These Sheets Tell of Regret
These Sheets Tell of Regret
“Ry… Brendon Urie is in the hospital,” Jon says, and I barely let his words process before I’m flying out my front door, speeding down the highway in my parents’ car and running down the halls of Sunrise Hospital.
Which leaves me, panting and out of breath, and standing at his hospital room door. My feet frozen to the linoleum floor as the realization that I am, in fact, standing outside of Brendon fucking Urie’s hospital room hits me. The same Brendon fucking Urie that has been my best friend since before I was born. And also, most importantly, the same Brendon fucking Urie that had so blatantly wanted nothing to do with me for the past 93 days and counting.
So, why the fuck am I even here?
Because, I still care. Because, whether I want to admit it or not, I still fucking love the bastard.
But Nonetheless, my heart’s still pounding in my chest and I can practically feel his presence through the closed door and in a way, all I want to do is turn around and bolt back home, curl up in my bed under the covers and pretend that phone call had never happened. Go back to pretending I don’t care about Brendon fucking Urie anymore.
I don’t though, of course. Of course I fucking don’t. Because its Brendon fucking Urie and well, I love him.
---
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask, swishing the colorful contents around in the bottle, unsurely. “We’ll be so dead if our parents find out.”
“Exactly,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand and pops the lid off. “So, they wont.” He brings the bottle up to his nose and takes a whiff. “We’re seventeen, I think its about time we get drunk for once in our lives.” And with that, he presses the bottle to his lips and takes one long gulp.
---
I push open the door, pause again, then take a deep breath before continuing into the room.
And there he is, sitting up on the hospital bed, in the ugly, pale blue hospital gown, tucked into the scratchy hospital blankets. He’s picking at the tape that’s holding the IV to his wrist and he’s staring out the window, lost in thought.
His face is free of cuts and braises and any other deformities. Although, those bags that formed around his eyes 93 days ago are still there. He went from really pale to really, really fucking pale and just, well, he looks just as fucking as perfect as he always does and I hate him for it. I hate him so much - except, I don’t, at all.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at him as he just stares out the window, finger picking at the tape, oblivious to my presence.
When I manage to form words in my head and force myself to push them out, it’s quiet and barely there, and all it is, is a simple, “Hi.”
His head immediately snaps forward to look at me, startled. He appears to be beyond the point of startled when it settles in and he realizes I’m the one standing there at the foot of his bed, probably looking more nervous and uncomfortable than I have ever been in my whole entire life.
It takes him awhile to answer, and for awhile, the thought of turning around and running for my life crosses my mind once again. But then he says, just as quiet, or maybe even quieter than me, “Hi.”
Then, that’s it. We’re silent and the only thing I can hear is the pounding in my head and the annoying ringing from the hospital hallway outside of his blinding white room.
He blinks. He rubs his arm and brushes some messy, dark brown hair out of his face. “What are you doing here?”
Right, that’s a good question. What am I doing here? I don’t even know. Clearly, it had to be one of the most stupidest things I had ever done in my whole entire pathetic life.
It’s not like we’re friends anymore. We’re not best friends. We’re not anything.
That got ruined 93 days ago from the unnecessary amount of alcohol and teenage boy hormones.
Right. How could I have forgotten?
---
We’re barely through half the bottle and we’re already stumbling around and giggling like fools.
I’m drunk but I still notice that Brendon’s even more touchy than usual.
He grabs at my hips from behind, presses his face into my hair and mumbles into it with a slight slur, “I like being drunk.”
I shiver.
----
“I, uh…” I start, flustered and I can feel the sweat practically dripping down my back. I hate this. I hate this so bad. I want to curl up in a ball and cry. You know, kind of like I have ever since that infamous night. “I just thought - I mean, I just heard that you were here and I -” I clear my throat, and run my hand along the back of my neck, that’s so nicely slicked with a thin layer of sweat. “Um, never mind, I should just go. This was a stupid idea.”
I’m turned and almost out the door, running for my life like I should of done 5.3 minutes ago. I’m almost back in my house, back in my bed, under my covers, soaking my pillow with even more fresh, hot tears when he says, almost too quickly. “No. No. You can stay.” He pauses for a moment and adds, almost desperately, “Please.”
I stop, shocked. Brendon fucking Urie, the same one that’s been pretending I didn’t exist, that I just magically dropped off the face of the earth, was telling me to stay. The same Brendon fucking Urie that ended a whole 17 years of friendship just from one stupid night of alcohol induced mistakes. The same Brendon fucking Urie that I pass in the halls and wont even spare me a glance. The one that has dry sex with bottle blondes in the school hallway and is either high or drunk at every minute of every day now. The same Brendon fucking Urie that ripped my heart out, stabbed it five times, dragged it through dirt and stomped on it a few more times just for good measures was telling me to stay.
I slowly turn back around to face him. I’m back at the end of his bed and he’s still picking at the clear tape on his wrist, his big, fat bottom lip tucked into his mouth. He opens it, waits for a moment before saying, “I - I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, well, we haven’t exactly spoken since…” he pauses, his face becoming an ever whiter shade than before, realizing what he had just brought up. “Well, since, you know…” he eventually chokes out, eyes falling down to the IV tube.
And I think, is that really my fault?
I look down too, my eyes landing on the Ryan Smells that Brendon had scribbled onto my right converse what seemed like a billion years ago. Tears burn my eyes and all I can say is, “yeah.”
I want him to give me his hand. I want him to pull me down beside him and curl up to my side, resting his head against mine. I want to be able to press my nose against his cheek and make him giggle. I want him to cry on my shoulder and pour his heart out to me. I want him to tell me how hard the past 93 days have been without me.
And I just want… to be us again.
