critical veins || peterick

chapter sixteen

Dad, is, of course, not going to be home. I'm glad that he has a job and all, but I hate being alone. And it's sort of ironic considering I'm not exactly the type of person to be around people often.

There's an idea in my head that I'm hesitant to try out, which is ask if I can hang at Pete's house 'till then. But as proven multiple times, it's going to end up silent and awkward, and I'll find myself wishing I were in my own bed instead, contradicting my earlier stated fears.

I'm still conflicted by the time dismissal comes by, and I have a pounding headache. Finally I give into the suggestion and grab a slip of paper and red pen, quickly scrawling my request and standing on my tiptoes to look for Pete (which doesn't really do much, since I'm a short person). I find him anyway and nervously tread past people.

His back is turned to me and I tap his shoulder. He whirls around, and my hand shakes as I hand the paper to him. The pulsing in my head increases, making it harder to push down. What the hell is causing it? I wonder with a wince.

"Okay," Pete answers, folding the slip. "Let me finish up." His attention focuses on his locker and he shoves a bunch of crumpled paper and paperback books into what little space is left before slamming it shut with finality. I wait awkwardly, trying my best to not let my gaze rest on him.

He produces his keys from his pocket. "Let's go," he urges, stepping past the students crowding the corridor. I hug myself as I squeeze through the narrow hallway, letting go of my body grasp once we've reached the Student Parking Lot.

We spot his car at the same time walk towards it in unison. He manages to beat me, though, and grins playfully as he opens the passenger door. I smirk a tiny bit and sit myself as he closes the door before sitting in the driver's seat.

"What time do I need to bring you home?" he asks, casting a brief glance at me as he reverses the vehicle. Conveniently enough, the digital time displays 3:57, so I point to the number.

Pete emits a low whistle. "That's quite a bit of time." I shrug despite him not seeing me do so and the rest of our way to his dwelling is spent in silence. My ache worsens and my head feels a bit light.

I can hardly walk to the couch by then. Pete doesn't seem to notice. "Want something to eat, drink..?"

I shake my head, which doesn't help. It feels like my brain moved with the motion. I break out into a heated sweat once Pete settles onto the chair, clutching a glass of water and sipping it.

"Hey, uh, can I ask you a question?" he inquires, and I give him a weak thumbs up. Jesus Christ, my hand is quivering.

"So I heard what happened with Bob...Is that why you were crying in the stall?"

For a moment I completely forget about the dizziness biting at upper region. He heard me...?

He averts his gaze. "I, um heard you, yes. I waited outside in the hall until, uh, you recovered. Once it was silent I took it as a cue to go in and, well, nearly crashed into you, heh. But anyways...Was it because of that incident...?

"I'm sorry," he adds quickly. "I don't mean to make things awkward, Patrick- I'm just really worried for you, and..." He trails off.

I nod hesitantly, chewing on my bottom lip. If there's anything I've learned about Pete Wentz, it's that he'll be straightforward about his questions, and then he'll hurriedly apologize afterward. At least I don't mind.

He envelopes me in a hug, which catches me off-guard. Like last time it's kind of awkward due to the fact that I'm sitting and he's standing- well, squatting. Our knees brush against each other.