Joe cast out into the air. Occasional buzzes and hums provided the background music as a few rebellious souls of the city protests against so early a bedtime. It was a revolt that Pete watched with a serene smile falling upon his face, despite the knots in his mind. He drooped his head to rest it on the arm that he had draped across the railing, trying to delve deeper into the moment.

"It's the secret shows next." Joe stated, taking a final, deep drag of his cigarette.

"Should be fun." Pete answered, slowly stepping back.

"I wonder how many kids will figure it out," Joe thought aloud, leaning with conviction against the railing. "Wouldn't it be funny if no one did?"

With a slight laugh, Pete nodded. "Yeah. Yeah it would," he replied. "We could still play though. For the road crew."

Grinning at the thought, Joe shook his head. "That would definitely be an experience."

"Mmm hmm." Pete murmured as his mind drained away once again.

Joe watched the bassist carefully as each thought etched on his mind drifted across his face. As the frown furrowed further into Pete's expression, he gently tapped his foot with one of his own. "You ok?"

Blinking rapidly to erase his previous thoughts, Pete smiled weakly. "Yeah." he replied quietly. Looking across at Joe's disbelieving expression, he scratched nervously at the back of his neck. "Just tired," he admitted. "Kind of looking forward to going home. I mean, don't get me wrong, I love doing this and I love doing the shows but..."

"You just need some down time," Joe finished with an understanding nod. "I know what you mean. It'll be good to be able to sleep in my own bed for once. You can only take so much of hotels."

"And traveling." Pete added, his eyes wandering back to the emptying city streets before him once again. There was something about the stability and freedom blatant in it that he craved for himself and yet knew that he wouldn't achieve for a while. Not while the publicity for Fall Out Boy was at its peak and the record company was clamoring for even more. It wasn't just the liberation from the limelight he craved, it was the opportunity to form solutions to all of the problems mounting up in his life. The more he was away, the more they grew and the more he felt he couldn't deal with them.

As if hearing his thoughts, Joe stepped closer to Pete's side, resting his arms on the railing to dangle his hands over the street. "You know who's going to be there when you get home, don't you?" he asked quietly, slightly afraid to bring the subject up.

"I know." Pete replied, his voice heavy with a sigh.

"Do you think you can handle seeing her again?" Joe asked cautiously.

At the suggestion, Pete's eyes clouded over with reminiscing; the burning of her eyes as they shone with blatant intentions, the ringing sensations as her lips claimed his and the shiver-inducing feel of her skin tracing against his. Clamping his eyes shut to prevent the memories deepening, he shook his head. "I don't know," he admitted weakly. "I don't know."

"You'll be fine, dude," Joe reassured, placing a steady hand on Pete's shoulder. "Trust me. You won't even notice she's around."

"I hope so." Pete mumbled, turning away from the city scene with a tragic sigh. Letting his honesty slide to the surface, he shook his head. "I don't know what I'll do if I see her. Probably crawl back to her knowing me."

"No, you won't," Joe answered with violent conviction. "I won't let you."

Pete glanced across at Joe with loving sympathy. He'd love to agree with him, to believe that things were going to be as simple as mending a broken heart with a passing thought and a smile, but his heart understood the truth too well. He had been attempting to use that method to purge himself of her memory but, after two years of a relationship flickering between romance and destruction, he'd learnt that emotions were determined to rid themselves. And to take their time in doing it.

Pete couldn't really see in the mediocre glow emitted by the lamp beside his bed, but he was too tired to turn on the main light. He consoled himself by knowing that he could see the case on his bed and that was enough. When he couldn't see shadows in the wardrobe anymore, he'd know that he'd packed all of his clothes. The clock on his bedside table counted the minutes to daylight in unearthly, green flashes. Five a. M: too early to be awake but he'd played the insomniac for so long that he couldn't argue against it anymore.