-----
“Ryan,” Brendon slurs into my neck, his hot, sour breath trickling down my burning skin. “You’re so pretty, you know that? So, so pretty. Even prettier than Jamie.”
I giggle drunkenly, ducking my burning red face away from his. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
-----
I finally bring my eyes up from my shoes, from the Ryan Smells, and up to Brendon’s hollow eyes. He keeps them on mine for a moment, before coughing awkwardly and turning back to the window.
“Why are you here?” I ask, not looking away.
His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, eyes falling back down to his wrist, ashamed. “Overdose,” he says so quietly, I barely catch it.
“Right.” I say. Because of course it was a fucking overdose.
“It was an accident,” he says, his eyes still avoiding mine. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.
“Of course.”
He doesn’t answer, and an awkward, long pause follows. And it hurts with every second that drags on because I know it’s never been like this before with us. I want to go back to that night and erase it all.
But at the same time, deep down, I don’t.
I just want the old Brendon back.
“You’re not even the same person anymore, B,” I say, my eyes still haven’t left his and his eyes still haven’t met mine.
He doesn’t answer. He just picks at his tape, and its starting to annoy me.
“You wouldn’t even touch drugs before and now -” I pause, my voice lowering. “Now, you’re in the hospital because of it.” I shuffle around, look down at my feet for a moment, then back up at him. “I mean, it was even a big deal when you drank for the first time.”
I decided to leave out the girls for now.
His eyes shift from his wrist, to me, to the window and back down to his wrist. He gulps and says, “Well… things… change…”
“Yeah, I guess they do,” I say, eyes burning into him.
He nods slowly.
I move over to the chair sitting at the end of his bed and sit. There’s another long pause and I know I should just leave, but I cant. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“What?” he asks, voice slightly raised and he finally looks at me, but his eyes focus somewhere near my chin, opposed to my eyes.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I repeat. “Your overdose.”
“You think I did that on purpose? You think I tried to kill myself?” he snaps, incredulously. But by the way his voice changes, I know I’m right.
All I do is nod.
“You’re fucking stupid,” he spits. “Why would I want to kill myself?”
---
My mind can’t process a thing.
With the alcohol swirling around in my brain, or with Brendon’s burning hot skin on mine, I don’t even think I’m actually alive.
We’re on my bed and I know we should stop. But his tongue and his skin and his hips just feel all too good.
Somewhere deep down, the sober part of mind is screaming at me. And I know the morning’s going to be here way too fast.
---
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” I ask back, I lean back in my chair and finally catch his eyes.
He keeps them there for a moment, then looks at the table next to me. “I didn’t try to fucking kill myself. I just - I took too much. I was drunk, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Don’t lie to me, Brendon. I still know you inside and out.”
His face goes a shade of white that only the dead could pull off. “Whatever, Ryan,” he snaps, voice shaking considerably.
“Okay…”
I don’t know where all this is coming from because I’m scared - I’m terrified and I can feel myself tremble in my seat. My mind is screaming at me to stop but I just keep talking and its all pouring out of my mouth like word vomit.
I lean forward in my seat and I can see that he’s practically shaking himself. “It’s because you finally had to face the fact that you like guys. That you’re a fag -”
“Shut up, Ryan,” he snaps again.
“Because you slept with your best friend. So you decide to shut him out. Cover it up with drugs and alcohol and girls -”
“Ryan, shut the fuck up,” he repeats, his voice firm but shaking at the same time. I can see his eyes are wet.
“But it just didn’t work, it just wont go away would it, Brendon?” My voice is just oozing with venom and I’m grabbing onto the arms of the chair so hard, my knuckles are turning white, just like his face. I just cant stop. I want him to hurt like he hurt me.
“Shut the fuck up! We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.” He practically screams, and I can see the tears are so close to falling.
And of course, I don’t. I cant.
I’m sitting so far up, I’m almost off my chair. “So, you take some drugs, choke back some alcohol knowing you’ll overdose and everyone will just think it was an accident. You’ll go down as some kind of pathetic hero, and no one will know the truth. Except for me.”
“You don’t know shit.” His voice has dropped now and I swear I can see a single tear sliding down his cheek.
“Okay, then please enlighten me, Bren. Tell me why you’ve been ignoring me, pretending I don’t exist instead of - oh, I don’t know - talking about it?” I snap. “Instead of throwing yourself into drugs and alcohol that you used to be so against.”
He doesn’t answer and it’s quiet again. The ringing in the halls have stopped and I cant hear anything but Brendon’s shallow breathing. He’s looking around the room, blinking every few seconds. He clears his throat, and finally says, “We had sex, Ryan.”
“No! Really?!” I fake gasp.
“I’m sorry that waking up naked next to my best friend since before I was born, kind of freaked me out a little,” he snaps under his breath.
“What? And you think it didn’t freak me out?!” I cry.
He shrugs and he’s back to picking at the stupid fucking tape, and I swear I’m about to rip it off him completely if he doesn’t stop.
“It happened, Brendon, and I dealt with it. We could of talked about it instead of throwing seventeen years of friendship away from one stupid night that should’ve never happened.”
“I know,” he agrees, softly. “I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the air being sucked out of me completely, and I fall back down against the chair, deflated and feeling slightly guilty for my harsh words.
---
The next morning I wake up to the sound of the door slamming shut.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know it was Brendon.
---
“So, are you…” he starts, uncomfortably. He’s moved from picking at the tape to picking at the blanket. “Um, do you… uh, well, you know…” He shifts, and bites his lip.
“Yeah,” I answer softly. “I am. I do.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters under his breath. “Oh, god.”
“Yeah…”
“Did you -” he starts, pauses and coughs. “Did you um, know before that… night?” he struggles out awkwardly, shifting his position in his bed again.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I answer, nodding.
