His Vicious Circle
The One and Only Chapter
“You need to get out, Ryan. You can’t live like this anymore,” Spencer’s voice echoed through the halls of Ryan’s house. The message was days old, yet Ryan felt like listening to it now. He sat on the couch. He chugged back another glass of milk. The blinds on the wall showed sunlight trickling out, but Ryan didn’t dare open them. The darkness was calm and now quiet that Spencer had run out of things to say. Ryan sat basking in the absence of light. His body only covered with skin tight denim and a pair of boots that didn’t fit very well. His flesh adorned with little cuts and scratches from the dangerous sleeping he had been doing.
He just couldn’t stay asleep without clawing at his skin while he did it. Itching until open wounds stained his sheets and got under his fingernails.
They told him they needed words. They thought it wasn’t much to ask.
He picked up another notebook from the ones that splayed across his floor. He read something he had wrote a couple hours ago. It was shit. He threw the pad of paper across the room in fury. He put his hands on his face. What would he do? He had to write.
He got up, walking to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror. He didn’t recognize himself at first. His hair had grown out to an awkward length. He had it messed up from violent sleeping and lack of care. He looked down to his torso. He was embarrassed of himself.
"Such a childish habit" he thinks to himself.
He slept so viciously when he couldn’t write.
He couldn’t write when he slept so viciously.
The circle continues.
He slumps against the wall holding his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes till they hurt. He tries to hold in his breath in fear that all his emotions would come flying out. His eyes water until the tears stream down his face in a quite storm. He sickens himself. He crawls back to the couch and faces the wall. Falling to sleep once more.
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The doorbell rings, waking Ryan suddenly. He’s on his stomach on the floor now. Broken glass lies about him. He broke the coffee table. He feels like he’s three again. He wishes he was three again.
He can see bloody marks covering the carpet. Now he can feel them cover his torso and arms. The doorbell rings again. Ryan can’t answer now. He’s busy.
He doesn’t bother picking himself up. He just lies there in his shame.
The door opens anyway and Ryan curses having that key under the mat.
Ryan doesn’t look to see who it is. He hopes it a burglar or a serial killer. Instead he hears a bag hit the floor.
Suddenly, he has hands all over him. They catch on his scars and he winces when they feel the new ones. He’s so mortified that he just lays there with his eyes closed as hard as possible.
He’s in the air now. Being carried. He opens his eyes slowly. It’s him. It’s Brendon. He’s here to make it all better, like always.
All he can do is stare at him, unblinking, feeling like he’s in a dream sequence. Brendon is wearing his glasses. His face looks pained, almost scared, as he looks around the house. He finally looks down onto Ryan’s face. Brendon sees his eyes are filled with a sure sadness that it’s gotten far enough for Brendon to look this worried.
Ryan can feel his heart swell and his stomach churn. Brendon doesn’t say anything, he just keeps on walking down the halls of the home.
This isn’t the first time Brendon’s walked in on Ryan’s own habits. He doesn’t say anything because he knows how ashamed he feels and how immature he thinks it is. Brendon knows Ryan and he knows how to fix Ryan.
Brendon finds the bedroom. He lays Ryan down on his back. Ryan just stares upward into Brendon’s face, expressionless other than his sad eyes. Brendon takes Ryan’s hand in his and kisses the back of it.
“You’re okay,” he says, assuring Ryan. Ryan nods. Brendon takes off his shoes and climbs in next to Ryan. He kisses the side of his face. “You’re okay,” he repeats.
Ryan can’t say a word. All he can do is tuck his head onto Brendon’s chest. Brendon can feel the tears leaking through his shirt as he rubs Ryan’s hair. They stay lack that for awhile until Ryan is finally slumbering.
He sleeps soundly that night.
He just couldn’t stay asleep without clawing at his skin while he did it. Itching until open wounds stained his sheets and got under his fingernails.
They told him they needed words. They thought it wasn’t much to ask.
He picked up another notebook from the ones that splayed across his floor. He read something he had wrote a couple hours ago. It was shit. He threw the pad of paper across the room in fury. He put his hands on his face. What would he do? He had to write.
He got up, walking to the bathroom. He looked in the mirror. He didn’t recognize himself at first. His hair had grown out to an awkward length. He had it messed up from violent sleeping and lack of care. He looked down to his torso. He was embarrassed of himself.
"Such a childish habit" he thinks to himself.
He slept so viciously when he couldn’t write.
He couldn’t write when he slept so viciously.
The circle continues.
He slumps against the wall holding his head in his hands and rubbing his eyes till they hurt. He tries to hold in his breath in fear that all his emotions would come flying out. His eyes water until the tears stream down his face in a quite storm. He sickens himself. He crawls back to the couch and faces the wall. Falling to sleep once more.
------------------------------------------
The doorbell rings, waking Ryan suddenly. He’s on his stomach on the floor now. Broken glass lies about him. He broke the coffee table. He feels like he’s three again. He wishes he was three again.
He can see bloody marks covering the carpet. Now he can feel them cover his torso and arms. The doorbell rings again. Ryan can’t answer now. He’s busy.
He doesn’t bother picking himself up. He just lies there in his shame.
The door opens anyway and Ryan curses having that key under the mat.
Ryan doesn’t look to see who it is. He hopes it a burglar or a serial killer. Instead he hears a bag hit the floor.
Suddenly, he has hands all over him. They catch on his scars and he winces when they feel the new ones. He’s so mortified that he just lays there with his eyes closed as hard as possible.
He’s in the air now. Being carried. He opens his eyes slowly. It’s him. It’s Brendon. He’s here to make it all better, like always.
All he can do is stare at him, unblinking, feeling like he’s in a dream sequence. Brendon is wearing his glasses. His face looks pained, almost scared, as he looks around the house. He finally looks down onto Ryan’s face. Brendon sees his eyes are filled with a sure sadness that it’s gotten far enough for Brendon to look this worried.
Ryan can feel his heart swell and his stomach churn. Brendon doesn’t say anything, he just keeps on walking down the halls of the home.
This isn’t the first time Brendon’s walked in on Ryan’s own habits. He doesn’t say anything because he knows how ashamed he feels and how immature he thinks it is. Brendon knows Ryan and he knows how to fix Ryan.
Brendon finds the bedroom. He lays Ryan down on his back. Ryan just stares upward into Brendon’s face, expressionless other than his sad eyes. Brendon takes Ryan’s hand in his and kisses the back of it.
“You’re okay,” he says, assuring Ryan. Ryan nods. Brendon takes off his shoes and climbs in next to Ryan. He kisses the side of his face. “You’re okay,” he repeats.
Ryan can’t say a word. All he can do is tuck his head onto Brendon’s chest. Brendon can feel the tears leaking through his shirt as he rubs Ryan’s hair. They stay lack that for awhile until Ryan is finally slumbering.
He sleeps soundly that night.
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