Lights
Chapter Fourteen.
A few days later, Brendon was on the couch enjoying one of the hot chocolates that Ryan promised he would be allowed to drink. Brendon had just been at work for the second week, and there hadn't been any scares yet, which left Ryan relieved, but still concerned. Just because it hadn't happened yet didn't mean it never would. In fact, it just felt like he was running out of chances each day that Brendon came home just as bruise-less and cheery as he had been when he left that morning. He didn't want Brendon to get hurt – in fact, he wanted the absolute opposite so badly that it was all his head could think about when Brendon was away from him. At work, Ryan would talk to Spencer whenever he had a spare moment to try and calm his nerves. It confused Spencer, but he went along with it, regardless to the odd look he had on his face.
For that, at least, Ryan was relieved. Because he really needed someone to just talk to and take his mind off what had already become a reality once. This time, he felt like it would only be worse if it occurred again.
“Charlotte is an absolute riot!” Brendon said, throwing his head back in laughter while caring not to spill the drink. Ryan glanced up from his own with a smile. “She has the craziest hair ever. It's purple, and she always wears it so it's sticking out everywhere. She looks like a purple porcupine or something, it's totally awesome.”
“Do they approve of that at McDonald's?” Ryan asked.
“She works out in the back,” Brendon said. “No one sees her anyway. She says that's the toned down version – so that she can get the cap on. Imagine what she'd look like without the restrictions! Dude, I bet it'd be like a ten foot tall mohawk or something!”
Ryan blinked furiously at the image. “My God. That would be amazing.”
Brendon nodded in agreement. “It would. We'll have to meet her outside of work some time.”
“Are you, like, obsessed with social contact or something?”
“Are you allergic to it?”
Ryan snorted and shook his head. “Do not pull that shit with me, Brendon.”
“No excuses,” Brendon said. “You're not allergic, you can handle it. No night clubs. Just somewhere nice where we can check out her hair, awe over it, and then go home again afterwards.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “If you can convince her to do that without creeping her out in some way, I'll go,” Ryan said with a grin.
“Oh please. She doesn't scare easy. She's one of those ones who always wins at chicken.”
“Have you played chicken with her?”
Brendon shrugged. “No, but she just seems the type. She hit Tom in the back of the head with a packet of those pasta animals the other day. That's the type of thing that people who are good at chicken do.”
Ryan blinked and raised an eyebrow curiously. “It is?”
“Yeah. You just kind of know.”
“What the hell? Was your childhood totally different to mine or something? … Did they teach you that while stealing food at that community thing?”
Brendon snorted. “No, but they probably should have. I'm sure there were some people there who needed to learn that.”
“Who needs to learn that?”
“You, for one.”
“I have no need to know that,” Ryan replied. “Now, your hot chocolate is gonna get cold. Drink up.”
“You're not my mother.”
“You haven't spoken to her for, like, five years. Thus I'm pretty sure it's in the law that I can rightfully take her place. Sub in, you know. I think she'd appreciate it.”
Brendon shook his head in confusion. “You're a guy, Ryan. Just thought I'd point that out.”
“Mothers are neither female or male. They're of another, genderless species. It's a well known fact up here at the age of twenty two.”
“Well, back at twenty one where we hold our youthful innocence,” Brendon responded with a smirk on his lips, “we're immune to the lies the government feeds us. So, we're really the truth holders. Suck on that, Mr. Twenty Two.”
“Please, the government got a hold of your brain a long time ago,” Ryan snorted. “So don't pull that with us. You can drink legally – your brain is theirs.”
Brendon rolled his eyes and finished off the last of his hot chocolate with a satisfying gulp. He tried to burp and failed. “Best way to end a night.”
“Sure is. Hot chocolate made by one of those amazing old people, on the wise side of the generation.” Ryan grinned as he picked up Brendon's empty coffee mug and took it to the sink to wash it out.
“I'm pretty tired,” Brendon said from the couch. He pushed himself down onto the mattress that was still lying on the floor after the two extra months that Brendon had been staying there. After sleeping on it and repairing his bruised body, Brendon realised it really was a lot more comfy than the couch, so he continued to sleep on it despite how random and in the way it looked in the apartment. Really, it suited the decor of Ryan's home, especially with the clothes and books lying on the ground around it.
“Yeah, me too,” Ryan agreed, suddenly yawning as he realised it was true. “Work tomorrow, too, so get up early.”