“Oh. Wow.” I am certain he is seconds away from running to the nearest toilet and puking his guts out.
“And what about you, Bren?” I ask, catching his eyes once again, but only for a mere second before he looks back down at his bed.
He doesn’t answer. He just stares, and picks at his bed. Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the door swings open and a plump nurse waddles in. “Brendon, sweetie,” she drawls, “visiting hours are over.”
I might have been imagining things, but I swear Brendon a look of disappointment flashed over Brendon’s face for a moment there.
“Oh. Okay. Alright.” He nods, eyes shifting. “Thanks.”
She spares a quick glance at me, smiles and leaves. Brendon’s eyes meet mine and he actually leaves them there this time.
“Well…” I say, standing up. “I’ll see you later then, I guess.”
He still doesn’t say anything, and I can feel his eyes follow me as I head to the door. I’m almost gone when I hear, “Come back tomorrow. Please?”
I turn to look at him and frown, confused. “Sure…”
He gives me a short nod. I study him for a few more seconds, give him a pathetic little wave of my hand and leave.
---
When I pass him in the hall on Monday, he walks right by me. He doesn’t even spare me a glance.
And I know, right then, that it’s never going to be the same.
--
*
I spend the whole next day listing off reasons why I cant go back to the hospital to visit Brendon. It’s not like I have a reason to go there, anyway. I shouldn’t of even went there in the first place. It’s not like I owed him anything. He treated me like crap, just blew me off. Why would I want to go and visit him?
He deserves everything that happened to him.
He deserves to sit in the hospital, alone.
And anyways, now that we have some sort of closure, I can finally move on with my life and forget all about him. Right?
Yeah, okay. I’ve been trying to do that this whole time, closure or not, and I haven’t even come close. I don’t think I can just forget about Brendon. And, deep down, I don’t think I want to either.
But, despite all my thoughts, exactly twenty minutes after the last school bell rang, I’m back at Sunrise Hospital, standing at the foot of his bed.
He’s fast asleep, and making those small noises I always use to tease him for - but always, secretly loved.
I sit down in the chair next to his bed, but I don’t wake him. I just sit and watch. I study his face and think back to before, when we were still best friends. When we were still RyanAndBrendon. I think back to the time when we were eight and made the pact that we would always, no matter what, be best friends. I think to the time in seventh grade when I got beaten up by a bunch of gangster kids a grade higher for being a fag, and there came scrawny, nerdy, little Brendon, trying to stop them, and in turn, gotten beaten up pretty bad himself.
Brendon stirs in his bed, and stretches his arms above his head, pulling me from my thoughts. He yawns, rubs his eyes then opens them, his gaze immediately landing on me. A genuine smile makes its way across his plump lips, and my heart jumps a little. “Hey,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes half-lidded, his lips still smiling.
“Hey,” I say back just as softly.
“Did you just get here?” he asks.
“Pretty much,” I say, and I’m not entirely lying.
He nods, closes his eyes and stretches some more. “How was school?” He focuses his dark chocolate eyes on me, not blinking. It’s quite a change from yesterday and it almost feels… normal between us.
“It was fine,” I say.
He nods, and we fall quiet again. He rubs his eyes some more and I stare at the small, black tv screen hanging above his bed. And again, I’m wondering why I’m here.
I wonder where his other ‘friends’ are. You know, those obnoxious, going-nowhere-in-life druggie/alcoholics and those bottle blondes that he had been rubbing up against in the hallways.
“How are Jon and Spence?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I bring my dull eyes back to him and shrug. “They’re fine.”
He sighs, and nods, and I guess he took the hint. “Right.” His eyes dart around the room, then he clears his throat, and wait’s a moment before looking back at me. “I’m really happy you came. I really am. I -” he starts, then pauses, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to continue. “I miss you,” he finally says, and his voice is so quiet, it barely even qualifies as a whisper.
I don’t reply. I cant think of a single thing to say back to him. Sure, I could tell him I’ve missed him too, because I have, but I just cant. I wont let him know how much he’s hurt me.
My heart is pounding so hard against my chest, I’m sure he can hear it, loud and clear.
“You know,” he continues, eyes darting behind my shoulder, over to the window, “you’re the only one who’s come to see me, besides my family. Even after how I treated you, you’re still here.” I notice how his voice lowers at the last sentence.
“Yeah, well,” I say, shrugging like it’s not big deal, and stare down at my hands.
I feel like crying.
A phone rings at nurses station, and a cart rolls past in the hallway. Brendon’s doing more shifting in his bed, under the scratchy sheets and I’m staring down at Ryan Smells scribbled on my shoes, trying not to cry.
“You’re right,” Brendon finally says, staring up at the white ceiling.
“I’m right?” I ask back, half-heartedly. I kind of just want him to shut up. I kind of just want to get up and leave and never look back again.
“I knew what I was doing when I took those drugs.” He runs his fingers up and down the blanket. “I never would of thought I’d be the type to try and kill myself.” He lets out a tiny, forced laugh at these words, and I want to punch him, because it’s not even close to being funny and he knows it.
He takes a deep breath, and picks at the skin on his thumb. “Look, I’m gonna tell you something. But it’s really hard to say, so I just - just please don’t interrupt me or anything, just wait till I’m finished, alright?” He pauses in between his words awkwardly, and I can see his cheeks are a soft shade of pink.
I nod. “Alright.”
“It’s probably going to freak you out too, but I just, I don’t care anymore. I want - I- I need to tell you.”
I nod, swallow and my stomach flips. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He takes another deep breath, and keeps his eyes glued to his knees. “Before that… night. For um, awhile before that actually, I was having these, um… thoughts,” he starts awkwardly, clearing his throat between every second word. “And, they um, they really freaked me out, you know? Like… okay, they were, um - they were about… you. And I tried so hard to not think about it, and I guess, I mean, I don’t know. But um, then that night happened and it was kind of like… they weren’t just thoughts anymore, it actually happened…” He covers his face with his hands and takes another shaky breath.
