‹ Prequel: Sick and Sain
Sick Boy
Chapter 8
“This is Ryan’s phone. I’m not here. Leave a message after the beep.”
“Ry—it’s Gee. I’ve been calling you all morning. Where are you? Please don’t tell me you’re still asleep. Call me.”
Gerard was convinced that Ryan had dropped off the face of the earth. It was unusual for him to have his Sidekick more than two feet away from him at all times and so naturally he was worried. Jesus Christ, Gee, he’s probably just sleeping or something. Let it go. Damnit. Just let it go.
His phone began to ring, quickly after he put it down, and he picked it up, hopeful it would be his wonderful, perfect boyfriend calling to tell him that he had just woken up—hi how are you, the show went great, I’m doing really well. But it wasn’t. Oddly enough, the name stretched across the screen read ‘Brendon Urie’ instead.
“Hello?”
“Gee?” came a breathless syllable of Ryan’s voice.
“Ry, hey Sick Boy. Why are you on Brendon’s phone?” Gerard asked.
“Mine…I swear to god, it’s not here…it’s gone,” Ryan groaned, “Some chick stole it last night.”
“Some chick? Ryan were you drunk?” Gerard sighed disapprovingly. Motherfucker. He wasn’t stupid. No, no, no. Not stupid. Ignorant, maybe. Sad, yes. Sain, I dunno Gee…
“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point…” Ryan mumbled, “My Sidekick…”
“Ry, that is so the point,” Gerard snapped, “You got drunk and you’re paying for it—in more than just a hangover.”
“Gee…” Ryan drew the nickname out, “Gee—I…I’m sorry.” He sniffled. Pathetic, Sick Boy. You cry to easy. You’re like a girl.
“Don’t be, it’s not mine.” Gerard rolled his eyes like a teenage girl telling her father he’d better shut up. Because Gee, obviously you hover somewhere in between maternal and juvenile. Which should set you at…no, that’s not very obvious. Teenage? Maybe. But teenagers scare the living shit out of you. So what the hell are you? Insain. That’s what you are. Welcome back to the insain part of your life. Did you ever really leave?
“Gee…” Ryan repeated, “Gerard.”
Gerard sighed, “I’m sorry Ry. I didn’t mean to be like that. I just…you—how are you?”
“What? My Sidekick just got stolen!”
“No not like that.”
“Wha—oh!” Ryan groaned. Here came the part where Gerard would deliver a speech about how much he cared, how he just wanted Ryan to be okay, how he’d better be on his pills regularly, how much he understood. Fuck you Gerard. You have no idea.
“Yeah,” Gerard muttered, briefly considering having lunch and then deciding against it.
“I’m fine.”
What’s up with this Gee? You never check up on Ryan like this. Sure you ask him shit, but you don’t call him while he’s on tour like you’re his mother. “What’s the definition of fine?”
“Mostly okay.”
“Fuck, Ryan,” Gerard was beginning to get annoyed with Ryan’s vagueness, “Don’t be so damn general.”
“Fine—Gerard,” Ryan sneered through the phone, “Would you like to know everything? I had a shitty show last night, I then got drunk and my fucking phone—with videos and pictures of you on it—got stolen. And some girl Spencer says is a bit to well known on the Internet for his taste has it in her hands. I had the guts to think I missed you for a while, but I’m seriously starting to doubt that now—Gerard. So yes, I’m mostly okay although that’s becoming controversial now because you just seem to want to rub it into my fucking head that I got drunk. So—Gerard, just fuck off. Seriously.”
It was a slap in the face. A kick to the ass. A shock. Panic worthy. It hadn’t been any new information—but it had definitely been a different way of delivering it. And Gerard only got phone calls like this from sad, pitiful ex-girlfriends. But that wasn’t Ryan. No, dear god, don’t let him be an ex- anything. Please. Ryan is your Sick Boy, Gerard. Sick for your Sain. “Ry?—Ry, I’m sorry?” But you’re not sain anymore Gee.
