Pretty. (Frerard, Petekey, Ryden, Peterick)

24: This Chapter Is Painful But Brendon's Best Sarcastic Comment Makes Up For It

"This is all so fucked up now he's dead because I feel bad hating him, and surely it's fucked up not to hate him but to hate Mikey with all of my being, and I really do fucking hate Mikey so much - I mean, he cheated on me and he's an absolute arrogant stuck up asshole, but his boyfriend shot himself... maybe the one person he really cared about... shot himself... and you can't help but imagine what it must be like to live in his head right now."

Alicia spoke all too much about Mikey and Pete entirely, yet Bob didn't seem to mind at all - he cared far too much about Alicia to give a damn however she screwed things up or didn't, and really, Bob was even beginning to think that he was just a little in love with her, and there was nothing quite as fucked up as that.

But really, there was no one quite as fucked up as Bob Bryar, the world's worst drug dealer.

"He's going through a tough time right now, and so are his friends, that's for sure." Bob sighed out, his breath visible in the cold evening air of the park - the place was desolated and it was late and a girl like Alicia just shouldn't have been here at all, but she'd insisted and had just like that 'bullied' Bob into accompanying her.

Not that he minded at all, of course.

He just had to keep up appearances, because she could never know how he really felt about her, because it was messed up and he knew that she deserved so much better than some shitty ass drug dealer who lives in some asshole's bungalow for the most part. Not that he was to be blamed for that; his house was tiny and fucking cramped and Bert's hospitality could be easily exploited with the aid of pharmaceuticals and the like.

"I just don't know how to feel about him, because I sure as hell don't want to talk to him, but it makes me look like some sort of bitch if I don't and I fucking hate how I'm sort of obligated to care so much about what everybody thinks of me, fuck, I wish I was just some fucking nobody sometimes, you know?" And really, Bob hadn't a fucking clue as to what she meant by that.

"You really don't have to care. Stopping giving a shit was the best thing I've ever done, and really, it's not that hard, okay, maybe I had some sort of help in the form of drug abuse, but-" She didn't quite let him finish, determined to prove a point here.

"But in high school it's fucking different because you're with these people everyday and what people think of you kind of dictates how you live your life and how you feel."

"I can see that it's certainly fucking with how you feel." Bob sighed out, sitting down beside Alicia on the bench that she'd stopped at. "Look, do you, personally, want to talk to Mikey about this?"

"I'm scared that he'll try and get back with me after this, like I'm option number two to him, now that Pete's gone, it's my fucking turn. He's such a fucking man whore - I fucking hate him, but I can't help but care, even if it's just a little." She brought her knees up to her chest before sitting cross-legged upon the bench, watching as Bob lit himself a cigarette.

"You can just text him or whatever - you don't have to talk to him in person, and then you can just delete the response if you really don't want to look." And Bob reckoned that that was the only genuinely useful piece of advice he'd given anyone, ever. Alicia was special, to say the least, and still to say far too much entirely, in Bob's eyes.

"Like I didn't delete his number." She scoffed, sighing out and watching as Bob began to smoke: the exhaled nicotine just as visible as his breath.

"Everyone has Mikey fucking Way's number- well, not me, personally, but Gee does, and I could quite literally get it for you in under a minute." Bob even retrieved his cellphone from his pocket at this, and Alicia sighed aloud, leaning closer to Bob.