I just stare ahead, eyes wide and face white, and I don’t think I can remember how to breathe.
“I just got really scared,” he mumbles through his hands. “Like, I don’t even know… I’m so confused.”
And then, I’m crying. I don’t know why, but I am. The tears are flowing from my eyes and down my cheeks. And I’m sniffing and shaking and just sobbing, and I just don’t know why.
“Shit, Ryan,” I hear Brendon curse under his breath, voice urgent and panicked. “Shit, don’t cry. Please, just - don’t cry. Ryan…”
I don’t understand why I’m crying, because isn’t that what I wanted to hear? Wasn’t I having those same thoughts that Brendon was having for me? Didn’t I dream about him telling me these exact words so many times? So, why the fuck am I sitting here bawling my eyes out?
My face is buried in my hands, my hot tears soaking into my skin. I don’t know what Brendon’s doing, I don’t know what kind of expression is on his face and frankly, I don’t want too. I want to disappear into a hole and never face him again.
I feel a hand on my knee, and another on my shoulder, rubbing small circles into the fabric of my shirt. “Sh, Ry,” Brendon soothes. “I’m sorry.”
This makes me cry harder.
His hand remains on my knee, and his hand continues to rub at my back, and I can feel his hot breath seep through my hands and against my cheek. “Why - Why are you crying?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, and choke out a muffled, “I don’t know.”
He runs his hand through my hair, and lets out a small, choked noise. “I’m really sorry, Ry. I wish - I wish I could go back and change it all,” he says, then pauses for a moment before adding. “Starting the morning after…”
Now it’s my turn to let out some small, choked noise.
He pulls away from me, and before I know it, he’s pulling me up beside him, onto the hard hospital bed, and I let him. His arms immediately wrap around my thin waist, pulling me hard against his chest.
“I’m really sorry, Ry,” he says again, his lips against my ear. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
I nod, and sniff, subconsciously rubbing my running nose against the material of his flimsy gown.
“I understand if you can’t forgive me, or you know, at least never go back to the way we were,” he says, voice muffled through my hair. “But I just want you to know how sorry I am.”
I let out a small nod against his chest, and force myself to look up at him, with my tear- stained cheeks and snotty nose.
He looks down at me for a moment, his own eyes wet before he wipes both of thumbs delicately over my damp cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his warm breath now dancing over my nose. “You’re my best friend. I really, really don’t want to loose you.”
I sniff, and nod again, his fingers still resting against my skin. “I-” I start, then take a deep, shaky breath before continuing, “I don’t want to loose you either.”
A small smile makes it way across his lips, but then slowly, it begins to get wider and larger until he’s grinning so big, he looks a tad insane.
I cant help but to smile back.
So, then, we continue to lie there, his thumbs on my burning cheeks, grinning at each other like lunatics before his face suddenly falls serious, and he says, “So, it’s up to you, Ry. We can go on, and pretend that whole - um, night never happened, which is totally alright with me, I mean, like it’s not that it - I just - okay, you know, what? It’s up to -”
And before he has another chance to ramble out anything else, or before I even have a chance to think about what I’m doing, I press my lips against his, cutting him off completely.
We’re both far too shocked - or perhaps, he’s just too disgusted - over my actions, because we both freeze, and I don’t even think either one of us our breathing. My lips are just ghosting over his, and how could I be so stupid? Why would I even think about kissing him after everything that’s happened? It was finally good again, and now… well now, I can just kiss our friendship goodbye, for good. No pun intended.
I go to pull away, my eyes still squeezed shut because I don’t ever want to see the disgusted look on his face. “Oh my god,” I immediately blurt out, hand flying to my mouth. “I shouldn’t of done that. Oh my god, I am so stupid-” I go to get off the bed, but Brendon’s hand flies to my wrist, stopping me.
I open my eyes, look down at him, and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick.
Brendon laughs, then says, “Ryan, you’re an idiot. Did you not hear anything I just said like, five minutes ago?”
I stare down at him, and blink.
“I thought you would of maybe caught on to what I was trying to say before, but I guess not,” he continues, sighs, then looks me straight in the eyes as he says, “What I was trying to say before was that well, I kind of really like you.”
Okay, and now I feel like the worlds biggest dumbass.
Before I can think of some kind of embarassed reply, he sends me a lopsided smile, snakes his hand behind my neck, and pulls my face back into his, our lips colliding together with so much force, it almost bruises.
His other hand moves to rest on my cheek, and the hand on my neck is pushing me so far into him, I couldn’t pull away, even if I wanted too. I cant even breathe, but I don’t care. Because who needs air when your kissing Brendon fucking Urie? Or most importantly, Brendon fucking Urie is kissing you, sober?
His hand moves again, this time down to my hip, and he’s gripping on so tight it almost hurts.
And all that’s running through my head is, holy shit, is this really happening?
I don’t know how long we kiss for before Brendon finally pulls away, letting the hand on the back of my neck loosen. We keep our foreheads pressed together, with ridiculous grins back on our faces, and long, hard pants passing through our open mouths.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that for… sober?”
My stomach does a few flips back and forth, and I say, smiling wide, “I doubt as long as me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smirks, running his index finger along my jaw, then across my cheek and to my lips.
His hand is still gripped onto my hip, and I’m still panting, and he’s still panting and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember how to breathe properly again.
And, I’ve never felt so fucking amazing in my whole, entire life.
Which leaves me, panting and out of breath, and standing at his hospital room door. My feet frozen to the linoleum floor as the realization that I am, in fact, standing outside of Brendon fucking Urie’s hospital room hits me. The same Brendon fucking Urie that has been my best friend since before I was born. And also, most importantly, the same Brendon fucking Urie that had so blatantly wanted nothing to do with me for the past 93 days and counting.