“When have I never not gotten up early for work?” Brendon asked, pushing himself beneath the covers of his bed with a sigh. He pulled off his jeans and tossed them to the side, then pulled the covers right up to his chin with a shiver.
“It's only been a few weeks, I felt I should remind you,” Ryan said with a shrug.
Brendon stuck out his tongue. “Go to bed, Ryan.”
“I'm going, I'm going!” Ryan said defensively, crossing the living room to his own bedroom door. “Goodnight, Brendon!”
“Go to bed!” Brendon repeated as Ryan shut the door.
Ryan stumbled over to his bed, his eyes feeling heavy. He pushed his jeans down his legs and tried to lazily step out of them until they were a bundle on the floor that his feet were still caught in. He sat down on the edge of his bed and kicked them off with a frown.
He pulled the shirt he had been wearing off and tossed it on the ground, picking up another instead to wear to bed. He made a mental note in his mind that the one he had just discarded needed to be washed.
He then climbed beneath the warm blankets and slowly let his eyelids droop until all he could see was darkness, and his head was filled with dreams.
*
Ryan didn't even have time to adjust to his shift in consciousness before he was painfully pulled upwards so that he was sitting upright – but he was barely even touching the bed. The change in his position confused him and made his eyebrows furrow, and the pressure under his chin began to throb almost immediately.
He could barely see, and he had been almost floating in the air for a good few seconds before his mind sent the message to the rest of his body to react and wake up, opening up to awareness. In the midst of his confusion, Ryan opened his eyes, finding the room shrouded in darkness, but he could make out the face of someone very close to him.
Someone who didn't look like Brendon at all.
Startled, Ryan suddenly thrashed against the hand that was grasping the collar of his pajama shirt tightly. He felt the knuckles of the hand being pressed against his windpipe, and he instantly started gasping for air, terror beginning to flood his veins and make himself move even more. His air supply just continued to close off as he tried to throw his weight around.
“Stop it,” a harsh voice hissed in the darkness.
Ryan instantly stopped moving, his eyes widening so much that he couldn't control it. It was like watching a horror movie – he wanted to be anywhere but there, but at the same time, he wanted to take in as much of it as possible in some sort of morbid fascination.
As he settled, he sucked air steadily into his lungs now that the hand at his throat had lowered, no longer leaning painfully against his trachea. He tried to breathe evenly, but the only thing his brain seemed to be allowing was taking in huge, uneven gasps, wanting even more while he was still in the process of breathing the last mouthful back out.
“That's better,” the voice said, a hint of a smirk lining each word. “God, you're a light thing, aren't you? I could probably throw you across the room without any effort at all.”
Ryan tried to swallow but almost choked on the gulping action. Images of what could happen began to filter through his mind, starting with what had just occurred and extending to mental pictures of himself, bruised and bloody, lying crumpled on the floor of his own apartment with no one even being aware.
A small whimper escaped his lips unintentionally, and he hurriedly snapped his eyes closed in an attempt to concentrate and prevent another whine. His fingers twitched, and the man with his fingers knotted deep in his collar laughed, making him regret the pathetic noise even more than he had initially.
“Poor boy,” the man mocked, his hand shaking and rocking Ryan back and forth. “Bet you're regretting this now, eh?”
Ryan didn't reply, but just kept gazing intently into the blurred, shadowed face of his attacker.
“That's what you get.”
Suddenly, Ryan was being dragged from his bed with little regard to how he was placed. He felt like a puppet on a string, being carried around by a five year old. His legs slid off the bed to the floor until he could just tip-toe across the carpet behind his captor, his neck starting to ache from his head being tilted upwards.
He heard his bedroom door being thrown open and slammed into the wall behind it with a thud. He cringed and hoped it hadn't left a mark on the paint.
“Look what I found!” the man announced as he entered the living room, throwing his free arm out with a flourishing gesture. “Some skinny little scared kid. Fuck him, you could use him as a javelin or something.”
“Ryan!”
Ryan started at the sound of his name being called, and he peered into the gloom until he could see everything that was in front of him in relatively clear focus.
The room was filled with a crowd of strangers, and suddenly his tiny living room seemed even tinier in comparison to the thick men. He wasn't sure if it was just the darkness blending in with the outlines of their baggy clothes, but they seemed huge to him – as if three of himself could fit into one of them. He didn't doubt his captor's claim that they could use him as a javelin – he certainly felt like an object between them. His breathing quickened in fear, his head screaming in response. Screaming random words and death threats to himself. He was going to die, this was what was going to happen. What else could it possibly be?
