Abomination

Six hours, two more romping sessions and five missed calls later, Ryan finally gives in and decides to call his dad back.

We’re in the living room, cramped together on my tiny couch, legs tangled together with Ryan’s boney chest pressed flush against my back, and his arm slung over my waist. While he ‘mhm’s and ‘yeah’s, and groans and sighs into the receiver behind me, I’m flipping through the channels until I land on Gossip Girl and decide to keep it there (shutup, the boys are hot, okay?).

Of course, the first thing Ryan says when he clicks off the phone five minutes later is, “I can’t believe you watch this crap.”

“How could I not?” I ask, keeping my eyes glued to the TV. “Overly-dramatic shows about rich, spoiled kids are my favorite.”

This earns me my own ‘mhm’.

He sighs, and drops his head against the armrest with a loud and seemingly painful thunk. From the corner of my eye I watch him open and close, and then open and close, and then open and close his cell phone above him with a thoughtful expression on his face.

As he goes for his fortieth round of his cell phone opening, I grab it from his hands, and place it on the floor next to me. “You’re distracting me,” I say.

He gives me one more dramatic sigh, flops down onto his back, landing half on top of me due to the lack of space, but doesn’t protest.

Ryan stays absolutely silent behind me for a few minutes, and I don’t go to start a conversation either because really, this show is intense. Finally, Ryan lets out an annoyed sigh/groan/noise thing, and turns back onto his side, hoisting himself up to look down at me, frowning. “So, what?” he asks, waving his other hand in the air to like, make a point or something. “You’re not gonna ask me about what my dad said?”

Oh, yeah, right. That.

I force my eyes off the TV, and crank my neck to look up at him. “Yes… I was waiting for you to tell me,” I lie.

He gives me the look. “Right, okay,” he says. “Well, he wants me to come over so we can talk tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, eyes drifting back to the TV. “Are you gonna go?”

“I don’t know…” he muses, running his fingers through his hair. “I mean, what is he going to say to me that he hasn’t already said, you know? I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve already heard everything he needs to say, right?”

“Mm, yeah,” I mumble, distracted.

Then, out of like, freaking nowhere, Ryan decides, hey lets jab my fingers into Brendon’s with an unbelievably hard force for no reason. “Ow! What the fuck was that for?!” I demand, grabbing onto my throbbing waist and tear my eyes away from the screen to shoot daggers at my oh-so-loving boyfriend. “I’ll probably have bruises the size of fucking… Pluto tomorrow now! Thanks!”

He gives me the classic, unsympathetic Ryan eye-roll, and replies back, “You weren’t even listening to me!”

“I was so!” I cry back defensively, sneaking a glance at the TV just as a commercial comes on (thank god, I was missing all the good stuff). “It’s just that this show is really interesting,” I explain, turning my attention back to Ryan. “It’s the season finale! Like, look, okay, there’s this chick, Georgina, and her and this other girl, Serena used to hang out and do stupid sh - ”

“Brendon!” Ryan cries, throwing his hands up in the air in frustration as he goes to sit up. “Is this show actually more important?”

“No!” I say automatically (it’s instinct), looking up at him with innocent eyes, but then I pause, and think it over before admitting, “well, in a way, yes. Maybe.” He stares at me, eyes like, literally flashing with rage and fire, so I quickly defend myself before I end up buried in the backyard, “I mean, like, only because, yeah, your dad’s an asshole, what else is new, you know?”

He scowls.

“Okay, okay. Sorry,” I say, sitting up. I grab onto his hip with one hand, and use the other to grab onto the remote, clicking it off, leaving us in complete darkness except for the dim light flooding in from the hall. “I’m all ears.”

He twitches his lips together, forcing back the smile that I know is just dying to come out. “You’re a jerk,” he states with a bit of a pout.

“I know.” I smirk, squeezing his hips, and practically pull him completely onto my lap. He giggles and ducks his face into my neck. “But somehow, you still love me,” I murmur into his hair.

He sighs into my skin, then smiles as he goes, “Yeah, somehow.”

- - -

The next day, at almost exactly three on the dot, Ryan and I are heading up the Ross’ driveway, hand in hand and heads held high. Okay, and well, maybe Ryan’s is… but me on the other hand, well I’m pretty much shaking in my rainbow polka-dot Vans.

Just as Ryan’s fingers are just inches away from the doorbell, he stops, turns to me and goes, “Okay, remember, if he starts any crap – which, he probably will – we’re gone.”

