The Young and Lost Club

It sucked saying goodbye to Jon.
Although I knew I was going to be seeing him soon for tour, it still seemed like ages away. I hated finally getting to see him, only to have him taken away from me two days later.
“Aw,” he cooed when I hugged him at the airport for about the 50th time. “Don’t be sad, little munchkin. I’ll see you in almost a month!”
I made a face, causing him to laugh and then I sighed. “Call me when you land?”
“I will,” he promised.
I hugged him again. “I promise I won’t be so crazy when you see me next time,” I said quietly, thinking of my total meltdown the night before.
Jon frowned, hitching up his carryon bag higher on his shoulder. “You aren’t crazy, Clark. And you know you aren’t. You’re just sad, and you have every right to be. You just take your time.”
I couldn’t think of an appropriate response, so I just nodded, and he ruffled my hair and turned to Ryan. “See you later, man,” Jon said, giving him a quick hug, and with a wave to us both, he headed off to the gate.
We both watched him go, and then Ryan slung an arm around my shoulders, startling me slightly. “Come on, let’s get home.” He said, smiling down at me.
God, I hate the bittersweet.

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“Ok,” I said when we got back from the airport. We were relaxing on Ryan’s couch, watching some god-awful TV show on MTV that we were both secretly addicted to. “I have a gift for you, but it had to wait until Jon left because I knew it would make Spencer jealous.”
Ryan looked at me oddly. “What is it?”
I reached into my bag and pulled at a silver CD in a jewel case, it had no writing on it other than “DEMO” in black sharpie, but Ryan instantly brightened, reaching for it. “Congrats,” I said, grinning at him and handing it over. “You are the first official owner of the first album by The Comeback Kids.”
“This is awesome, Clark!” Ryan exclaimed, opening it up, and examining the CD inside. “Let’s listen to it.”
“What? Right now?”
“No, Clark, let’s wait until after tour.” He said sarcastically. “Yes now, or did you have plans?” I rolled my eyes as he got up off the couch and led me to what he called his “Music Room” which was, by all means, an appropriate name. One wall was entirely lined with CDs and records, another was filled with various musical instruments, including some guitars I would have killed to own, but lacked the space and money. The “Music Room” also included his stereo system, and some chairs, and Ryan said this was where he always listened to music. I chewed on my lip nervously as he placed the CD inside the stereo and began pushing buttons. “Why are you so nervous?” He asked. “Come on, have you even heard it all the way through yet?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Then what’s wrong?”
“I just want you to like it.” I said in a small voice.
Ryan simply laughed. “My opinion doesn’t mean anything.”
But that was a lie. I had always cared about Ryan’s opinion, even from the first time he had heard us play back in New York, even if I didn’t admit that back then. And I knew, that my own opinion of our album hinged on his approval, whether I wanted it to or not.
He laughed at the look on my face, and pushed play, and the music began blaring out of the speakers.
One of the things I liked most about Ryan was that when he listened to music, that’s all he did. He didn’t look around, he didn’t fidget, he didn’t need anything else to keep him occupied other than the music. He didn’t say much, only tapped his toe to the beat of the songs, and grinned. Every once in a while he’d say something like “That’s awesome,” or “I like that bit.”
I started to enjoy it too. I felt proud of all of our songs, we sounded cohesive, we sounded forward and interesting. In all honesty, we sounded like we belonged in the music business.
I was feeling completely happy with the result, until the last song on the album started playing. I froze. It was my song, the one I had written, about Brendon. The one and only song I had ever written, because I was not a writer, would never be a writer, I was a guitarist, but the day I had written it, I had needed it, my own personal form of therapy, that I took a step too far and showed to Max.
It was a pretty clever song, and I suppose somewhere deep down I was proud of it. From the outside, if you didn’t know the situation, it seemed like just a pretty little love song. To Brendon and I, well really, to anyone who knew us, it was a dark and bitter take of our relationship. Sharp words with the intention to cause pain, more specifically, to cause pain to Brendon.
I had told the guys I didn’t think I wanted it included after we recorded it, that it may have been too personal. And then I slept with Alex and everything important went out of my head, and I supposed somewhere along the line it had been agreed that it would be put in. I glanced over at Ryan, who had finally changed his position, and was now sitting leaning forward, his elbows resting on his thighs, his chin in his hand. Every once in a while he would wince at the lyrics, and then as the last bars faded, we both sat there silently, not sure what to say.