So, why the fuck am I even here?
Because, I still care. Because, whether I want to admit it or not, I still fucking love the bastard.
But Nonetheless, my heart’s still pounding in my chest and I can practically feel his presence through the closed door and in a way, all I want to do is turn around and bolt back home, curl up in my bed under the covers and pretend that phone call had never happened. Go back to pretending I don’t care about Brendon fucking Urie anymore.
I don’t though, of course. Of course I fucking don’t. Because its Brendon fucking Urie and well, I love him.
---
“You sure you want to do this?” I ask, swishing the colorful contents around in the bottle, unsurely. “We’ll be so dead if our parents find out.”
“Exactly,” he says, taking the bottle from my hand and pops the lid off. “So, they wont.” He brings the bottle up to his nose and takes a whiff. “We’re seventeen, I think its about time we get drunk for once in our lives.” And with that, he presses the bottle to his lips and takes one long gulp.
---
I push open the door, pause again, then take a deep breath before continuing into the room.
And there he is, sitting up on the hospital bed, in the ugly, pale blue hospital gown, tucked into the scratchy hospital blankets. He’s picking at the tape that’s holding the IV to his wrist and he’s staring out the window, lost in thought.
His face is free of cuts and braises and any other deformities. Although, those bags that formed around his eyes 93 days ago are still there. He went from really pale to really, really fucking pale and just, well, he looks just as fucking as perfect as he always does and I hate him for it. I hate him so much - except, I don’t, at all.
I don’t know how long I stand there, staring at him as he just stares out the window, finger picking at the tape, oblivious to my presence.
When I manage to form words in my head and force myself to push them out, it’s quiet and barely there, and all it is, is a simple, “Hi.”
His head immediately snaps forward to look at me, startled. He appears to be beyond the point of startled when it settles in and he realizes I’m the one standing there at the foot of his bed, probably looking more nervous and uncomfortable than I have ever been in my whole entire life.
It takes him awhile to answer, and for awhile, the thought of turning around and running for my life crosses my mind once again. But then he says, just as quiet, or maybe even quieter than me, “Hi.”
Then, that’s it. We’re silent and the only thing I can hear is the pounding in my head and the annoying ringing from the hospital hallway outside of his blinding white room.
He blinks. He rubs his arm and brushes some messy, dark brown hair out of his face. “What are you doing here?”
Right, that’s a good question. What am I doing here? I don’t even know. Clearly, it had to be one of the most stupidest things I had ever done in my whole entire pathetic life.
It’s not like we’re friends anymore. We’re not best friends. We’re not anything.
That got ruined 93 days ago from the unnecessary amount of alcohol and teenage boy hormones.
Right. How could I have forgotten?
---
We’re barely through half the bottle and we’re already stumbling around and giggling like fools.
I’m drunk but I still notice that Brendon’s even more touchy than usual.
He grabs at my hips from behind, presses his face into my hair and mumbles into it with a slight slur, “I like being drunk.”
I shiver.
----
“I, uh…” I start, flustered and I can feel the sweat practically dripping down my back. I hate this. I hate this so bad. I want to curl up in a ball and cry. You know, kind of like I have ever since that infamous night. “I just thought - I mean, I just heard that you were here and I -” I clear my throat, and run my hand along the back of my neck, that’s so nicely slicked with a thin layer of sweat. “Um, never mind, I should just go. This was a stupid idea.”
I’m turned and almost out the door, running for my life like I should of done 5.3 minutes ago. I’m almost back in my house, back in my bed, under my covers, soaking my pillow with even more fresh, hot tears when he says, almost too quickly. “No. No. You can stay.” He pauses for a moment and adds, almost desperately, “Please.”
I stop, shocked. Brendon fucking Urie, the same one that’s been pretending I didn’t exist, that I just magically dropped off the face of the earth, was telling me to stay. The same Brendon fucking Urie that ended a whole 17 years of friendship just from one stupid night of alcohol induced mistakes. The same Brendon fucking Urie that I pass in the halls and wont even spare me a glance. The one that has dry sex with bottle blondes in the school hallway and is either high or drunk at every minute of every day now. The same Brendon fucking Urie that ripped my heart out, stabbed it five times, dragged it through dirt and stomped on it a few more times just for good measures was telling me to stay.
I slowly turn back around to face him. I’m back at the end of his bed and he’s still picking at the clear tape on his wrist, his big, fat bottom lip tucked into his mouth. He opens it, waits for a moment before saying, “I - I didn’t mean it like that. It’s just, well, we haven’t exactly spoken since…” he pauses, his face becoming an ever whiter shade than before, realizing what he had just brought up. “Well, since, you know…” he eventually chokes out, eyes falling down to the IV tube.
And I think, is that really my fault?
I look down too, my eyes landing on the Ryan Smells that Brendon had scribbled onto my right converse what seemed like a billion years ago. Tears burn my eyes and all I can say is, “yeah.”
I want him to give me his hand. I want him to pull me down beside him and curl up to my side, resting his head against mine. I want to be able to press my nose against his cheek and make him giggle. I want him to cry on my shoulder and pour his heart out to me. I want him to tell me how hard the past 93 days have been without me.
And I just want… to be us again.
-----
“Ryan,” Brendon slurs into my neck, his hot, sour breath trickling down my burning skin. “You’re so pretty, you know that? So, so pretty. Even prettier than Jamie.”
I giggle drunkenly, ducking my burning red face away from his. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah,” he whispers.
-----
I finally bring my eyes up from my shoes, from the Ryan Smells, and up to Brendon’s hollow eyes. He keeps them on mine for a moment, before coughing awkwardly and turning back to the window.
