[Complete] Locked Up In This Prison We Call Love
The first time Patrick visits him, Pete doesn't recognise him. The shock of being locked away in this place so suddenly, with next to no warning and absolutely no justification has messed with his mind considerably. It's mind-numbingly monotonous and soul-crushingly hollow in here. Nothing but blank walls, shuffling, identical guards and the keening sensation that his life is not only passing him by, but slipping away day by day.
So, on the day a nameless captor unlocks the door to his cell and announces he has a visitor, he initially wonders who there is in his life who would even want to see him. Did he have a girlfriend in his life before captivity? Are his parents around? Brothers or sisters maybe? He can't remember any of them, can't remember anything. One day he just woke up in a tiny white cell, with no clue who he was or what he was doing there. His guards weren't forthcoming with details and his memory is yet to fill in any of the blanks, so he's remained in the dark ever since.
He follows his guard, a short but compact man with heavily inked arms, along corridor after corridor of blank whiteness. Never once do they pass another cell, and Pete wonders if he's being held in solitary isolation, or if he is perhaps the sole inmate of this bizarre facility. He's more than a little surprised to see the awkwardly shifting man (barely old enough to escape being labeled 'kid' in Pete's mind) on the far side of the table set up for the visit. The room their in is bare but for the small table with a chair on either side. More blank white walls and no other door that Pete can see. There's a cloying smell in the air that he's never noticed before, something chemical and insistent. A steady high-pitched beeping also permeates the room, though Pete can't place its source.
He slides into the hard plastic chair with as neutral a greeting as he can muster without sounding rude. He knows he knows this kid from somewhere, know he's important to him, but he can't place his finger on how or why, so he's unsure as to the level of intimacy required in their interactions. His visitor leans eagerly across the dividing table and clasps Pete's hands in both of his own, whispering his name like a prayer and it's confirmation at once. For a second Pete thinks he was about to kiss him, but then the distance between them is subtly increased, and apart from the continued connection of their hands, everything about their body language points to their status as friends. Close friends.
'Are you ok?' asks the newcomer.
Pete shrugs and shakes his head slightly, I dunno more than Not really, no. 'I guess,' he says. 'Bored more than anything.'
'I can't imagine. Locked up like this, it makes me shudder just to think about it. Inside your own head the whole time, nothing to distract you... I'd go stir-crazy man.'
'Uh... that's not the most encouraging thing I could be hearing right now.'
'Sorry. I didn't mean - it's not that - I'll shut up now.'
'Its cool, man. I know what you meant. Don't shut up, I'd really appreciate having someone to talk to, y'know?'
'Yah, I'll bet. Conversation must be severely lacking around here.' The kid flicks his chin at one of the guards at attention by the door and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. The guard catches his meaning and shows his displeasure with a lip-curling snarl, mouth pulled off-center to bare perfect pearly whites. Pete chuckles low in his throat.
'Yah, these guys are all the same, certainly not excelling in terms of emotional honesty.'
This comment apparently warrants a sigh from across the table, and Pete looks at his friend(?) to see the humour gone from his face.
'When are you coming home from this place?' he asks, almost pleading, child-like. Pete frowns.
'I don't know? No one tells me anything. When they let me go, I guess.'
'It's nothing to do with them.' His eyes dart to the men by the door again. 'It's up to you, Pete, you decide when this ends. They say... They say when you're good and ready, you'll come back to us.'
'When I'm ready? Hell, I'm ready now, I don't wanna be here!'
'No, no it's more than that. You can't just say it, you have to really mean it, feel it deep down. You're here because... Well never mind how you got here, that's irrelevant. But you're still here because something's keeping you here. And we don't know what, Pete, and it's not like you're giving us any clues.'
'What do you mean? How do I prove I want to come home?'
The kid shrugs. 'I can't tell you that. I don't know. It's something you have to work out.'
'Ok, time's up.' A voice from the doorway interrupts Pete's suddenly reeling thoughts. A guard is standing over him, pulling at his shirt sleeve to extract him from his seat.
'Wait, what? We've only had, like 5 minutes!'
'It's ok Pete, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, ok? I'm gonna be right here.'
Pete is dragged from the room and straight back to his cell before he can protest or bid his mystery visitor goodbye. He pounds at the steel door for a few futile minutes after it slams behind him. Then he gives up and cries himself to sleep.
*
The second time he's led to the visiting room, he remembers.
'Patrick"' he yells joyously, and practically knocks his friend(!) out of his seat with his zealous bear hug. 'Oh man am I glad to see you! How are you?'
Patrick laughs softly, musically, like everything about him, and smoothes Pete's arm as he gently propels him into his own chair.
'I'm ok.' he says. 'A little tired. Worrying about you of course. How's things?'