There was no answer.
“Ry—it’s Gee. I’ve been calling you all morning. Where are you? Please don’t tell me you’re still asleep. Call me.”
Gerard was convinced that Ryan had dropped off the face of the earth. It was unusual for him to have his Sidekick more than two feet away from him at all times and so naturally he was worried. Jesus Christ, Gee, he’s probably just sleeping or something. Let it go. Damnit. Just let it go.
His phone began to ring, quickly after he put it down, and he picked it up, hopeful it would be his wonderful, perfect boyfriend calling to tell him that he had just woken up—hi how are you, the show went great, I’m doing really well. But it wasn’t. Oddly enough, the name stretched across the screen read ‘Brendon Urie’ instead.
“Hello?”
“Gee?” came a breathless syllable of Ryan’s voice.
“Ry, hey Sick Boy. Why are you on Brendon’s phone?” Gerard asked.
“Mine…I swear to god, it’s not here…it’s gone,” Ryan groaned, “Some chick stole it last night.”
“Some chick? Ryan were you drunk?” Gerard sighed disapprovingly. Motherfucker. He wasn’t stupid. No, no, no. Not stupid. Ignorant, maybe. Sad, yes. Sain, I dunno Gee…
“Well, yeah, but that’s not the point…” Ryan mumbled, “My Sidekick…”
“Ry, that is so the point,” Gerard snapped, “You got drunk and you’re paying for it—in more than just a hangover.”
“Gee…” Ryan drew the nickname out, “Gee—I…I’m sorry.” He sniffled. Pathetic, Sick Boy. You cry to easy. You’re like a girl.
“Don’t be, it’s not mine.” Gerard rolled his eyes like a teenage girl telling her father he’d better shut up. Because Gee, obviously you hover somewhere in between maternal and juvenile. Which should set you at…no, that’s not very obvious. Teenage? Maybe. But teenagers scare the living shit out of you. So what the hell are you? Insain. That’s what you are. Welcome back to the insain part of your life. Did you ever really leave?
“Gee…” Ryan repeated, “Gerard.”
Gerard sighed, “I’m sorry Ry. I didn’t mean to be like that. I just…you—how are you?”
“What? My Sidekick just got stolen!”
“No not like that.”
“Wha—oh!” Ryan groaned. Here came the part where Gerard would deliver a speech about how much he cared, how he just wanted Ryan to be okay, how he’d better be on his pills regularly, how much he understood. Fuck you Gerard. You have no idea.
“Yeah,” Gerard muttered, briefly considering having lunch and then deciding against it.
“I’m fine.”
What’s up with this Gee? You never check up on Ryan like this. Sure you ask him shit, but you don’t call him while he’s on tour like you’re his mother. “What’s the definition of fine?”
“Mostly okay.”
“Fuck, Ryan,” Gerard was beginning to get annoyed with Ryan’s vagueness, “Don’t be so damn general.”
“Fine—Gerard,” Ryan sneered through the phone, “Would you like to know everything? I had a shitty show last night, I then got drunk and my fucking phone—with videos and pictures of you on it—got stolen. And some girl Spencer says is a bit to well known on the Internet for his taste has it in her hands. I had the guts to think I missed you for a while, but I’m seriously starting to doubt that now—Gerard. So yes, I’m mostly okay although that’s becoming controversial now because you just seem to want to rub it into my fucking head that I got drunk. So—Gerard, just fuck off. Seriously.”
It was a slap in the face. A kick to the ass. A shock. Panic worthy. It hadn’t been any new information—but it had definitely been a different way of delivering it. And Gerard only got phone calls like this from sad, pitiful ex-girlfriends. But that wasn’t Ryan. No, dear god, don’t let him be an ex- anything. Please. Ryan is your Sick Boy, Gerard. Sick for your Sain. “Ry?—Ry, I’m sorry?” But you’re not sain anymore Gee.
There was no answer.