Unicorns On Wheels [Petekey]

13. Monday.

2016/02/15 Monday.

I don't know whether they sell books titled So Your Best Friend Has Huntington's Disease, but I think they should because even though there's not a huge market for it, I need one to help me. I need a book that has instructions to follow. I need something to help me and guide me and for the love of God tell me what the fuck to do now.

Pete left after I'd fallen asleep last night and I don't know where's gone or what he's done and I'm so afraid that it's going to turn out to be something stupid. Pete is stupid enough on his own, he doesn't need the risk of dying to force him into making bad decisions.

I was unhappy when I woke up to find the bed next to me was empty and Pete had found a way to pry himself out of my arms and I could imagine running right in front of a car or something as equally dangerous: I wouldn't be all that surprised. I was even less happy when I found a Valentine's Day card with Pete's handwriting in it.

In any other circumstance I might've blushed, might've put the card somewhere where I could keep it forever but instead I wanted to rip the card apart because what it said inside was I'm sorry that I have Huntington's disease. – Pete. And I didn't know whether to cry or rip it to pieces but I didn't do either of those things, all I did was stare at it in disbelief.

I thought back to the documentary and I couldn't remember much of the information. In fact, all that really seemed to stick was the image of a woman shaking violently while trying to explain the symptoms. But I remembered that there was no cure for it, which made it pretty clear that I should just cry. 

But I didn't cry.

I just sat still and tried to find a way to make this better. I sat in the dead silence of my bedroom and wondered what I could possibly do to make this go away and then it hit me that, here I was, thinking about So Your Best Friend Has Huntington's Disease instead of So You Have Huntington's Disease. I was panicking about what I should do and how I should feel instead of worrying about my Best Friend for Life.

And I decided that the best thing I could probably do was try to make him feel better even though I knew there was no way to take away the Huntington's problem. I knew that he liked The Naked Gun and I knew that his favourite sweets were wine gums and I knew that he liked ACDC and warm hoodies.

Andbutso, I decided to invite Pete over for a sleepover /movie marathon/ignoring your Huntington's/ACDC party. Because parties always made everything better even if I didn't strictly think so. Except that I didn't invite Pete over, I only gathered up all of the pocket money that I had and asked Gerard to take me to the mall so that I could blow it all on The Naked Gun rental movies and wine gums and ACDC CD's.

And when I was set with enough wine gums to fill a pot and a stack of ACDC CDs and 4 The Naked Gun films I didn't text Pete. I called him. And after too many, nerve wrecking rings, he picked up the phone. And his voice sounded flat, Hi. This is Pete Wentz speaking. Can I help you? I swallowed my spit for a moment and hoped he couldn't hear my heart hammering.

Hey. It's Mikey. Pete was also quiet for a long time before he answered. The conversation was short and stupid and a complete waste of time seeing as neither of us was paying attention to it, clearly having other things on our minds. I was in the middle of telling him that I'd been fine since he'd last seen me a couple of hours ago when he stopped me.

Look, Mikey, I'm sorry about last night. I'm sorry that I just came in there and i- and then I stopped him. Because goddamn, if you shot Pete Wentz in the face he'd apologize for getting blood all over your bullet. And I said come over to my house right now. And I didn't mean to yell but I couldn't really help myself.