Tripping Eyes And Flooded Lungs, Northern Downpour Sends It's Love

I paced back and forth in his empty living room, my bare feet hardly making a sound as I made my steps on the cold polished wood floor. My arms were crossed and I tapped my fingers against my arm as the slender, long chrome hand on my watch moved slowly past the black number twelve. I sighed and stopped pacing, looking towards the door waiting for Ross to enter, surely after completely missing practice and their Saturday band meeting he would at least come home to his own house. My heart hurt as I seated on Ryan’s favorite plump purple velvet couch, letting out a silent emotional sigh. I was so worried, but at the same time so very angry. Ryan had missed every time the band was supposed to meet this week. And his excuse? He didn’t even have one. He had been completely ignoring all of the band members since the first time he missed practice on Tuesday and I have really had enough of it. Ryan had been digressing ever since what had happened with Keltie. He started missing practices and ignoring calls, I think he even forgot to feed Hobo on some days, and I was starting to get really worried about him. But I was mostly pissed. I can tell that Spencer doesn’t like any of it either, but Jon just seems kind of indifferent, like this is normal for Ryan. I guess he just doesn’t know him like Spencer and I do.

Every time I look at Ryan I don’t see who Ryan really is. It feels like this alien who dares to call himself by George Ryan Ross the Third has replaced the Ryan I knew back in 2006, the real Ryan. I don’t know why he decided to screw everything up. We had so much going for us right now. Our fans were having great reactions to our new stuff and were greatly anticipating the release of our new album, but at this rate, I don’t even know if a new album was going to happen. I’ve been trying to write some new stuff, but it seems like every time I present my work to Jon and Spencer, Jon always complains about the ‘vibe’ of the song. Frankly, I don’t understand why Jon isn’t out with Ryan and his Beatles worshiping friends, since he seems to love their ‘vibe’ so much. I just don’t know about either of them anymore.

I ran my hand through my hair. Feeling how greasy and dirty my hair was made me frown even more as I thought about how much the change in Ryan’s attitude was affecting us all. I could tell, even the fans were noticing how much Ryan had changed. I probably hadn’t showered in a few days, going home every night and just going right to bed, not bothering to shower because I was too upset at Ryan to bother. In fact, right now that’s all I really wanted to do, climb under my covers and wake up in the morning knowing that all of this was just a bad dream. But if all of this is just a bad dream, why can’t I wake up?

I leaned back onto the soft fabric of the purple couch looking at the ceiling. I swear to fucking god I’m going to kick that skinny little bastard’s ass after I cry a bit. I feel like this is coming to an end, like Panic is coming to an end. I could feel it. I just hope my feeling isn’t correct. How on earth could we end Panic At The Disco? That’s like abandoning our life’s work! Everything we’ve ever done, everything Ryan has ever done for this band will mean nothing.

I moved my fingers against my temples as I breathed out slowly, closing my eyes to try to relax. I had to stop thinking so much. I soon opened my eyes and removed my hands from the side of my head when I heard a noise coming from the door. My eyebrows arose in hope that Ryan was finally home, but my hopes were crushed when little Hobo came running into the house through her doggie door, something Ry had installed for her himself, when he actually cared about someone other than himself. She shook her body vigorously as small water droplets fell from her short multi-colored fur. I looked outside a window, something I hadn’t bothered to do previously, and saw that it indeed was pouring in Southern California. I sighed and leaned back against the couch, Hobo climbing up onto the couch and leaning her head on my lap soon afterward. I stroked Hobo affectionately; she was such a great dog. Poor thing probably didn’t understand a bit about what was going on with her negligent owner, yet she still loved him to pieces. I wish I could be that forgiving. I wish I could learn how to have unconditional love.

I stroked Hobo late into the night, continuing to think those horrid thoughts of mine, and finally when I thought that there was no point in waiting any longer, I heard the door open and close, not making a particularly loud sound, but it obviously wasn’t meant to be extraordinarily silent either. My eyes immediately shot over to the door, where I saw the skinny figure enter into the house, not bothering to lock the door behind him, he walked, or rather hobbled into the kitchen, not even noticing me. I gently laid Hobo’s sleeping head onto the couch and stormed into the kitchen, where Ross was rummaging through cupboards to find something. The worry had already left my mind, now knowing that Ryan was alive, I could focus on the pure anger that was pumping through my blood. I clenched my hand tightly around that skinny boy’s boney shoulder and pulled him around to face me. His eyes were wide and full of shock, but mine were tightly knitted together and full of pain and rage.

