Countdown to Self-Destruct

toxic
From: Ryan Ross (iamthewalrus86@hotmail.com)
Sent: Thurs 6/25/09 9:02 PM
To: Ryan Ross (iamthewalrus86@hotmail.com)

as i drove to the coffee shop brendon and i were supposed to meet at i kept thinking about all the fans and how upset they would be that me and JON were leaving, that brendon wasn't coming with me and i wasn't staying with brendon. it seemed silly to think about but a lot of them liked to pretend that brendon and i were secret lovers and brendon of course egged it on, what with his obsession with theatrics and controversy and all. i guess the drama was always our common ground, but we each found solace in it for different reasons: brendon liked it because it was a fun and relatively non-life-threatening way to rebel against his strict mormon upbringing; i liked it because it gave me a mask to hide behind. it was only when the mask outgrew the face behind it that i finally had to shed the armor of my stage persona.

alas, i digress.

i suspected that the fangirls would be upset because brendon and i were going our separate ways. i wondered if any of them would attribute the split to some kind of lover's quarrel. if only it were that simple...

but as i spotted brendon waiting for me in the coffee shop and weaved my way towards him among the tiny made-for-two tables, he gave me a sad little smile and a wave of recognition and i knew that all those girls were sort of right all along, that i really did love brendon, more than i had ever realized before...just not in the way that they would've liked me to, not like i wanted to touch or kiss or fuck him, but in deeper ways than that. more like i just wanted to thank him over and over again for something. i wasn't sure what though. for always being there? no, that wasn't it, because brendon wasn't really ever there for me--no one really ever was, but only because i never allowed it, you see. i never tell anyone anything. even this stupid email--i'm emailing this to myself, no one else will ever read it, no one else will ever know these things because i keep them to myself. i keep everything to myself.

but there was some kind of special friendship there between me and brendon and i was sorry to let that go. only i wasn't just letting it go, i was pushing it away, shoving it down a staircase and then kicking it in the side repeatedly. i was a bastard.

and that was the first thing i told brendon when we sat down at a corner table in the coffee shop like we had planned the day before: i'm a bastard.

he didn't reply but the look on his face agreed with me. he tried hard to smile and act like i wasn't completely losing it, tumbling headlong down the wrong path and dragging other people with me left and right. when they brought us our coffee though, the mood shifted.

i just don't understand it, he said. i know we've hit a...rough patch, but that doesn't mean you have to LEAVE. it will get better, you know. things will get better.

maybe, i said. but i just...i...my heart's not in it anymore--

but ryan...it's YOUR band.

i know.

and i mean...i mean... i don't... i don't think we can do this without you, man.

i think you can.

no, said brendon firmly, and his face was pleading and forceful and worried and angry all at once. we can't.

there. so he said it. he was going to force me to be the biggest asshole i could possibly be.

bren, i'm sorry...i just...

i sighed and observed brendon's fingers cupped around his steaming cup of coffee, the way they interlaced so neatly, and the perfect composition of his face, the sincerity of his big brown eyes and i thought, no wonder he got fucking famous. he didn't need me. he had IT. i didn't have IT, but he did, and he would be just fine without me.

so out loud, i said, it's just...it's too much...you know?

i wanted him to at least give me that, but he didn't. he stared at me blankly like he had no idea why this whole rockstar thing would be overwhelming. he wouldn't give an inch.

it's just overwhelming...all the fans and shit...and then all the magazines, the blogs, the messageboards, tearing apart every single fucking move we make...and then...you know, touring, and...and...you guys-- i mean, you guys are great, but i just want to be home for a while, you know? i just want to be home by myself for a while. i just don't want to do this anymore, bren. it's too much--

bullshit, brendon said. that's bullshit, ryan. that's not what this is about. this was never about me or us or them. it was always about you. its always about you, ryan.

and he swallowed hard and his eyes were fierce and hard and unforgiving this time, and they bore into my soul--but no, i didn't even have a soul anymore, and without thinking i told him so.

i know. but l.a. stole my soul, bren, i said, as if that was some kind of acceptable excuse. as if that explained everything.

i'm sorry, said brendon, that i didn't notice. i guess that makes me a pretty shitty friend, right?

no. you're not a shitty friend. you're a great friend, bren.

there was silence as we both stared at anything other than each other and all i wanted to do was to ask brendon to tell a joke or quote last night's episode of family guy or sing the chorus of some stupid alicia keys song or at least crack a fucking smile but even that was too much to ask from him now, i knew. even forgiveness was far too much to ask.

i'm sorry, brendon, i said.

brendon looked up at me and for a moment i thought he was going to say it was okay and smile and start singing nobody's perfect or some kind of disney channel bullshit like that but he didn't. he looked me right in the eye and said, i don't think we can be friends anymore.

and i couldn't help it, i felt my face crumple into the pathetic mess that always used to taunt my father into making a fist and all i could think was don't cry, ryan, don't you fucking cry, and, you know, it was my father's voice saying those words in my head and the voice forced me to hold myself together somehow, just like i used to when i was twelve years old and i had fucked up and the only way to save myself was to just NOT CRY.

why not?

because, ryan.

then the hardness slipped away. brendon was brendon and i was ryan and we were best friends, had always been, really--even then, as brendon was scraping up every last ounce of strength he had so he could wreck my world like i had wrecked his, finally.

because, he whispered. the words weren't even out yet, and already, brendon looked like he wanted to cry too. because, ryan, you're...you're just...toxic.

TOXIC.

toxic, i echoed.

i mean--i don't know, brendon muttered. he stared down at his neon shoes beneath the little square coffee shop table. you're just...you scare me is all. i don't know...i don't know what you're thinking, ryan, i don't understand you--

no, i get it. you're right. i don't...i don't really get me either.

brendon was quiet for a second. then he looked up at me again with sad eyes.

ryan?

yes?

...are you okay? like, really okay? because you're acting--i mean, you've been acting weird lately--

i'm fine, bren. don't worry about me.

i turned to walk away because i couldn't stand to see that look on his face, all concerned and motherly and it was so strange since he had just called me TOXIC a moment ago. but i guess it was sort of like his baby had just swallowed a ticking time bomb and he had to throw it overboard to save himself, even if he loved it. you know? it's just that i was such a time bomb.

brendon stopped me. ryan, he called.

yeah?

you're not... i mean... what everyone's saying about you... about the drugs... the cocaine and all that...

i was smart enough to know the answer to that one.

it's not true, i said, and i walked away before he had the chance to ask me if i was lying.