7 Minutes in Heaven
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e i g h t e e n

"Where were you guys last night?" Joe asks me. I'm glad he chose to ask me instead of Pete, or I'd be screwed.

"I wasn't feeling well. Tried to get Pete to go without me, but he wouldn't budge," I explain. Joe just nods.

"My head hurts," He groans. I grab the bottle of Ibuprofen out of my pocket and toss it to him. "Lifesaver, Patrick Stump. You are a lifesaver,"

I roll my eyes but nod anyways. Lifesaver and liar.

"Where's Pete at?" Joe asks after he's taken two pills. I look around. There's a lot of people just lying around the random house. I don't even know whose house we're at.

"Lost among these people, probably," I say, looking around. Hey, there's Matt Mixon. And Alex Gaskarth. Is that Jack Barakat? "Andy?"

"Same," Joe lies back down beside Rian Dawson on the huge couch. Why didn't I notice anyone last night?

You were too busy lying to Pete about who was on the phone and what they wanted.

I think. Shit. If I want to keep up this act, I can't have a guilty conscience about it.

"What time do we roll outta here?" Joe asks me.

"Probably in a few hours. It's still dark outside, you know," I head back up the stairs, still looking at Joe. I hit something hard and almost fall back, but two arms wrap around me and catch me.

"Look where you're going, asshole," Andy grumbles before looking up. "Holy shit, you're alive!" I roll my eyes.

"Yes, I am," I push past him and keep walking up the stairs. I need to call Bob back. "Hey, babe," I press the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Patty," Bob says, and I can practically hear the smirk in his voice. "Finally get rid of Pete 'I Love You' Wentz?" He asks. I laugh.

"Yeah. It was hard, but at least he didn't say he loved me again," I say back, faking another laugh.

"You okay?" Bob asks me. Am I okay? He probably doesn't care anyways. He likes me for the fucks.

"I'm good," I lie straight through my teeth. He can't tell.

"Alright, well, let me know when you hit Chicago again. We can meet up, maybe?" He sounds hopeful. This is it, Patrick. End it here.

"Sounds great," I hang up without saying bye. Pete is going to be so pissed when he finds out. If he finds out.

"Who was that?" Pete asks, scaring the shit out of me. I wonder how much he heard. "What 'sounds great'?" Whew, at least he didn't hear much.

"Bryar wants to meet up and jam when we get back. I said that it sounded great," I'm lying again, but Pete seems to buy it as he kisses my cheek.

"I'm kind of glad I didn't drink last night," He says, and I nod. Hangovers are the worst part about being drunk, I'll tell you that. "When are we leaving?"

"Few hours probably," I say, looking out the window. Why is everyone up so fucking early?

"Come back to bed with me?" He asks hopefully, poking his bottom lip out.

"Fine," I huff, walking ahead of him. He grabs my hand and pulls me back, kissing me. I'm against the wall with his hands under my shirt in seconds.

"When are you going to let me fuck you?" He asks. I shake my head. No way I'm losing my bottom virginity to a guy I'm cheating on.

"I'm not," I say simply and walk towards the bedroom, only to be pulled back again.

"Will you fuck me then?" I shake my head. Not right now. I'm fucking tired. He frowns but follows me anyways. "Is there something wrong, babe?" He asks me. Babe. What I call Bob. Fuck.

"No, I'm good," This lying thing should be getting easier, right? It's not.

"Okay.." We both lie down anyways. Pete's asleep in seconds, and I guess that has to do with the Ambien he took last night.

"Goodnight, Pete," I kiss his forehead, and he doesn't stir. "I'm so sorry," I mumble before drifting off to sleep.

--

"Let's go, motherfuckers. Get the fuck out of my house," Someone beats on the door to the room Pete and I are sleeping in, and someone else is banging pots and pans. I guess it's time for everyone to leave.

"Pete," I shake his shoulder, trying to wake him up. "Pete, get up," He stirs but just turns over. I sigh and get up. When did I take off my shirt? It's nowhere to be seen. Great. And that's my only shirt until we go to our plane. Fucking amazing. "Pete," I pluck his ear. He jumps up, breathing heavy.

"What the fuck, Patrick? You scared the shit out of me," He grabs at his chest to try and catch his breath. I just shake my head at him. Idiot. After regaining his breath, he looks at me and raises his eyebrows. "As much as I love you without a shirt on, where's your shirt?"

"Hell if I fucking know," I groan, getting up to look for it. "You can help," He just lies back in the bed, watching me intently.

"I like you like that. Although your jeans are a bit too low for seeing other people that aren't me," I can hear the smirk in his voice even though I'm not facing him.

"Yeah, yeah, shut up, and help me look for my fucking shirt," He gets up and starts rummaging through all of the drawers and the closet.

"Nope, but here's a shirt you can wear," He holds out a white button-down.

"Alright, screw it," I grab the shirt and throw it over my shoulders, vowing to button it later. So now, I have a white unbuttoned button-down, black jeans, black vans, and black sunglasses. I guess I look okay.

Running a hand through my blue hair, I find a hat in the closet. It's black (matches my outfit) and has the word 'obey' written on it in all caps. Okay, I can deal.

"Let's go," Pete finds his shoes and rushes down the stairs before me. "Andy, Joe," Pete calls out. Joe appears next to me, eyes droopy with bags under them.

"You better get some rest before tomorrow," I tell him, pointing at the bags under his eyes. Andy walks up a few seconds later looking good and refreshed.

"You better button your shirt," He points at my shirt. I shake my head and roll my eyes.

"It's fucking hot out there," I roll up the sleeves that I forgot to button.

"What difference does wearing a shirt make if you aren't going to button it?" Andy asks. Joe nods.

"I wouldn't be able to get in the airport without a shirt on," I say in a 'duh' tone. Andy just nods.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Andy fishes a pair of keys out of his pocket. "Who's car did we bring?" I roll my eyes and grab the keys. We brought the yellow sports car that we rented when we got here.

"I'm driving," I say, grabbing my phone from out of my pocket. Once we reach the car, I plug it into the speakers and put it on Fall Out Boy Radio on pandora. "Is this conceited?"

"Not if you're as awesome as Fall Out Boy," Pete says from next to me, grinning like there's no tomorrow.

"Shut up, loser," I say. He holds my hand as I drive. Well, isn't this perfect? Note the sarcasm.