Pete shrugs at his friend again, frustrated that he can't tell him anything about his time in this sterile environment. He would if he could, but amongst other things, there isn't anything happening. He sleeps most of the time, paces his cell, gets lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, increasingly, he conducts blazing rows with his guards. He doesn't even know what over, he just remembers their ferocity, their stubbornness. He spends all his time talking to himself in here.
So he takes advantage of Patrick's visit to engage in actual conversation. He's conscious that the sentinels prowling behind him could put a stop to their time together at any arbitrary moment, so he absorbs every second in his friend's presence, his words, his touch, his gentle laugh. They talk and joke about how things were before Pete found himself in this place. Some of the anecdotes sound foreign to Pete, and he has to listen as Patrick tells the story, as if reminding him of gaps in his memory.
Inevitably, Patrick's desperation breaks through. 'Come back Pete. We all miss you so much.'
Almost as soon as the words are out of the other man's mouth, Pete hears the heavy footsteps of the men behind him, coming to drag him away again. Before they can reach him he tries to say something reassuring.
'I will. I know I will, I just... I don't know, I feel like... I’m sorry Patrick. I miss you too. I wish I could tell you how I miss you, how I think about you all the time.'
'Come on Petey, time to go.' Calloused fingers grip his shoulder tightly, too tightly, and force him to his room. He's almost certain that Patrick keeps talking after he's gone, his voice drifting down the labyrinth of halls after him, trying to follow him, to keep him company. The thought soothes him.
*
Patrick sits alone by Pete's bedside, drooping eyes and neck held up by sheer stubbornness and a supportive hand under his chin. This late at night the ward is silent apart from the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Rather than being repetitive and annoying, Patrick likes the constant noise. It lets him know his friend is still there. It's the only communication he really has with him anymore. Communication that isn't completely one-sided, that is.
He's been talking to Pete constantly, just like they encouraged him to. A familiar voice might coax him up from the depths of unconsciousness or something. Convince him to come back. Patrick's been trying to be that reason, the thing that makes Pete want to come back.
It's been nearly five weeks. He's shown no improvement. Patrick's gut is pretty much a constant knot of fear these days and he can't remember the last night he slept in his own bed.
'Come back Pete' he mumbles for the millionth time. 'Please, wake up. I need you.'
Pete doesn't stir. The machines beep on and on into the night.
"They say your head can be a prison...
Then these are just conjugal visits."
- Fall out Boy - The Take Over, The Break's Over
Probably confusing as hell. Sorry. If anyone's super lost I'll clarify.
So, on the day a nameless captor unlocks the door to his cell and announces he has a visitor, he initially wonders who there is in his life who would even want to see him. Did he have a girlfriend in his life before captivity? Are his parents around? Brothers or sisters maybe? He can't remember any of them, can't remember anything. One day he just woke up in a tiny white cell, with no clue who he was or what he was doing there. His guards weren't forthcoming with details and his memory is yet to fill in any of the blanks, so he's remained in the dark ever since.
He follows his guard, a short but compact man with heavily inked arms, along corridor after corridor of blank whiteness. Never once do they pass another cell, and Pete wonders if he's being held in solitary isolation, or if he is perhaps the sole inmate of this bizarre facility. He's more than a little surprised to see the awkwardly shifting man (barely old enough to escape being labeled 'kid' in Pete's mind) on the far side of the table set up for the visit. The room their in is bare but for the small table with a chair on either side. More blank white walls and no other door that Pete can see. There's a cloying smell in the air that he's never noticed before, something chemical and insistent. A steady high-pitched beeping also permeates the room, though Pete can't place its source.
He slides into the hard plastic chair with as neutral a greeting as he can muster without sounding rude. He knows he knows this kid from somewhere, know he's important to him, but he can't place his finger on how or why, so he's unsure as to the level of intimacy required in their interactions. His visitor leans eagerly across the dividing table and clasps Pete's hands in both of his own, whispering his name like a prayer and it's confirmation at once. For a second Pete thinks he was about to kiss him, but then the distance between them is subtly increased, and apart from the continued connection of their hands, everything about their body language points to their status as friends. Close friends.
'Are you ok?' asks the newcomer.
Pete shrugs and shakes his head slightly, I dunno more than Not really, no. 'I guess,' he says. 'Bored more than anything.'
'I can't imagine. Locked up like this, it makes me shudder just to think about it. Inside your own head the whole time, nothing to distract you... I'd go stir-crazy man.'
'Uh... that's not the most encouraging thing I could be hearing right now.'
'Sorry. I didn't mean - it's not that - I'll shut up now.'
'Its cool, man. I know what you meant. Don't shut up, I'd really appreciate having someone to talk to, y'know?'