“Why are you here?” I ask, not looking away.
His cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, eyes falling back down to his wrist, ashamed. “Overdose,” he says so quietly, I barely catch it.
“Right.” I say. Because of course it was a fucking overdose.
“It was an accident,” he says, his eyes still avoiding mine. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.
“Of course.”
He doesn’t answer, and an awkward, long pause follows. And it hurts with every second that drags on because I know it’s never been like this before with us. I want to go back to that night and erase it all.
But at the same time, deep down, I don’t.
I just want the old Brendon back.
“You’re not even the same person anymore, B,” I say, my eyes still haven’t left his and his eyes still haven’t met mine.
He doesn’t answer. He just picks at his tape, and its starting to annoy me.
“You wouldn’t even touch drugs before and now -” I pause, my voice lowering. “Now, you’re in the hospital because of it.” I shuffle around, look down at my feet for a moment, then back up at him. “I mean, it was even a big deal when you drank for the first time.”
I decided to leave out the girls for now.
His eyes shift from his wrist, to me, to the window and back down to his wrist. He gulps and says, “Well… things… change…”
“Yeah, I guess they do,” I say, eyes burning into him.
He nods slowly.
I move over to the chair sitting at the end of his bed and sit. There’s another long pause and I know I should just leave, but I cant. “It wasn’t an accident, was it?”
“What?” he asks, voice slightly raised and he finally looks at me, but his eyes focus somewhere near my chin, opposed to my eyes.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I repeat. “Your overdose.”
“You think I did that on purpose? You think I tried to kill myself?” he snaps, incredulously. But by the way his voice changes, I know I’m right.
All I do is nod.
“You’re fucking stupid,” he spits. “Why would I want to kill myself?”
---
My mind can’t process a thing.
With the alcohol swirling around in my brain, or with Brendon’s burning hot skin on mine, I don’t even think I’m actually alive.
We’re on my bed and I know we should stop. But his tongue and his skin and his hips just feel all too good.
Somewhere deep down, the sober part of mind is screaming at me. And I know the morning’s going to be here way too fast.
---
“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me?” I ask back, I lean back in my chair and finally catch his eyes.
He keeps them there for a moment, then looks at the table next to me. “I didn’t try to fucking kill myself. I just - I took too much. I was drunk, I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Don’t lie to me, Brendon. I still know you inside and out.”
His face goes a shade of white that only the dead could pull off. “Whatever, Ryan,” he snaps, voice shaking considerably.
“Okay…”
I don’t know where all this is coming from because I’m scared - I’m terrified and I can feel myself tremble in my seat. My mind is screaming at me to stop but I just keep talking and its all pouring out of my mouth like word vomit.
I lean forward in my seat and I can see that he’s practically shaking himself. “It’s because you finally had to face the fact that you like guys. That you’re a fag -”
“Shut up, Ryan,” he snaps again.
“Because you slept with your best friend. So you decide to shut him out. Cover it up with drugs and alcohol and girls -”
“Ryan, shut the fuck up,” he repeats, his voice firm but shaking at the same time. I can see his eyes are wet.
“But it just didn’t work, it just wont go away would it, Brendon?” My voice is just oozing with venom and I’m grabbing onto the arms of the chair so hard, my knuckles are turning white, just like his face. I just cant stop. I want him to hurt like he hurt me.
“Shut the fuck up! We were drunk. It didn’t mean anything.” He practically screams, and I can see the tears are so close to falling.
And of course, I don’t. I cant.
I’m sitting so far up, I’m almost off my chair. “So, you take some drugs, choke back some alcohol knowing you’ll overdose and everyone will just think it was an accident. You’ll go down as some kind of pathetic hero, and no one will know the truth. Except for me.”
“You don’t know shit.” His voice has dropped now and I swear I can see a single tear sliding down his cheek.
“Okay, then please enlighten me, Bren. Tell me why you’ve been ignoring me, pretending I don’t exist instead of - oh, I don’t know - talking about it?” I snap. “Instead of throwing yourself into drugs and alcohol that you used to be so against.”
He doesn’t answer and it’s quiet again. The ringing in the halls have stopped and I cant hear anything but Brendon’s shallow breathing. He’s looking around the room, blinking every few seconds. He clears his throat, and finally says, “We had sex, Ryan.”
“No! Really?!” I fake gasp.
“I’m sorry that waking up naked next to my best friend since before I was born, kind of freaked me out a little,” he snaps under his breath.
“What? And you think it didn’t freak me out?!” I cry.
He shrugs and he’s back to picking at the stupid fucking tape, and I swear I’m about to rip it off him completely if he doesn’t stop.
“It happened, Brendon, and I dealt with it. We could of talked about it instead of throwing seventeen years of friendship away from one stupid night that should’ve never happened.”
“I know,” he agrees, softly. “I’m sorry.”
I take a deep breath, feeling the air being sucked out of me completely, and I fall back down against the chair, deflated and feeling slightly guilty for my harsh words.
---
The next morning I wake up to the sound of the door slamming shut.
I don’t need to open my eyes to know it was Brendon.
---
“So, are you…” he starts, uncomfortably. He’s moved from picking at the tape to picking at the blanket. “Um, do you… uh, well, you know…” He shifts, and bites his lip.
“Yeah,” I answer softly. “I am. I do.”
He squeezes his eyes shut and mutters under his breath. “Oh, god.”
“Yeah…”
“Did you -” he starts, pauses and coughs. “Did you um, know before that… night?” he struggles out awkwardly, shifting his position in his bed again.
“Yeah, pretty much,” I answer, nodding.
“Oh. Wow.” I am certain he is seconds away from running to the nearest toilet and puking his guts out.