Brendon was secured by one of the men, his arms being pulled tightly behind his back until he was almost leaning backwards to accommodate them. His shoulders looked painfully stretched. His mouth seemed to still be forming the syllables of Ryan's name as Ryan noticed him, and his eyebrows were askew in worry. His lip was pulled up in what Ryan could only construe as some sort of apologetic gesture. He looked sadly at his friend, still clad in whatever shirt he had been wearing the night before and a pair of boxers that showed his skinny legs. He was so small and vulnerable looking – probably just about as small and vulnerable as Ryan felt himself.
“Let him go!” he heard Brendon's voice ring out in the silence.
Ryan's captor just chuckled in a gravelly tone.
“He didn't do anything to you,” Brendon argued, straining against the hands that were gripping his own wrists in a constricting grasp. “What the fuck do you want with him?”
“Shut up, Brendon.” The voice came from one of the people standing next to Brendon, and one of the men stepped out into the space between Brendon and Ryan.
He was tall, maybe Ryan's height or a little taller, and definitely a lot thicker than Ryan's gangly frame. He was wearing a bold purple hoodie that lost its colour in the darkness, and had the hood pulled up over a mop of short, black, almost-curly hair that Ryan could only just make out from where he was standing. Over the top of his hoodie sat a hat, pushed to the side slightly, with the front of it pushed down over the side of his face. He was clad in semi-baggy jeans that hung off his hips loosely. Ryan could make out his boxers pushed over the top of the denim material, peeking out from the line between the bottom of his jacket and his jeans.
He automatically struck Ryan as extremely intimidating, with his height accompanied by his general stature. He commanded attention from all the others in the room, who were watching him with hawk-like eyes. He could even feel his own captor following this man as he stepped forward and approached Ryan. He seemed to walk very deliberately, with one foot in front of the other, like the walk of a man who had something very important on his mind. Extremely important – something like murder. He had the walk of someone who could kill, Ryan thought. This was someone ruthless. He was facing someone extremely dangerous, who didn't even think about playing kindly or fairly.
“Well, look at you.” The man bent down slightly to stare Ryan directly in the face. Ryan could make out the way his lips were quirked up in a sarcastic smirk that only seemed to add emphasis to his killer-like look. Someone who could take the whole thing as a game, and consider himself the almighty winner.
Ryan felt his stomach flip in nervousness. He very much hated having the man this close to his face and only leaning in further. They were almost nose-to-nose. Ryan instantly pushed his own head back as far as he could, but the man just placed one of his large hands on the back of Ryan's head and pushed him closer again.
Ryan gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
“What, don't want to be this close?” the man asked, blinking in an almost innocent way. “What, don't you like me?”
Ryan stared at him soundlessly.
“I said, don't you like me?”
“I-I don't know,” Ryan choked out, unable to think of any other words. He could feel his fingers twitching insanely at his sides, touching his t-shirt endlessly, bunching it up in his finger tips and releasing it again a few moments later as his whole hand relaxed and stretched out.
“Well, looks like you're a little indecisive,” the man taunted. “Don't know if we can have that. Can we?”
There was a ripple of murmuring around the room as the other men agreed. A chorus of, “No.”
They couldn't have Ryan's awkward responses and stumbling sentences. This wasn't going to end well, and while Ryan had been pretty sure of this earlier, he was definitely sure of this now.
“Don't do that, Gabe,” he heard Brendon say.
It was then that Ryan clicked. Gabe. The man that Brendon had said was a leader of the community had once been a part of. It just seemed to fit together in Ryan's head only then – he hadn't realised earlier, and he had no idea how he hadn't. Of course.
It was Gabe, and the other members of the community, out to wreak their revenge they craved against Brendon. And now, just as Brendon had expected and definitely not wanted, Ryan was right in the middle of it. But neither of them could have avoided it.
Ryan was supposed to run, but he couldn't. This wasn't how Brendon had planned it, Ryan could tell. And he felt that Brendon pretty much had planned that this would occur at one time or another. These big, burly men seemed to be like wolves, constantly stalking their prey until they found them. And they wouldn't give up, no matter the obstacles put in their way.
Brendon hadn't wanted to leave, but Brendon didn't want to hurt Ryan either.
Ryan was so confused, thoughts running through his head at a hundred miles an hour and never even coming close to pausing.
