Peterick//More Than You Bargained For

six: pulse

"She doesn't have a fucking pulse!" I scream, tears now running freely down my cheeks.

Pete suddenly takes hold of my wrists and forces me to move aside. "Let me take care of this."

"Pete, she doesn't have a pulse." I cry.

"Let me take care of this." He repeats.

How is he so calm? I can't even think. I cant do anything but sit there, shaking and barely able to breathe, while he gets up on his knees and moves closer to my mother.

Pete delicately tilts her head up and puts his two fingers on her neck. He lets out a deep breath and laughs softly.

Why is he laughing? She doesn't have a pulse. She doesn't have a fucking pulse. She's dead, my mother is dead..

"Patrick Stump?"

My voice trembles, "Yeah?"

"You don't know how to take a fucking pulse."

"W-what?" I stutter.

Pete chuckles again. He tells me to come closer. I do. He tells me to put two fingers on her neck; I do.

"Do you feel it?" He asks.

What the fuck is he on right now? Why is he laughing?

"Uh, no, Pete." More tears.

I cannot believe that Pete Wentz is making me touch my dead mother's neck.

Pete positions his hand over mine, and moves my fingers slightly while pushing down with more pressure. And then I feel it, a soft "thump thump" of the blood pumping through the veins of her neck.

Suddenly I feel my own heart beating, as if it had momentarily stopped for the time that I thought my mother's had stopped as well.

I look at Pete, and he looks at me. A smile forms on his lips, and same for me. I chuckle. So does he. We look at each other for a moment, not believing what just happened.

"I really thought she was dead," I tell him, my mouth slightly agape, still in shock.

"I know, I could tell," he answers.

I suddenly become self-aware of the fact that his hand is still over mine, feeling my mother's pulse. I try to wriggle free; he feels my movement and quickly releases me.

"I-I'm just always so scared that she might hurt herself, you know, with her drinking. It wasn't always this way, but its gotten really bad in the past year. I feel so paranoid, jumping to conclusions like that, but I just care so much about her and I don't want to lose her because if I do I won't have anyone left-"

"I know, Patrick." Pete murmurs. He reaches up to my face with both hands and brushes my tears away with his thumbs.

I sniffle and push his hands away, suddenly remembering that I'm supposed to be mad at him. No more about my family problems. It's not Pete's business in any way, shape, or form.

"Do you, uh, does she need to be taken to the hospital?" Pete asks me.

I shake my head.