The "I" In Lie

V. Everybody Wants Somebody

We burst into her apartment, not bothering to remove the key from the door, none the less close it. A roommate, that I didn't know she had, speaks up.

"Oh, hey Ashlee, you seem well today." It's a male voice, but I don't take the time to look, or to stop. Ashlee takes a hand away from my neck for a second, and the boy laughs, leading me to assume she flipped him off. We make our way toward what's probably her bedroom (I have no idea how her sense of direction is so well, especially while "multitasking"). She pulls me down onto her bed, and I don't resist. Once we make our way under the covers, that's when the clothing comes off. This happens, that happens, it's more of a personal experience. I lose track of time; I don't know how long we were going at it. But eventually, we fall next to each other in her bed, lights still on. It's just breathing for a minute we subside.

And let the awkward pillow talk commence.

"I never did catch your full name."

"Patrick Stump. And you are?" It's only polite to ask. Plus there's that small part where I don't want her thinking I'm a stalker.

"Ashlee." She smiles at me, sitting up against the wall on her pillow. She bothers to hide herself with the cover for some reason. I follow, not having to worry about the blankets.

"Last name?" I chuckle lightly at her, and she does the same.

"Oh, duh, um..." She falls silent for a second, thinking of what to say, as if she didn't know the answer. "Uh, Simpson. My name is Ashlee Simpson."

"Is that your REAL name?" I grin at her, but I am somewhat serious here. For the love of God, please have her not be a prostitute. I'd owe a lot of money.

"Heh, yeah! Just... Simpson. Ashlee Simpson." She chuckles. I then realize that she is referring to her divorce. She either still has his last name, or is too ashamed to admit that she got rid of it.

"Oh... I see... Is it because you were married in the past?" I'm getting a little ahead of myself, but I just would really like to know more about her husband.

"Oh, um..." I have seemed to make her uncomfortable. Whoops.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't be prying." Please answer, please answer, please answer...

"Oh, no, it's fine really, I was just caught off guard. I'll tell you..."

YES!

"So... I was married to... This guy, right? I loved him more than he loved his ego, which meant a lot. Little did I know, I was pregnant when we got married, I actually took a positive test the during the wedding reception. I don't know why I call it that, we eloped and told absolutely no one. I got nervous and didn't know how to feel besides terrified. I told him when the focus wasn't on us, which rarely happened, and he didn't flinch. He just looked really excited that we were having a kid, accidentally. That made me fill with joy. Nine months later came a baby boy with long eyelashes. He was my pride and joy, I loved him. But... Little did we know, we weren't the parenting types. We struggled profusely, and constant fights took place."

I cringe at that sentence.

"We tried to stay together for our baby's sake, but we just... Couldn't. We split up around his first birthday, making me feel really guilty. He somehow managed to get custody of him, and know I can rarely see my boy."

Wait...

"He's about four now."

This... Sounds familiar...

"Little Bronx." She sounds content.

WHAT?

"WHAT?! Ashlee-- What was your husband's name?" I twist toward here.

"Um... Pete... Why?"

I stop breathing for a moment, along with my heart beating.

I just had sex with my best friend's ex-wife.

"Are you fucking kidding me..." I whisper loudly. I run hand through my hair and fall back.

"What? Do you know him?"

"Uh, a little bit. We happen to be extremely close friends." She jumps. "I babysat Bronx today."

"What?! You're fucking with me, aren't you?!"

"Nope. I totally know Pete Wentz and Bronx Wentz." She breathes out an, "Oh my God..." And I agree with her. Just another things to add to the list of why I'm an awful human being. There were a few minutes of painful silence. I don't understand why these things happen to me, or why I do them. And why did Pete never tell me he got married? I thought that Bronx was the product of a one night stand, that's what he always told me. Why would he lie to me? ... Ha, like I have the right to be angry with someone lying. I question why I am here. Not my existence; this isn't The Fault In Our Stars. Why am I still in this woman's bed, when I know that she is the ex of my closest friend?

"I'm sorry, Ashlee, I have to go." I try to remain calm, while inside I am trying to kill myself.

"I-- I understand. I just..." I start to gather my clothes, redressing, when she starts to fidget with the covers. "I started to like you, Patrick."

... No.

No.

No.

This is not what I wanted.

Best friend's ex or not, I did not want for this to happen.

But the best friend's ex-wife, mother of his child thing adds a bit more dismay to it.

"Ashlee, you don't even know me. You know nothing about me. You know my body, and that's about it." I start to dress myself much quicker.

"I know, but I want to know!" I have finally fully dressed myself. I I apologize and speed out of there. "Patrick, wait! Please!" I ignore her and continue. I get stopped by the only roommate she has. He's got short, reddish hair, and slight facial hair. His sleeveless shirt reveals two arms dipped in colorful ink and designs. He crosses his arms and frowns at me.

"You're not walking out on Ashlee."

"I'm trying to." I attempt to slip past him, but he slams a hand to the wall, blocking my path.

"What a waste of your time."

"Okay, sir, you obviously do not understand exactly what just happened, not what you think, and I think it's best for the both of us. Trust me." He doesn't move. "So, look--"

I duck under his arm swiftly and run out the door, which was thankfully still open. He yells down at me some words I can't focus on. It all just hit me. All that went down. I stumble outside the apartment building, sliding down the door after doing so. My breathing pace quickens within seconds. I'm sweating like it's the middle of summer. I feel my heart speed up, and I'm quite surprised that I even have one anymore. I hate myself. I really do. I feel like the worst person in the world. I don't want to think about everything going on. I don't want to think about anything. I don't want to be married, I don't want to have cheated, I don't want to be an awful friend to everyone, I don't want to exist. I hide my face in my legs, curled up in front of this apartment building. My body starts shaking, and I realize I'm crying. Wow. A grown man sobbing outside in the middle of the night to no one but himself. I don't know what to do, so I just sit there. It's seems that an hour has passed by, simply full of me, crying. Then suddenly.

"Patrick? Is that you...?"