“What kind of right do you have to talk to me?” Gabe shot back, thankfully leaning away from Ryan's face to turn to Brendon with a scowl. Ryan leaned back again, but the man holding him just pushed him forward again against his will, his head knocking forward so that his chin hit his chest.
“What right do you have?” Brendon said, glowering angrily. “You can't just go and mess with people you don't even know. You're against that, I know you are! You think everything I learned in the four years I was with you guys, I just forgot suddenly when I left?”
“Left?” Gabe spewed out the word with some sort of strange, messed up cackle. “I can hardly call that leaving, Brendon, so much as running away with your tail between your legs. They call that fleeing. Like the coward you are.”
“I'm not a coward,” Brendon said through clenched teeth, fighting against his bonds. Ryan could see his feet running against the carpet.
His feet were bare. He was so helpless. How could they do this? How could they sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night and take control of them? It was so low – it was fighting dirty. But then again, wasn't that what they were all about? They functioned by stealing and taking what was not theirs. They were above the law, in their own opinion, but in reality they were extremely far below it.
Ryan could feel tears coming to his eyes as the fear he had been trying to frantically bat away from himself found another outlet. He realised he was about to feel extremely stupid if anyone spotted him, and while he knew that he really should not be worrying about such a thing, it seemed to require his utmost concern anyway. He started blinking away the tears until his vision had unblurred and he could return to seeing the horrifying scene in front of him. He suddenly couldn't remember why he wanted the tears to be gone. He couldn't remember why he wanted to see. He wanted to be blind and deaf and mute, so maybe someone would take pity on him – some sort of pathetic pity – and let him go.
But he knew Brendon would not settle for that kind of pity, and he desperately wanted for Brendon to be set free as well. He couldn't handle it any other way. Without Brendon, he knew that his life was incredibly bland and boring with little to no meaning. And having to worry about a deceased friend would make that terribly ordinary life even worse. Even harder to live, after knowing the gentle excitement that having a friend like the extrovert Brendon could hold.
“How can you say that?” The conversation was heated, Gabe barking his words harshly at Brendon. “You fucking ran! You fucked everything up and then you ran away. That's what a fucking coward is, Brendon. Someone who can't face up to what they know they deserve.”
“He didn't deserve it!” Ryan couldn't resist from crying out, unable to handle Brendon being unfairly attacked. He noticed Brendon hang his head out of the corner of his vision, and he knew he had done something that his friend definitely didn't approve of. But he didn't care, he couldn't hold back.
“Excuse me?” Gabe's voice was suddenly cold, and it almost made Ryan feel as if his entire body had tensed and frozen. “What right do you have to even talk, you fucker?”
“I know what he did,” Ryan gasped, the grip of his captor growing even tighter on his collar and pressing against his neck painfully. “I know, and he doesn't deserve to die. Fuck, he doesn't!”
“He fucked up!” Gabe shouted, and Ryan cowered back in fear. “He fucked the hell up, and he deserves everything that comes to him!”
Ryan shook his head, closing his eyes, trying to desperately toss the confusion from his brain that just seemed to relentlessly attack him. In one aspect, he realised he was having an angry conversation with someone. As terribly frightening as the circumstances were, he couldn't help but think of this and be almost proud of himself. Spencer would most likely be amazed. The only other time that Ryan had gotten exasperated at all was when Brendon had come home with his face bruised and battered and patterns of blue and green and yellow running all over his body, making his ribs stand out against his skin. And maybe that was where this anger was coming from.
These were the people who had done that to Brendon – who had mercilessly beat him and tried to kill him, but tried to torture him first. Tried to hurt him as much as they possibly could before finally releasing him and letting him die. This thought absolutely terrified Ryan, and he couldn't understand how someone's brain could work that way in any aspect. Why did Brendon deserve to die? He didn't and he knew it. But for some reason, loyalty was becoming a big thing here – so big that it seemed to consume and eat the entire room until it was Gabe's loyalty to his community against Brendon and Ryan, one of which appeared to be a traitor, the other knew nothing of what was going on and was basically considered an invalid argument. A nuance. Something that didn't even become a part of the equation despite how much he wanted to convince them that this was not how things should be.
“He doesn't,” Ryan mumbled, realising he was definitely getting too ahead of himself. He could barely throw a punch. He had been dragged out of his bed at some ungodly hour of night, and he hadn't even managed to defend himself. He couldn't possibly take on a good six of these men. Each of them looked like cobras, ready to strike at any given moment. Gabe seemed to be dancing in circles, relishing the confusion of his prey. Relishing the argument, even. Enjoying that he could prove himself right above others and take control.
