Ever After -Completed-

And Never Face The Music When It's Dire

><Meg><

I pushed the cart through the supermarket, cringing at the noise it made. Most other shoppers ignored it, but I still felt awkward. Like everyone in the store was focused on me, solely me, with vexed glares and burning hatred. It wasn't my fault that it was so squeaky, of course, going around like a mouse caught in a trap. I just chose the wrong one. 

I tried to think of what Collin would be doing right now. Matt had driven me to the airport (what a long, nerve racking drive it was. I could tell Matt wanted me to talk to/ him, but it didn't come so easily) yesterday. The group would probably be leaving home to drive down right now.

Home. I missed it a lot, already. It was a good and bad thing that it was such a short stay. Good, because I was a creature of habit and missed my best friend more than a paper cut hurts. Bad, because there were things that made me jump back, eager to stay away. The arrival of so many new people, for one. For another, the-

"Holy shit!" I felt something ram into my cart. In the next second, I was on the cold tile floor, my hand being squished under someone else's back. The voice was male, low and familiar. I looked up. 

My hand was no longer trapped, as the man had rolled off it. Not man-men. Two. One, blond and pale. The other tan and also blond, though I could tell it was bleached. 

"Well," I whispered, more to myself than anyone around me. "At least if I'm going to break my hand, it's under the weight of Patrick Stump." I shook the said appendage, loosening the muscle, and added, "And Pete Wentz, of course."

Patrick picked up some of the stuff that had fallen out of my cart (candy, cereal, a toothbrush to replace the one I forgot) and hastily put it back. "Oh, my God. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Our cart has this sticky wheel and it's so annoying and I'm so sorry." He finished cleaning and rubbed his hands on his pants like they needed something to do. 

"It's okay," I assured him, trying not the think of the fact that I was wearing my Fall Out Boy tee shirt or that my iPod was playing Thnks Fr Th Mmrs softly in my pocket. "Everything's fine, really."

"No! You already have a bruise." His eyes found a spot just above my collarbone, peeing out from my shirt on the side of my neck. I knew for a fact that the bruise wasn't from the crash. "Two! You have...two..." Shorts. It was LA, over ninety degrees out, so of course I was wearing shorts too. Because I couldn't suck up the heat. 

I jumped back behind my cart, faking a smile. "Nice meeting you, an honor to be run over by you. Goodbye, M-"

"Hold on." Pete put a hand on the front of my cart, effectively locking me in place. Unless I was just going to make a run for it, which I seriously contemplated doing. "What gave you those?"

"Way to be nosy." I said halfheartedly. 

He looked at me pointedly. 

"Pete, it's really not-" Patrick started helplessly, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder.

He leaned on the cart casually, like we were discussing lunch or the weather. "Let me rephrase that. Who? Your boyfriend?" 

I snorted. The idea of me ever having a boyfriend was so far fetched, so ridiculous that I couldn't hold it in. And yet...before I could think of a snarky comment to reply back, I realized something. I did want to tell someone, even if they couldn't do anything. I did want to talk, especially to these strangers who couldn't hurt me. People, of the rare variety, who couldn't use knowledge against me. 

I told them. Everything. If I forgot a detail, it couldn't have been anything big. As I talked, their eyes grew wider and wider. It made me want to stop yet I rushed on. At the end, Patrick scribbled something down on a piece of paper. 

"Talk to us if you need, okay? Call us. We'll come." 

Sometimes quiet is violent

><Collin><

The car was filled with a comfortable silence. A familiar one, the one after a group of friends has been laughing and talking and just decides to think for a moment. And everyone decides that  words aren't needed to share the warm, bubbly feeling in their chests. That is, until someone opens their mouth and the cycle starts again.

A guitar riff came on the radio. Instantly, my hand shot forward to turn to volume dial. Kansas filled the car, and Josh grinned. I did, too, possibly even wider. For some people a childhood was a certain movie or show. For me, songs made my life. Sunshine by Johnathan Edwards. Hotel California by the Eagles. And, of course, Carry On Wayward Son. Kansas. 

"Carry on my wayward son, there'll peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest, don't you cry no more." Josh sang, tapping on the steering wheel with his fingers. 

"Ay, ay!" Mike called from the back. "You better be careful up there. The last thing we need it to swerve of this road and get our fucking heads smashed in!"

Josh just sang louder, look over at me, his smile growing even wider. "Though my mind could think I still was a mad man, I hear the voices when I'm dreaming. I can hear them say! "

This time we all joined in, Ian banging on the wall for drums. We sang the chorus at the top of our lungs, earning the stares of a family in the car next to us. 

"Marianas Trench!" I yelled, leaning out the window towards them. "Best band in Canada! Fuck you, Justin Beiber!" 

The mother looked distraught, glancing at the children in the backseat, but we were already driving away. 

Why did I add FOB, you ask? Because, I have what you may call...problems