“Where the hell have you been, Ross!” I yelled at him, not really asking a question, though it sounded that way.

“I-ii-i- was ou-” he slurred, obviously nearly drunk, if not intoxicated already. I wouldn’t be surprised. Ryan and his buddies always drank when they went out.

“Not where you were tonight, you idiot, where the hell have you been all week? Huh? Where the hell is my best friend? Don’t you dare tell me you are Ryan Ross, because the Ryan Ross I know never misses a band practice.” I said, still very angry, but I decided yelling would not help this situation. Ryan starred at me, his face blank. His mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide with horror, he looked like a fucking fish, but it didn’t look like he was going to answer me anytime soon. I glared at him even more as he just sat there looking at me. I nearly slapped him, but then the idiot opened his mouth.

“I’ve just been a little busy lately.” I looked at him blankly. Was he fucking serious?

“You’ve been busy! Busy with what, Ryan? Because the rest of us dedicated members of the band have been real busy trying to make up for all your absences. What the hell is your problem, ignoring all our calls and messages? Who hell are you anymore?” I asked releasing the smaller male and taking a step back as I crossed my arms. I starred at him intently. Truthfully, these were all questions I had been dying to ask ever since he started hanging out with those strange people. Doesn’t he understand that they didn’t even care about him? He was ditching us, the people he’s known and trusted for so many years, for John Lennon wannabes? What the fuck was that about.

Ryan looked away from me and was silent. I hadn’t notice before, but he smelled like crap, drug crap. The odor that was coming off of Ryan was horrible; it could probably make flowers die. It reminded me of…skunk.

“Why the hell do you smell like marijuana? You don’t smoke! Remember!” I started to yell again. Drugs were the last straw for me; if Ryan was doing drugs then I was done with him. I will not be near this kid if he takes drugs.

“I’m not doing drugs, Bren! I just tried it!” He yelled back at me, defending himself. I scoffed

“Then you might as well be, Ross!” I yelled back at him. I shook my head. ‘There’s something wrong with you, Ry,’ I thought, ‘I just wish I could help you out.’

“What’s wrong with trying it?” he yelled in reply.

“Everything is wrong with drugs, Ryan Ross. You are going to end up killing yourself.” I said more calmly, because I knew it was true, and as much as I dislike Ryan at the moment, I can’t say how much I’d miss the kid if he died. He’s been my best friend for over four years now and I don’t want to loose him like that. Not from drugs.

“Can’t kill myself from just trying it.” He said. I looked at him, nearly ready to just walk away from him right then, but I didn’t move. My angry face fell into a frown that could have made the entire world seem like an unhappy place. Did those ignorant words really just slip from the lips of George Ryan Ross the third, a man who was known for using clever metaphors and large words in everyday conversation? No. I wouldn’t believe it. I looked away from him to the outside where raindrops where still falling. I felt no more pity for this man.

“Congratulations, Ross. Now you’re really like John Lennon. Do you happen to have a Bob Dylan groupie in your little hipster group that smoked it with you?” I said, sarcasm dripping from every word that fell out of my mouth. I didn’t look at him; I only waited for something, anything. But what I received was not what I expected. I felt a fist suddenly collide with my cheek and one side of my nose. And boy did it hurt. From the shock, my body collapsed onto the floor. I felt warm liquid flow from the inside of my nose. Still shocked, I brought my hand up to my nose, to feel it for myself, to make sure this horrible dream was real. After I brought my hand away, I did indeed see the dark red blood that fell into the lines of my finger. I starred at it for a moment, before I look at Ryan with questioning eyes. Did he really just do that? Judging by the way he was clenching his fists and the way he stood with tension flowing through every vein, I assumed the answer to my question was yes. I stood and brushed my self off, wiping the blood from my nose in the process. I looked at Ryan with sad, but satisfied eyes. I was done here, but was that good or bad?

I turned away from Ryan and walked back over to the couch, picking up Hobo gently, cradling her in my arms the way Ryan used to do it. I sighed and began to walk towards the door. Ryan appeared before me just as I was about to leave. “What are you doing?” he spat, obviously still angry. I pushed him out of the way forcefully, and set my hand on the door handle.

“Taking care of the things that you left behind, Ross. Why? Because you are dead to me.” And with that I opened up the door and began to walk into the pouring rain, Holding sleeping Hobo like she was my everything, and in fact she would be the last thing that would ever be left of the real Ryan Ross.

“Fuck you, Urie.” Ryan muttered from his doorstep, where he watched his dog and best friend walk away.

“No Ross. Fuck You.”