Happy Miserable Mess (FOB/Patrick Stump FanFic)

Chapter 23

I guess what I've been trying to say this whole story is that, after she died, I was never the same person again.

I used to be so happy, so successful, so popular. And now...I'm not really any of those things.

If I'm being honest, with you and myself, I'm miserable. Completely, utterly, one hundred percent miserable. If you see me on the streets and I'm smiling, or I seem happy, it's all a facade. Because there isn't a single thing in this whole goddamn world that will make me happy again, make me smile (genuinely) again.

I was told by many people that I should try dating again. That it would be good for Parker and me to have a female presence in our lives, for me to have someone to keep me company and for Parker to have someone to go to when he doesn't want to come to me for help. I agreed, and I tried, but I just couldn't do it. I went on a few dates here and there, and the girls were nice, don't get me wrong, they really were, but none of them could replace her. And that's what it felt like I was doing by going on those dates, that I was looking for someone to replace her. And I couldn't replace her, it didn't seem right.

Besides, two out of three ain't bad. Parker and I did just fine together.

Well...sort of.

My son doesn't even talk to me anymore since he moved out when he was eighteen - all I get nowadays are stupid Christmas cards of him, his dog, and his "girlfriend of the year" (as I like to call her because he hasn't been able to keep a girlfriend for longer than four months). I really can only blame myself from him moving away at such a young age.

I hated him, I really did. He reminded me of his mom in so many ways that I actually despised him for it. He felt the same way about me too - I had attained too many of her tendencies that I couldn't shake off. It was kind of ridiculous how much we hated each other as he grew up. Don't get me wrong, I was sad when he told me he was leaving - he was the last thing I had of her and I took him for granted. Of course I realized this a little too late, when he had moved as far away from me as possible with no intent of ever coming back.

When he left, I had no one left and I became even more depressed than I already was. I didn't like being depressed, who does? So to do to make my depression go away, I tried to do what I always did when I was down and needed a little pick-me-up - make music.

I called Pete, Joe, and Andy, and asked them if they wanted to come back together and do some sort of reunion tour (since the band broke up about three years after her death, due to me shutting everyone out despite how many times I was told not to). Luckily, they all agreed and we got everything set up. We had a whole set of concerts that were almost all sold out all across the country, spread out over a couple of months. I think just having that closure, knowing that some things never changed, made me the happiest I had been in a long time.

But then it came time for the first show. I got on stage, we started playing, and after that it kind of all went downhill. I was forgetting lyrics, forgetting my guitar parts...I just didn't want to be there. I didn't have the passion to perform. There was nothing else to it.

There was no doubt in my mind that every single person at that venue, whether in the crowd or on stage, knew that I was a mess. They all knew my life was crumbling apart and I was trying to pathetically glue it back together with what cheap Elmer's white school glue I could find. And they all knew it wasn't working.

After we finished the show (because I refused to let the fans down any more than I already had), the guys and I had a talk on the tour bus. They asked me if I wanted to do this, if I really wanted to do this. This obviously being the tour. I sat there for a little, thinking long and hard, before simply responding with a quiet but certain, "No." And just like that, the tour was cancelled and the band once again broke up, as a band and as friends, never to be reunited again.

I. Am. Miserable.

I have no friends.

I have no family.

I'm all alone.

I don't want to live like this anymore.

I try to remember what it was like, when she was around, but I can't think about it without thinking about all the pain she caused me after she was gone.

I don't think she realized how much her absence would affect the lives of everyone close to her. She probably thought that she didn't have anyone close to her, that if she were to die that no one would care, or even notice. But she was wrong. She was very, very wrong. And I don't know whether or not I should blame myself for that.

Every day is a constant "what if?" with me. What if I told her I loved her more often? What if I was home more often? What if I could've done something to save her?

I just want this pain to end. I just want to be happy again.

But I don't think that'll ever happen.

Ever.