There's some room to move on (Peter Wentz)05

PETER
"Peter, what has been up with you?" Ashlee sat next to me as she combed her fingers through my hair.
"Nothing." I muttered as I typed away on the blog.
"Okay." She sighed and rested her head on my shoulder as she closed her eyes.
It's been a month since I've spoken to Stevie. I think about her and Lewis everyday, more than three times. I can't help it. I always have the urge to call Lewis and see how Stevie is doing. Not that I've ever done it before. I never spoke to Lewis after that summer. I regret it everyday. Sometimes I try so hard to remember him, but I can't and I get sick. Really sick. I've been throwing up a lot, almost every time I imagine Stevie crying and Lewis being the one telling me to get out, not that strange guy. I tried to not think about how he would act if he was here. But then I start thinking it would have never happened if Lewis haven't past away. They would have both just become a fade memory. A guy I used to call my best friend. A girl who I loved one summer.
But now they're both people I've lost.
There's no one who really knew Stevie or Lewis on tour, so it didn't seem right. Like I didn't want to share the memories of them with people who could appericate them fully like I did.
I tried calling my mom, but I couldn't tell her what I said to Stevie. I didn't tell anyone.
I told them all I was seeing an old friend, but when I can back early, I told them my friend was sick each time.
"I think I'm going to lay down." Ashlee said finally standing up and leaving me alone in the front area.
It was about three in the morning and I couldn't sleep. I knew for a fact that Stevie was still up, even if it was a two hour time difference. That girl never slept.
I kept typing, and with each click my heart learch. I knew I with mile between us, Stevie was becoming a memory. Almost like her brother Lewis.

STEVIE
All I do now is write letters. Letters to my brother. I guess it's more of just a journal, because I tell him everything about each day, but I ask him questions. Questions he never answered, or I couldn't ask. Questions that will always be unanswered. In every letter I talk about Peter, and how I hate him, or how I miss him.
I tell him how I wish I was nicer when I was younger, or all the lies I've told him. How I used to eat all his food that he put his name on in the fridge. My letters were almost like wipping the slate clean, and keeping Lewis in my life. But then they weren't. I was never able to tell him all my secrets, and he wasn't in my life anymore.
Sometimes I on accident call Ben Lewis. They don't even look or sound anything alike. But when I do, it all get awkward and I feel horrible. I can see the worried look in his face and when I apoligize he tells me it's not my fault, and then it makes things worse. I try so hard to not let Allison and Ben find out I cry almost everyday. The worst part is I'm usually not thinking about Lewis at all. Just something someone said or an object just lets out a huge wave of emotion, and I start to think of how Lewis used to say something, or a movie that Lewis knew all the words to.
When my shrink started asking questions about him, I told her that I didn't want to share him with anyone. My memories of him were mine. I didn't want to tell people my Lewis, and if they didn't know him, it was their faults. I don't tell Ben or Allison about him, and it's an unwritten rule, that he wasn't to be spoken about at all.
But I knew they talked about him, when I wasn't there. Allison had called my mother with concern, and I figured she told her everything she knew. I couldn't stand how he talked about him all the time. Almost like she was bragging about all she had were her memories of her son. But once she flaunts them all she'll never anything to herself. And those flaunted memories won't mean as much as they did before.
When each letter is done, I put it in a box with all the other letters. My shrink said this is the best way to cope if I'm not willing to talk about him. I was feeling slightly numb but when I looked up from putting the box back, I saw the shirt I was wearing the last time I saw Peter.
I leaned back against the bed, as I started to take deep breaths trying to stop myself before I hyperventlate. But I was to late, tears were streaming down my face as my body shook. It take Allison to long until she was in my room asking me what was wrong. She kept wiping my tears as I sucked in my breath, trying to make myself stop crying. When I told her I missed him I saw that look, and I knew she thought I was talking about Lewis.
medicine man
tralala