“Mhmm.” I nod, and there’s no doubt that he can feel all my sweat leaking out of the palm of my hand into his.

“And maybe stray away from calling him an ignorant asshole this time,” he adds on with a smirk.

“Haha,” I reply dryly.

He smiles, and kisses my cheek before ringing the doorbell. “It’s so weird,” he whispers as we stand and wait, hearts pounding (well, mine is, anyway), “ringing the doorbell to my own house.”

“Mm, yeah,” I mumble, absentmindedly, too distracted by my own inner freaking outingness to pay much attention to what he’s saying. And sure, maybe I freaked out on the guy a little in the past (okay, fine, I totally told him where to go) but now I’m pretty much back to having absolutely no backbone and being scared shitless.

I already tried convincing Ryan not to make me go, that he should talk to his dad in private, but nope, that was a total fail (I really need to work on my persuasion skills), so… well, that brings me here.

Finally, what seems like eons later, the lock clicks on the other side of the door, and it swings open to reveal Mr. Ross, all fresh and clean from the hospital. He takes one look at me before going, teeth clenched, “I don’t want him- ”

Ryan squeezes onto my hand, and shakes his head, which is still up high (mine, on the other hand, is so low, I’m practically doing a face-plant into the welcome mat). “If he goes, I go,” he says, cutting Mr. Ross off before he has a chance to finish his sentence (which I’m pretty sure I can figure out myself).

I attempt to swallow the lump in my throat, but my mouth is as dry as a fucking desert, so it really doesn’t work out to well.

Mr. Ross looks between us with an angry scowl on his manly, scary face. However, I’m surprised when he does a half-hearted flail of his hand, and grunts, “Fine. Come in.”

I look up at Ryan like, please don’t make me do this. He’s going to kill me and then eat my fat ass for breakfast. He ignores me and tugs me in after his father by hand.

Mr. Ross takes a seat on the big, leather chair in the living room, and Ryan pulls us down onto the couch across from him. I take a large gulp of air because judging by the look on Mr. Ross’ face, this will probably be one of my last.

God, why didn’t I fake sick?

Mr. Ross is staring down at our hands, still tightly intertwined together, lips twitching. I sit, and wait, and brace myself for his screaming and yelling, telling us to stop being so disgusting in his house, but long, excruciating seconds pass, and it never comes.

I breathe a sigh of relief, and sneak a look over at Ryan whose eyes are burning holes into an opened, but full bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to his father. Who, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice, and instead goes, voice rough, “I decided not to believe those rumors.”

Ryan’s eyes immediately dart back over to his dad, a look of sheer shock on his face. “What?” he asks.

Mr. Ross clears his throat, and then folds his hands onto his lap into a tight ball. “I believe you,” he repeats.

“Wh – really?”

He nods.

“I, uh…” Ryan sputters at a complete loss of words. He opens his mouth, and then closes it once more before going, softly as ever, “Thanks.”

He nods again, face tight.

And I’m just sitting there, completely out of the loop, because I didn’t even know he knew about the rumors. I mean, honestly, after all the events that went on this weekend, the whole thing kind of even slipped my mind a little.

Mr. Ross clears his throat again, and practically forces out, like the words actually hurt or something, “I’m sorry for what I said at the hospital. I should have known that just because you haven’t made the best choices lately, that you wouldn’t do something like that.”

Um, wait. Whoa. Hold on. Pause. WHAT? Did Mr. Ross actually just apologize?

Ryan’s eyebrows shoot up, just as surprised as me, and yeah, he definitely did. “Um… thank you,” he breathes, face lighting up.

Mr. Ross stares back at him just as hard. He looks over at the opened whiskey bottle next to him, fingers flexing, and I know he wants it so badly. However, I’m surprised when he swallows, and looks back at us, leaving the bottle to sit there, untouched. “Look,” he starts, “I’ve been doing some thinking lately, especially when I was in the hospital. You’re my son.”

Yes! A+ for Pastor George!

Ryan raises an eyebrow.

Mr. Ross takes a deep breath before continuing. “You’re my son, and I’ve already lost your mother. I don’t want to lose you too.”

I turn to look at Ryan, surprised, and he just bites onto his lip, trying to keep his face straight, then nods for him to continue.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “This - ” Pause, deep breath, “this doesn’t mean that I accept the decisions you made or your…” another pause, deep breath, pained look, “relationship with… Brendon, but I’m not going to lose my only son over it.”