“And what about you, Bren?” I ask, catching his eyes once again, but only for a mere second before he looks back down at his bed.
He doesn’t answer. He just stares, and picks at his bed. Just as he opens his mouth to reply, the door swings open and a plump nurse waddles in. “Brendon, sweetie,” she drawls, “visiting hours are over.”
I might have been imagining things, but I swear Brendon a look of disappointment flashed over Brendon’s face for a moment there.
“Oh. Okay. Alright.” He nods, eyes shifting. “Thanks.”
She spares a quick glance at me, smiles and leaves. Brendon’s eyes meet mine and he actually leaves them there this time.
“Well…” I say, standing up. “I’ll see you later then, I guess.”
He still doesn’t say anything, and I can feel his eyes follow me as I head to the door. I’m almost gone when I hear, “Come back tomorrow. Please?”
I turn to look at him and frown, confused. “Sure…”
He gives me a short nod. I study him for a few more seconds, give him a pathetic little wave of my hand and leave.
---
When I pass him in the hall on Monday, he walks right by me. He doesn’t even spare me a glance.
And I know, right then, that it’s never going to be the same.
--
*
I spend the whole next day listing off reasons why I cant go back to the hospital to visit Brendon. It’s not like I have a reason to go there, anyway. I shouldn’t of even went there in the first place. It’s not like I owed him anything. He treated me like crap, just blew me off. Why would I want to go and visit him?
He deserves everything that happened to him.
He deserves to sit in the hospital, alone.
And anyways, now that we have some sort of closure, I can finally move on with my life and forget all about him. Right?
Yeah, okay. I’ve been trying to do that this whole time, closure or not, and I haven’t even come close. I don’t think I can just forget about Brendon. And, deep down, I don’t think I want to either.
But, despite all my thoughts, exactly twenty minutes after the last school bell rang, I’m back at Sunrise Hospital, standing at the foot of his bed.
He’s fast asleep, and making those small noises I always use to tease him for - but always, secretly loved.
I sit down in the chair next to his bed, but I don’t wake him. I just sit and watch. I study his face and think back to before, when we were still best friends. When we were still RyanAndBrendon. I think back to the time when we were eight and made the pact that we would always, no matter what, be best friends. I think to the time in seventh grade when I got beaten up by a bunch of gangster kids a grade higher for being a fag, and there came scrawny, nerdy, little Brendon, trying to stop them, and in turn, gotten beaten up pretty bad himself.
Brendon stirs in his bed, and stretches his arms above his head, pulling me from my thoughts. He yawns, rubs his eyes then opens them, his gaze immediately landing on me. A genuine smile makes its way across his plump lips, and my heart jumps a little. “Hey,” he mumbles sleepily, eyes half-lidded, his lips still smiling.
“Hey,” I say back just as softly.
“Did you just get here?” he asks.
“Pretty much,” I say, and I’m not entirely lying.
He nods, closes his eyes and stretches some more. “How was school?” He focuses his dark chocolate eyes on me, not blinking. It’s quite a change from yesterday and it almost feels… normal between us.
“It was fine,” I say.
He nods, and we fall quiet again. He rubs his eyes some more and I stare at the small, black tv screen hanging above his bed. And again, I’m wondering why I’m here.
I wonder where his other ‘friends’ are. You know, those obnoxious, going-nowhere-in-life druggie/alcoholics and those bottle blondes that he had been rubbing up against in the hallways.
“How are Jon and Spence?” he asks, breaking the silence.
I bring my dull eyes back to him and shrug. “They’re fine.”
He sighs, and nods, and I guess he took the hint. “Right.” His eyes dart around the room, then he clears his throat, and wait’s a moment before looking back at me. “I’m really happy you came. I really am. I -” he starts, then pauses, like he’s trying to decide whether or not to continue. “I miss you,” he finally says, and his voice is so quiet, it barely even qualifies as a whisper.
I don’t reply. I cant think of a single thing to say back to him. Sure, I could tell him I’ve missed him too, because I have, but I just cant. I wont let him know how much he’s hurt me.
My heart is pounding so hard against my chest, I’m sure he can hear it, loud and clear.
“You know,” he continues, eyes darting behind my shoulder, over to the window, “you’re the only one who’s come to see me, besides my family. Even after how I treated you, you’re still here.” I notice how his voice lowers at the last sentence.
“Yeah, well,” I say, shrugging like it’s not big deal, and stare down at my hands.
I feel like crying.
A phone rings at nurses station, and a cart rolls past in the hallway. Brendon’s doing more shifting in his bed, under the scratchy sheets and I’m staring down at Ryan Smells scribbled on my shoes, trying not to cry.
“You’re right,” Brendon finally says, staring up at the white ceiling.
“I’m right?” I ask back, half-heartedly. I kind of just want him to shut up. I kind of just want to get up and leave and never look back again.
“I knew what I was doing when I took those drugs.” He runs his fingers up and down the blanket. “I never would of thought I’d be the type to try and kill myself.” He lets out a tiny, forced laugh at these words, and I want to punch him, because it’s not even close to being funny and he knows it.
He takes a deep breath, and picks at the skin on his thumb. “Look, I’m gonna tell you something. But it’s really hard to say, so I just - just please don’t interrupt me or anything, just wait till I’m finished, alright?” He pauses in between his words awkwardly, and I can see his cheeks are a soft shade of pink.
I nod. “Alright.”
“It’s probably going to freak you out too, but I just, I don’t care anymore. I want - I- I need to tell you.”
I nod, swallow and my stomach flips. “Okay.”