The world beyond Pete's mind was silent and curled in against itself so it was no surprise that he jumped when there was a gentle knock on his door. Crossing the room, he absorbed a few steadying gulps of air but paranoia still insisted that he check the eyepiece before he permitted the outside world into his private space. Viewing Mickey hesitating outside the door, Pete frowned slightly. He unlatched the door despite the questions resounding in his mind. Inching the door open, he greeted Mickey with a smile. "Hey," he said as he stepped aside to let Mickey into the room. "What are you doing here?"

"Thought I'd keep the insomniac company," Mickey explained, walking into the room and surveying the gatherings of clothes on the bed. "You're packing early."

"Well, I thought I'd get a head start, you know," Pete answered, re-latching his door. "Won't have so much to worry about in the morning."

"By the looks of it you won't have anything to worry about." Mickey told him, unraveling a few shirts from a clump and folding them neatly into Pete's suitcase.

Smiling slightly, Pete sat on the edge of his bedside table and watched in vague amusement as Mickey continued to pack his case for him. "There was no need to get all this done so early." Mickey told Pete, turning to face him.

"I know," Pete replied with a slight nod. "Just thought I'd give myself something to do."

"Keep your mind off her?" Mickey suggested, settling back against Pete's bed. "I know she's been on your mind, Pete. You've been distant and untouchable for weeks."

"Sorry." Pete mumbled, his head beginning to droop.

"Don't be," Mickey soothed. "Just talk to us. Any of us. We're here for you."

Raising his eyes, Pete noted the sincerity in Mickey's expression and smiled in gratitude. "Thanks." he said.

"No problem, man," Mickey answered, nudging Pete's shoulder gently. "Just let us in, man. And maybe we can kick her out."

"How you feeling today?"

Pete turned as he was sliding his bag into the van to see Patrick behind him, smiling warmly. A pre-planned answer rested on his lips as he pushed his bag further into the van, but Patrick's genuinely concerned expression riddled him with guilt and prompted him back to the conversation he'd shared with Mickey that morning. Stepping aside to allow Patrick to put his bag in the van, he released the caged sigh he'd been suppressing for days. "I'm managing," he told him. "I just can't stop thinking about it, you know?"

Facing Pete, Patrick frowned at the subtle confession. "About what?" he asked, moving aside for privacy.

"Her, us, the relationship," Pete answered, sinking to sit on the edge of the curb. "I think that's why I keep going back. I fuck up so often that I want to erase it all and give her something good to remember. Something not to hate myself for. The only problem is I fuck up even more next time around."

"Ever think you're not destined to be?" Patrick asked, squatting by the bassist.

"Every time things go sour," Pete admitted. "But I still go back hoping this time will be the right time, that it will all work out."

"But it doesn't," Patrick pressed. "And you can't keep punishing yourself for it. You need to move on. This whole thing is killing every good thing about you. You're gonna have nothing left to give soon."

"I have nothing left." Pete answered solemnly.

"Then stop trying. It's over. Forget it." Patrick watched Pete press his lips together and straighten his hat to mask the internal frustration raging inside him with deepening sympathy. Placing a hand on Pete's arm, he attempted to soothe away the twines of emotion in Pete's mind. "We'll be here for you. To help you through it and to laugh with you after it. You don't have to go through this alone."

"But that's the problem," Pete argued desperately. "I am alone. I always have been."

"Not with us around, Pete." Patricked inforced with determination. Leaning closer until he brushed against Pete's arm, Patrick slipped into a seriousness Pete never knew he owned. "Can you really see yourself going through this one more time?" he asked.

"Yeah." Pete answered, his hand creeping over his face at the ashamed truth.

"But can you see yourself surviving this round?"

Shaking his head, Pete drew his knees closer to his body. "No." he confessed.

"Then you know what you need to do." Patrick told Pete as he stood up slowly. Sparing the bassist a reassuring smile, he clambered into the van, leaving him in the gutter with his thoughts and endeavors. Scrunched in on his conflicting thoughts, Pete lost all grasp on time and purpose. His mind was in over-drive, chasing after his emotions but never catching up to strike a compromise. Losing all hope, Pete felt a small tap to the base of his spine.

"Ready to move on?" Mickey asked, slinging his bag into the van.

Pete smiled at the irony to himself. Double meanings and dual definitions. They both had the same answer.