“I don't know what world you come from, kid,” Gabe said slowly, his voice low and almost disappearing into the silence that sunk into them and wouldn't slip away. It stuck fast, crawling up their skin and through their clothes, until it was almost as inky black as the darkness around them. Each word was like sludge through the silence. Messy yet deliberate. Required. It was like there was no wasting words under circumstances like these. “I really don't. But where I come from, murder isn't looked up to. Are you fucked in the head like this guy?” He tossed his head so that he pointed at Brendon, who was glaring at him with his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I'm pretty sure murder in self defense is perfectly legal,” Ryan stated, trying to make his voice clear, despite how the fear leaked from it like gasoline.
“Self defense?” Gabe laughed, and it was slightly hoarse. “That's not fucking self defense.”
“It is,” Ryan argued. “That guy – I mean, Brendon had to do something.”
He noticed Gabe roll his eyes and turn to Brendon.
“I don't know how you've messed this guy up, but it's pretty rude, Brendon. Maybe you should set him straight.” Gabe was almost grinning in a cat-like way. Like the Cheshire Cat. But maybe Ryan had just watched Alice in Wonderland one too many times. “Or maybe you could just shut him up. I'd prefer that, actually. He's fucking annoying, and his voice is a little messed up as well, you know.”
Brendon's eyes just narrowed even further. “Let him go.”
“Fuck, and have him go tell every cop in town that we've taken his precious little killer, Brendon?”
Ryan felt his hand suddenly curl into a fist at the word killer – what sense did it make that Gabe would call Brendon a killer when he was about to do the exact same thing? It seemed unfair, unjust. He tried not to let himself lurch forward, but just trembled on the spot for a few moments before calming himself again. Anger still fogged his brain, but he trusted himself not to move. He had no idea how they would possibly get out of this, and any opportunity seemed to be growing bleaker by the second. Six men, six times the muscle that both Brendon and him possessed. Ryan was only being held by one of them and he could barely move, and Brendon couldn't so much as shift his weight without the man grasping his hands, tightening his grip and causing Brendon's lip to curl in silent pain.
It was torture, it was cruel, and Ryan couldn't make himself watch it.
“He wouldn't,” Brendon defended. “I promise you, he wouldn't. Just let him go, and I promise that he won't tell them a thing.”
“Fuck, what kind of impact do you think you even have?” Gabe laughed, seeming to find enjoyment in the situation that he had caused. He knew he was in charge of it all, and knew that he was the cause of it, and he knew that he was the reason that both Brendon and Ryan were worried about their lives and only thinking about all the possibilities of the things that could occur, or couldn't occur, or would never happen to them again or would never happen to them full stop. There was so much that Ryan knew he would never get to do, and maybe that was just as well. He would probably never do those things that he was afraid of not being able to experience, and this would just give him an excuse to never take part in general population traditions, like having sex and getting married and having children and growing old in a none-so-graceful way that caused him to die in happiness, experiencing what he wanted until the last moment of his life.
He had never really seen his life going that way, in reality. He wanted it just as bad as everyone else wanted it, but in reality, the wife was blurred and had no face. He had no one he particularly wanted to fit that mold. He had no idea what his kids would be called, or what their round faces would look like, or whether they would take over their non-existent mother or their crazed, socially-stunted father that had no idea how he had even managed to have kids or a wife in the first place.
Surely this failure – dying at twenty two at the hands of what he took to be a complete maniac trying to make things 'right' in his own mind – was better than failing by never succeeding when he had the chance to. Maybe he would have lived the rest of the life the same way he had lived it now. On his own, with the odd speck of reason to continue on without just giving up and disappearing into the greyness of the pavement without ruthless passers-by even noticing.
They hadn't noticed his first life-changing event. They hadn't noticed when he met Brendon. They'd barely cared when he had been sprawled across the pavement with a fear-stricken boy sitting on top of him, his knees digging into his chest as he tried to pull himself. They hadn't been there each night when Ryan tried to repair Brendon and drag him away from the nightmares, caused by the horrific past he shouldn't have had to experience and was now being stalked for. He didn't deserve a second of it, and why could Ryan be so aware of it, and this large, intimidating figure in front of him be so not?
How could they be fed the exact same information and have such different points of view?