Oh thanks. Try not to sound too disgusted when you say my name, buddy.

Ryan looks over at me, eyes wide, and a tiny smile makes its way across his lips. “Really? Are you sure?” he asks.

Mr. Ross gives a tight nod. “Yes. I’m sure I’ll learn to live with it.”

Ryan’s face breaks into a beam, and he looks from me, and back to his dad. To my surprise, Mr. Ross even smiles back a little. But just a bit. He clears his throat, rubs his mouth then goes, as he stares down at his lap, “You’re my son, Ryan, and I love you.”

I barely have time to blink before Ryan’s jumping off the couch, and over to his dad, throwing his arms around his neck. “I love you too, dad!” he cries, voice muffled in his sweater.

To say that Mr. Ross looks a little taken back at Ryan’s sudden outburst is a bit of an understatement. At first, he stays stiff under Ryan, eyes wide, but after a few moments pass, he slowly, and awkwardly, moves one hand up to pat Ryan on the back.

I look away, feeling a bit awkward myself.

Finally, Ryan peels himself off his dad, and sits down beside me, absolutely glowing. I cough awkwardly.

We sit in silence for awhile, but Ryan doesn’t seem to notice how awkward it is, because he’s still sitting there beaming. Eventually, Mr. Ross does another awkward throat clearing and goes, “There was this retreat for ministers I went to a few weeks back, and there was this one man I got on with pretty well, and I ended up telling him the situation I was in with you. He told me he struggled with the exact same thing a year or so ago with his brother, and he told me about this book he read, that really helped him see it differently and helped him to accept his brother. So, when I got home I decided to read it, and he was right. It still clearly stated that homosexuality is a sin, but it helped me open my eyes and realize that just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you’re going to hell, and it doesn’t mean that you can’t be a Christian, or that God doesn’t love you just as much.”

This only makes Ryan beam more, and let out this tiny, excited squeal thing. I’m almost positive he’s gonna get up and spontaneously hug him again, but instead, he stays seated beside me, practically jumping in his seat. “That’s great, Dad! I was beginning to think you were never going to come around,” he says, and I’m pretty much expecting him to break out with something like, Oh golly gee! any second, and it’s kind of really scaring me.

“I wasn’t expecting to,” he admits.

Ryan beams some more than clutches back onto my hand, and squeezes, hard. This only makes Mr. Ross turn his attention to me, and I just sit and shake under his gaze. Finally, he goes, “You know, you’re not so bad.”

“Uh, thanks?” I squeak.

He chuckles. “I have to give it to you, for what you said to me that one time. Sure, maybe it wasn’t the best thing to say to your – ” Oh, oh, oh! Come on, George! Come on, say it. Your boyfriend, “Ryan’s father.” Oh, damn. So close. “But it was what really made me start thinking.”

“Um, no problem?” Oh my god, my stomach is going to fall out of my butt.

He nods, then turns his attention back to a jumping Ryan. He takes a moment before saying, “Ryan, I want you to move back in.”

Ryan stops jumping, and his grin fades. “Dad…” he starts.

“Ryan, this is your house. You can’t just stay at the Urie’s forever,” he points out.

Yes! Yes, he can! He can stay forever and ever and ever and ever.

“But, I – ” He sighs, and slouches down in the chair, grip going soft on my hand. “I’ll think about it.”

No! No! You will not think about it, Ryan! There’s nothing to fucking think about! You are not moving back here and leaving me all by myself!!!!

I stare at him.

He looks back at me for a total of 0.454 seconds, ignores my pleading look, then turns back to his dad to continue, “We’ll see how it goes. I don’t want to move in here and then have you turn around in a week, and go back to how you used to be.”

“It won’t.”

Ryan bites his lip, and shakes his head. “But I don’t know that.”

Mr. Ross sighs, defeated, and slowly nods his head, “Fine. That’s fair, I guess.”

No! That is not fucking fair! That is fucking cruel and mean and just no! No! No!

The rest of the time we’re there, I sit, and pout, and whine, and force myself to not start crying, because this is so not cool. When we finally leave, Ryan gives his dad another hug, and he gives him another awkward pat back.

We don’t talk about it for the rest of the night.

- - -

School the next day is no better than it was Friday – if not, it’s worse.

Everyone is still going on that we’re whores, and everyone still believes it, and even more claimed that me and Ryan came onto them for money. I guess nothing exciting enough happened this weekend that would make people move on from Ryan and me.