'Yah, I'll bet. Conversation must be severely lacking around here.' The kid flicks his chin at one of the guards at attention by the door and raises a conspiratorial eyebrow. The guard catches his meaning and shows his displeasure with a lip-curling snarl, mouth pulled off-center to bare perfect pearly whites. Pete chuckles low in his throat.
'Yah, these guys are all the same, certainly not excelling in terms of emotional honesty.'
This comment apparently warrants a sigh from across the table, and Pete looks at his friend(?) to see the humour gone from his face.
'When are you coming home from this place?' he asks, almost pleading, child-like. Pete frowns.
'I don't know? No one tells me anything. When they let me go, I guess.'
'It's nothing to do with them.' His eyes dart to the men by the door again. 'It's up to you, Pete, you decide when this ends. They say... They say when you're good and ready, you'll come back to us.'
'When I'm ready? Hell, I'm ready now, I don't wanna be here!'
'No, no it's more than that. You can't just say it, you have to really mean it, feel it deep down. You're here because... Well never mind how you got here, that's irrelevant. But you're still here because something's keeping you here. And we don't know what, Pete, and it's not like you're giving us any clues.'
'What do you mean? How do I prove I want to come home?'
The kid shrugs. 'I can't tell you that. I don't know. It's something you have to work out.'
'Ok, time's up.' A voice from the doorway interrupts Pete's suddenly reeling thoughts. A guard is standing over him, pulling at his shirt sleeve to extract him from his seat.
'Wait, what? We've only had, like 5 minutes!'
'It's ok Pete, I'll be here. I'm not going anywhere, ok? I'm gonna be right here.'
Pete is dragged from the room and straight back to his cell before he can protest or bid his mystery visitor goodbye. He pounds at the steel door for a few futile minutes after it slams behind him. Then he gives up and cries himself to sleep.
*
The second time he's led to the visiting room, he remembers.
'Patrick"' he yells joyously, and practically knocks his friend(!) out of his seat with his zealous bear hug. 'Oh man am I glad to see you! How are you?'
Patrick laughs softly, musically, like everything about him, and smoothes Pete's arm as he gently propels him into his own chair.
'I'm ok.' he says. 'A little tired. Worrying about you of course. How's things?'
Pete shrugs at his friend again, frustrated that he can't tell him anything about his time in this sterile environment. He would if he could, but amongst other things, there isn't anything happening. He sleeps most of the time, paces his cell, gets lost in his own thoughts. Occasionally, increasingly, he conducts blazing rows with his guards. He doesn't even know what over, he just remembers their ferocity, their stubbornness. He spends all his time talking to himself in here.
So he takes advantage of Patrick's visit to engage in actual conversation. He's conscious that the sentinels prowling behind him could put a stop to their time together at any arbitrary moment, so he absorbs every second in his friend's presence, his words, his touch, his gentle laugh. They talk and joke about how things were before Pete found himself in this place. Some of the anecdotes sound foreign to Pete, and he has to listen as Patrick tells the story, as if reminding him of gaps in his memory.
Inevitably, Patrick's desperation breaks through. 'Come back Pete. We all miss you so much.'
Almost as soon as the words are out of the other man's mouth, Pete hears the heavy footsteps of the men behind him, coming to drag him away again. Before they can reach him he tries to say something reassuring.
'I will. I know I will, I just... I don't know, I feel like... I’m sorry Patrick. I miss you too. I wish I could tell you how I miss you, how I think about you all the time.'
'Come on Petey, time to go.' Calloused fingers grip his shoulder tightly, too tightly, and force him to his room. He's almost certain that Patrick keeps talking after he's gone, his voice drifting down the labyrinth of halls after him, trying to follow him, to keep him company. The thought soothes him.
*
Patrick sits alone by Pete's bedside, drooping eyes and neck held up by sheer stubbornness and a supportive hand under his chin. This late at night the ward is silent apart from the rhythmic beeping of monitors. Rather than being repetitive and annoying, Patrick likes the constant noise. It lets him know his friend is still there. It's the only communication he really has with him anymore. Communication that isn't completely one-sided, that is.
He's been talking to Pete constantly, just like they encouraged him to. A familiar voice might coax him up from the depths of unconsciousness or something. Convince him to come back. Patrick's been trying to be that reason, the thing that makes Pete want to come back.
It's been nearly five weeks. He's shown no improvement. Patrick's gut is pretty much a constant knot of fear these days and he can't remember the last night he slept in his own bed.
'Come back Pete' he mumbles for the millionth time. 'Please, wake up. I need you.'
Pete doesn't stir. The machines beep on and on into the night.
"They say your head can be a prison...
Then these are just conjugal visits."
- Fall out Boy - The Take Over, The Break's Over
Probably confusing as hell. Sorry. If anyone's super lost I'll clarify.