“Jesus, Clark,” Ryan said finally. “Are you trying to kill him?”
“I…I didn’t know-I told them! I specifically told them I didn’t want…I didn’t know,” I babbled, until Ryan reached over and grabbed my hand and I fell silent. “I was hurt.” I said finally, numbly. “I was hurt and I wrote it and it turned into this. I should have never written it…”
“Don’t say that.” Ryan said. “I didn’t say it was bad. It’s not, in fact, it’s a brilliant song: it’s brutal, and honest, and cold, and beautiful, and it’s the perfect end to a perfect album.”
For a second I forgot all that we were talking about. “You liked it? You like the album?”
“I loved it.” He corrected me. “It’s flawless. What did you end up naming it?”
“Rolling Stone, Eat Your Heart Out,” I said, grinning slightly.
Ryan smirked. “Perfect.” There was a long pause. “What’s it called? The song you wrote?”
“Wishes are Weeds,” I said dully, making Ryan wince again, glancing quickly at the dandelion tattoo on my arm. “He won’t care,” I said suddenly. “He has no reason to care about it.”
“That’s such bullshit Clark, and you know it.”
“No I don’t,” I said indignantly, and suddenly I felt defensive. “How would I know? I haven’t heard from him since we broke up, before he left me. And everything in there is the bullshit he fed me, you know that. Come on Ryan, if he thought that it was okay to do that to me then he deserves to hear this song every fucking night of tour.”
“He still loves you.” Ryan said quietly. “I know he does.”
I was out of my chair before I even thought about it. I pointed a shaking hand at him. “Don’t. Don’t lie to me about that! I understand you withholding things from me, but I won’t have you lying to me!”
“I’m not lying, Clark! I’m his best friend, I know…” He trailed off, looking at me. “Wait, what do you mean withheld…?”
I swallowed. “I know he has a girlfriend, Ryan. Don’t lie and tell me he loves me when he’s dating another girl.”
Ryan turned very pale, and then his face clouded in anger. “Was that…was that why you…last night? Who told you?”
“Does it matter?” I cried. “Look, I know now, so don’t try giving me false hope about the situation!”
Ryan was suddenly out of his chair too, towering over me. “He loves you Clark, don’t be stupid!”
“Stupid? How am I being stupid? Ryan, he cheated…”
“I know what he did!” Ryan said, cutting me off.
“Then stop defending it!” I realized I was screaming, but it was either that or losing it completely.
“I’m not defending it!” He cried. “Fuck, Clark! I’m on your side…”
“There are no sides Ryan! I don’t want there to be sides! I just…I just want…” But I couldn’t figure out how to end the sentence, and we fell into silence.
“Look, I know my best friend, and that girl he is dating means nothing. She means nothing to him.” He said, and oddly, it sounded like he was pleading with me. “That’s why I never told you, because she’s not important.”
“Is it Katie?” I demanded. It was my greatest fear, and part of me wanted to know, and part of me didn’t. I know Michael had said her name was Lydia, but I wouldn’t have put it past him to get the name wrong, or mixed up or something.
“Don’t be stupid.” Ryan said again. “He won’t have anything to do with her and you know it.”
“I don’t though. I don’t know him anymore, he’s not mine…” I choked on the words, and fell back into my chair, fighting back tears, but it wasn’t working.
“Clark,” Ryan said gently, dropping down to his knee so we were eyelevel. “Clark, listen…”
“I love him,” I sobbed. “I do, I love him so much, but I can’t keep killing myself about it. I love him, but I can’t fight anymore, there’s no point.”
“You both are so stubborn,” He groaned, handing me a tissue he had gotten from the box on the table. “I’ve told him over and over to call you, to just talk to you, but…he’s…you left, you know? You made it really clear you didn't want to talk to him. He thinks it’s hopeless.”
“Maybe it is.” I said, quietly, still crying slightly. “Maybe it’s good for us both to move on, before any more damage is done. Before we both self destruct.”
“Won’t it be settling, then?” Ryan said bluntly.
“Yes,” I admitted. “For me it will be at least. But it’s got to be better than this.”
We were both quiet again.
“It’s a beautiful song.” Ryan said.
“Thank you,” I whispered.