By the time lunchtime rolls around, my back is probably completely covered in bruises by being pushed into lockers so many times. Ryan meets me at my locker after class, since Spencer’s still mad at him and he doesn’t want to walk into the cafeteria alone. His binders clutched to his chest, and his eyes are red and puffy, and he looks like a little, lost orphan boy or something, so I wrap my arms around his neck and hug him tight.

He whimpers.

“Just one more month,” I murmur into his ear. “One more month and you won’t ever have to deal with these people again.”

He nods.

“Just don’t let them know you care,” I say. “Don’t let Dayna think she won.”

He nods again, sniffs, and pulls his face from my shoulder. “Okay,” he mumbles, forcing a small smile. “Let’s go.”

From the time it takes to get from my locker to Ryan’s, then from there to the cafeteria, we get more name calls and jeers than I can count, but we just ignore it and pretend we don’t hear it.

When we get to our table, I’m greeted with a sympathetic look from both Jon and Spencer. Ryan also gets an equally sympathetic look from Jon, if not more, and only a half-look from Spencer (which is a whole lot better than a bitchface, I’ll tell you that).

Neither of them bring up the rumors, which I am forever grateful for because I am so not in the mood to be discussing it anymore at the moment. I just want a peaceful lunch with my boyfriend and best friends (whoa, wait. What? Did I actually just refer to Spencer as my best friend? Weird). Instead, Jon decides to bring up Friday, which is almost just as bad, “So, um, how did it go with Friday and the, uh…” He pauses, and darts his eyes between me and Ryan.

“He knows.”

“Oh, okay.” He breathes a sigh of relief. “So, how’d it go? Did your parents find out?”

I nod, jabbing the little plastic straw into my juice box. “Yeah. My dad knew right away, and my mom… well, I got a little sobered up before her and Ryan got home, but my dad told her anyways and… well, I can’t hang out with either of you for a week,” I explain regretfully.

“Aw, shit. Really?” Jon asks. “Do they like, hate me now?”

I snort. “My mom? Really? Is she even capable of hating anyone?”

Jon shrugs, and swipes a carrot from Spencer’s tray. He scowls, and Jon doesn’t even notice. “I guess not.”

“I take it your mom didn’t care?”

Now it’s Jon’s turn to snort, and says nothing else, but he doesn’t have to anyway because it’s his mom. I mean, you think my mom is pretty cool and laid-back, but compared to Mrs. Walker, she’s really got nothing on her.

Jon turns his attention to Ryan, who’s fidgeting uncomfortably next to me. I rest a steady hand on his knee, and he calms down a bit. “I’m so sorry about your dad, Ryan,” Jon says sincerely.

Ryan looks up from the table, surprised that Jon is even talking to him, let alone even being nice, which is honestly kind of stupid because I don’t think Jon even has a mean bone in his body. “Um, Th-Thanks,” he stutters.

Jon sends him one of his classic, warm smiles that could make the coldest of cold melt into a big, cozy, warm pile of goo. Oh, I love Jon.

Spencer just stares at Ryan as he nibbles on a carrot.

A couple of minutes of silence pass, before Spencer breaks it by clearing his throat. “So, I was thinking about going to a movie this Friday. Pineapple Express?” He suggests, looking between me and Jon. “What do you think?”

Jon nods, and steals another carrot while Spencer looks at me, waiting for my answer.

I bite my lip, guilt tugging at my brain, because what happened the last time I left Ryan alone? I sneak a quick look over at Ryan, whose nodding, but fuck does he ever look sad. “Uh… sure,” I mumble. Fuck, terrible person.

Ryan forces a small smile.

Spencer looks between us for a few moments, a thoughtful expression on his face, before he keeps his eyes on Ryan and goes, “So, are you in, Ryan, or are you just gonna ditch us again?”

Ryan looks up at him, eyes wide, and mouth practically hanging open in shock. “Um,” he starts, taking a deep breath as he shakes his head casually, “no, I uh, I think I’m over the whole ditching thing.”

Spencer’s lips twitch into a small smile, and it’s so small that it barely even counts, but it’s there, and I see it, and by the glowing look on Ryan’s face, I know he does too. “Good.”

Ryan’s beaming, then I’m beaming, then all four of us are sitting there beaming, in a cafeteria full of kids who hate us because we’re gay, and think that Ryan and I are drug-addicted prostitutes – however, despite all of this, I can’t help but think that everything is going to be just fine.