Panic! at the Disco

His tired body slumped on a couch without making a sound. His face was weary and unshaven. I knew from the moment he entered the house and threw his bags on the floor, that something was wrong. He wasn’t usually like this. Sure, he didn’t show much of his real self to anyone else but a couple of close friends. And me.

I looked at him sitting on a small sofa, looking at the ceiling and sighing occasionally.

“George, what’s wrong?” I was the only person he allowed to call him that. To the rest of them he was Ryan.

Ryan, who wrote the amazing lyrics.

Ryan, who had charismatic personality.

Ryan, who started Panic! At The Disco with his best friends Spencer and Trevor.

There were so many who thought they knew who Ryan Ross was. But none of them knew George. The George I knew.

“Nothing. I’m just tired I guess,” he replied smiling. I sat next to him, taking his face in my hands, making him look at me.

“Bullshit,” I whispered. “You can pull that photo op face to someone who doesn’t know you. Not me. Something’s wrong and I know it.”

He adverted his gaze from mine, sighing again.

“It’s over,” his answers were short. I kept wondering what happened to the guy that used the big words. The words you needed a dictionary to translate them in English. What happened to the guy that used to be happy, despite everything that happened?

July 28 2006 was when it all started to change. It was the day when his father died. I remembered that day. It was the first time I saw him cry. It was the begging of end for him. Everything was falling apart from that day.

“What are you talking about?” I asked, worry filling my voice.

He looked at me again, smiling, before answering, “I left Panic.”

My hands instantly went to my mouth, covering the scream that threatened to escape. The words kept repeating in my head like a bad memory.

I left Panic.
I left Panic.
I left Panic.

I tried to get him to tell me the reason, but he shrugged it off while lighting another cigarette. Anger built inside of me and I slapped the cigarette out of his mouth. The death stick went flying across the room. I couldn’t believe what was coming from his mouth. The way he said it, like he was relieved. I stood up reaching for the door.

“Oh come on,” he screamed when he saw me leaving the house.

I left Panic.

I didn’t knew where was I going, or where was I going to end, but somehow my feet took me to a person I trusted the most. Deep down inside I hoped that he would give me the answer. Something, anything, that would help me understand.

I rapped my knuckles on the dark wooden door repeatedly. I almost broke my hand banging on the door, but it was those seven seconds that kept my mind away from him.

“God damn it, Spencer. Open the fucking door!” I yelled when I heard Spencer’s tired voice from the other side of the door.

The jingling sound of the door chain being removed, the sound of the heavy door being opened and the sight of a tired Spencer occupied my mind. Seeing the look on my face and my bloodshot eyes from crying, Spencer got concerned and ushered me inside. He quickly closed the door and hugged me, whispering comforting words in my ear.

“What happened?” he asked confused. I wasn’t the person who showed her emotions in front of people. I was like Ryan. I smiled at the irony of that and wiped the tears from my eyes.

“Is it true?” I asked in a small voice, hoping that he would tell me “no” and that it was just the tiredness and the drugs talking from Ryan. I hoped that it was just a small misunderstanding between the boys, like it happen many times before.

“Yes,” was his answer. He removed his arms from around me and went into his living room. I followed him like a lost puppy and sat next to him.

We sat for what it seemed to be like hours, none of us speaking a word. I couldn’t tell what was he thinking about, but I was devastated. My mind took me to the time everything started.

The time when Ryan, Spencer, Brent and Brendon went to Maryland to record their first album. How they were happy that Pete Wentz sign them to his label. Remembering the bold and witty lyrics about infidelity and struggles with his parent’s alcohol problem, mostly misunderstood and barely with a rhyme. Brent leaving. Jon joining in. The awards, the tours, the sold shows.

The pressure was so excessively big on these boys, that they started doing things most people don’t approve of. How many times I heard them fight about nothing, sulking for a short period of time, and then forgetting the fight ever happened. And I hoped this time it would be the same.

“What happened? Did you guys fight about something? Please don’t tell me Brendon got mad again at Ryan for the drugs,” I asked hopefully. I needed to know that it was just temporary. I needed to know it was going to be okay again. Like before.

“This time it wasn’t for the drugs. I don’t know. It started off when we came back from New Zealand. It changed everything,” I heard him sigh. My eyes were closed; I couldn’t bring myself to open them. If I did, then I would know that this wasn’t a dream, that this was really happening. “Next thing we knew, Jon and Ryan told us they were leaving the band. At first, I thought it was going to be like before; God knows how many times we broke up the band and got back together. Just like you and Ryan.” He smiled in attempt to lighten the dark cloud that fell around us. I shook my head, trying to suppress the memories. “Sorry.”

“Don’t. It’s just… At first, I thought you guys fought about something, but the way he told me… Spencer he sounded relieved,” I cried.

I left Panic.

Those words were repeating constantly. There was no way for me to get them out of my mind: They followed me everywhere. Eventually, they lulled me to sleep. Dreamless sleep with Ryan’s voice echoing.

I left Panic.

I heard muffled voices coming from the living room. I could recognize them everywhere.

“Hey Bren,” I said walking in. Brendon sat on the chair next to the couch Spencer sat on. There were papers scattered all over the table. What sparked my attention was that they were not plain papers. They were music sheets.

“Brendon and I decided that no matter what happens, Panic is still going to make music. No matter what Jon and Ryan do, we will be there to support them,” Spencer said, seeing the confused look on my face.

“So it’s official?” I asked no one in particular.

“We had some dissents, music vise and that’s it. I just hope they will come to their senses eventually. We are still friends. But whatever they decided to do, Panic will continue on, with or without them.” Brendon’s voice was firm. I knew he was crushed too, but these boys were his friends. And you support your friends in their life decisions.

“Yes, it’s official. Ryan and Jon have left Panic at the disco.”