“Okay.” He takes another deep breath, and keeps his eyes glued to his knees. “Before that… night. For um, awhile before that actually, I was having these, um… thoughts,” he starts awkwardly, clearing his throat between every second word. “And, they um, they really freaked me out, you know? Like… okay, they were, um - they were about… you. And I tried so hard to not think about it, and I guess, I mean, I don’t know. But um, then that night happened and it was kind of like… they weren’t just thoughts anymore, it actually happened…” He covers his face with his hands and takes another shaky breath.
I just stare ahead, eyes wide and face white, and I don’t think I can remember how to breathe.
“I just got really scared,” he mumbles through his hands. “Like, I don’t even know… I’m so confused.”
And then, I’m crying. I don’t know why, but I am. The tears are flowing from my eyes and down my cheeks. And I’m sniffing and shaking and just sobbing, and I just don’t know why.
“Shit, Ryan,” I hear Brendon curse under his breath, voice urgent and panicked. “Shit, don’t cry. Please, just - don’t cry. Ryan…”
I don’t understand why I’m crying, because isn’t that what I wanted to hear? Wasn’t I having those same thoughts that Brendon was having for me? Didn’t I dream about him telling me these exact words so many times? So, why the fuck am I sitting here bawling my eyes out?
My face is buried in my hands, my hot tears soaking into my skin. I don’t know what Brendon’s doing, I don’t know what kind of expression is on his face and frankly, I don’t want too. I want to disappear into a hole and never face him again.
I feel a hand on my knee, and another on my shoulder, rubbing small circles into the fabric of my shirt. “Sh, Ry,” Brendon soothes. “I’m sorry.”
This makes me cry harder.
His hand remains on my knee, and his hand continues to rub at my back, and I can feel his hot breath seep through my hands and against my cheek. “Why - Why are you crying?” he asks softly.
I shake my head, and choke out a muffled, “I don’t know.”
He runs his hand through my hair, and lets out a small, choked noise. “I’m really sorry, Ry. I wish - I wish I could go back and change it all,” he says, then pauses for a moment before adding. “Starting the morning after…”
Now it’s my turn to let out some small, choked noise.
He pulls away from me, and before I know it, he’s pulling me up beside him, onto the hard hospital bed, and I let him. His arms immediately wrap around my thin waist, pulling me hard against his chest.
“I’m really sorry, Ry,” he says again, his lips against my ear. “I never wanted to hurt you.”
I nod, and sniff, subconsciously rubbing my running nose against the material of his flimsy gown.
“I understand if you can’t forgive me, or you know, at least never go back to the way we were,” he says, voice muffled through my hair. “But I just want you to know how sorry I am.”
I let out a small nod against his chest, and force myself to look up at him, with my tear- stained cheeks and snotty nose.
He looks down at me for a moment, his own eyes wet before he wipes both of thumbs delicately over my damp cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispers again, his warm breath now dancing over my nose. “You’re my best friend. I really, really don’t want to loose you.”
I sniff, and nod again, his fingers still resting against my skin. “I-” I start, then take a deep, shaky breath before continuing, “I don’t want to loose you either.”
A small smile makes it way across his lips, but then slowly, it begins to get wider and larger until he’s grinning so big, he looks a tad insane.
I cant help but to smile back.
So, then, we continue to lie there, his thumbs on my burning cheeks, grinning at each other like lunatics before his face suddenly falls serious, and he says, “So, it’s up to you, Ry. We can go on, and pretend that whole - um, night never happened, which is totally alright with me, I mean, like it’s not that it - I just - okay, you know, what? It’s up to -”
And before he has another chance to ramble out anything else, or before I even have a chance to think about what I’m doing, I press my lips against his, cutting him off completely.
We’re both far too shocked - or perhaps, he’s just too disgusted - over my actions, because we both freeze, and I don’t even think either one of us our breathing. My lips are just ghosting over his, and how could I be so stupid? Why would I even think about kissing him after everything that’s happened? It was finally good again, and now… well now, I can just kiss our friendship goodbye, for good. No pun intended.
I go to pull away, my eyes still squeezed shut because I don’t ever want to see the disgusted look on his face. “Oh my god,” I immediately blurt out, hand flying to my mouth. “I shouldn’t of done that. Oh my god, I am so stupid-” I go to get off the bed, but Brendon’s hand flies to my wrist, stopping me.
I open my eyes, look down at him, and I can feel my heart pounding against my chest. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick.
Brendon laughs, then says, “Ryan, you’re an idiot. Did you not hear anything I just said like, five minutes ago?”
I stare down at him, and blink.
“I thought you would of maybe caught on to what I was trying to say before, but I guess not,” he continues, sighs, then looks me straight in the eyes as he says, “What I was trying to say before was that well, I kind of really like you.”
Okay, and now I feel like the worlds biggest dumbass.
Before I can think of some kind of embarassed reply, he sends me a lopsided smile, snakes his hand behind my neck, and pulls my face back into his, our lips colliding together with so much force, it almost bruises.
His other hand moves to rest on my cheek, and the hand on my neck is pushing me so far into him, I couldn’t pull away, even if I wanted too. I cant even breathe, but I don’t care. Because who needs air when your kissing Brendon fucking Urie? Or most importantly, Brendon fucking Urie is kissing you, sober?
His hand moves again, this time down to my hip, and he’s gripping on so tight it almost hurts.
And all that’s running through my head is, holy shit, is this really happening?
I don’t know how long we kiss for before Brendon finally pulls away, letting the hand on the back of my neck loosen. We keep our foreheads pressed together, with ridiculous grins back on our faces, and long, hard pants passing through our open mouths.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that for… sober?”
My stomach does a few flips back and forth, and I say, smiling wide, “I doubt as long as me.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure.” He smirks, running his index finger along my jaw, then across my cheek and to my lips.
His hand is still gripped onto my hip, and I’m still panting, and he’s still panting and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to remember how to breathe properly again.
And, I’ve never felt so fucking amazing in my whole, entire life.