Why was Ryan the only one concerned with fending for the small, helpless Brendon when he was the person in the room that had known Brendon for the least amount of time? He had watched Brendon gaze around the room with recognition in his eyes, even for the man standing just behind Ryan with his fingers grasped around the material of his shirt. His fingers were warm against Ryan's neck now. He was pretty sure that they had been cold at the beginning, but they had warmed quickly against his hot skin and as a result of the sticky sweat beading and running down his neck.
How was this even possible? Was this some sort of social function that he was missing entirely? Turn on someone you have been protecting so fast they find it jarring – and not just turn on them, but go from taking care of them to attempting to kill them every time you lay your eyes on them?
It made Ryan's mind buzz fearfully. He never wanted to be like that. If that was what it was like to function with the rest of society, then he wanted absolutely no part of it.
But, for once, he was pretty sure that he was not the messed up one in this situation. He was pretty sure that that title went to the others in the room. He had never seen Spencer spitefully turn on anyone else, nor Brendon. Brendon was still trying to communicate with his potential killers like the humans they were.
“You're going to be dead,” Gabe stated in an almost mocking tone, as if he was trying to get it through Brendon's head. Ryan was frowning, hating the condescending attitude of the man standing in front of him. He had chains dangling from his pants, and he was occasionally tugging at the purple jacket sagging over his shoulders with a grace comparable to some sort of deadly spider. His long limbs functioned like those of an arachnid, allowing him to make his way across the floor with long steps. But Ryan imagined how terrifying he would look if he had been running straight at him. Those long legs would suddenly be so much more threatening, bringing them ever-closer to their goal. Something Ryan definitely didn't want.
Brendon made a muffled little noise at the word 'dead'. Ryan wondered if he'd really ever realised that this was how it was going to end. With him dead. And God, he just wanted anything else, absolutely anything. But it was so unrealistic, and he knew it, but he couldn't believe it. There had to be some way out, ready to spring and come to Ryan's attention. He searched for anything. He fidgeted slightly in the hands of his captor, searching for some sort of weak spot, but just got a tighter hand around his throat, leaning on him. He gasped and nodded as some sort of signal for it to let go, but it didn't. He went up on his tip toes to try and evade the lack of breath. He needed to breathe, he needed to stay alive. He needed to come up with a method to save Brendon and make sure they both came out of this alive. They needed to keep living. Ryan needed to see Spencer and Kayla tomorrow, and he desperately needed to meet Charlotte and see what was just so interesting about her purple porcupine hair. He needed to do all those things, because they were in his capacity to achieve. He may never have kids and he may never even come up with names, but he needed to see Spencer and talk to him again. He needed to smile again, because he felt that his lips hadn't quirked up in one of those satisfactory smiles in so long. Surely, it must have just been a few hours since he went to sleep and left Brendon in the living room.
The night suddenly seemed so long. So long, and he wasn't going to live through it.
“Not liking that?” Gabe asked, tilting his head. “Don't want to die, eh? Maybe you should have thought about that a little earlier, then.”
“Maybe he should have too,” Brendon mumbled under his breath, obviously not intending for the words to be heard by his former leader.
But Gabe had heard. He had raised his head, then it had suddenly snapped to turn to Brendon, with his eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Brendon answered quickly, the word sounding almost stilted. “It wasn't anything.”
“It was fucking something,” Gabe answered, prowling across the room until he was next to Brendon. He leaned in, his face close, just as he had done to Ryan earlier. It was obviously some sort of intimidation tactic, and Brendon shrunk away as well.
“It wasn't, Gabe,” Brendon said.
Gabe's arm shot up and grabbed Brendon's hair in a tight fist, his fingers curling into the dark brown strands. He wrenched Brendon's head back, and Brendon let out an agonised gasp, his knees buckling beneath him, but he was kept on his feet by Gabe's hold.
Gabe leaned in real close, until they were eye to eye. “What the fuck did you say, Brendon?”
“I said he should have thought of it earlier,” Brendon hissed, but Ryan could hear the reluctance in his voice. He had wanted to do anything but repeat that sentence to Gabe, and it showed. He was already trying to shrink even further away, and his feet were desperately trying to regain their hold.
“You fucker,” Gabe whispered, before releasing Brendon and pushing his head down. His knees buckled again and he fell to the floor, his shoulders pushed back painfully as the man holding his wrists grinned.
Ryan had no idea what to do or what to say. He didn't want to receive another angry look from the now anguished Brendon on the floor, but he couldn't just watch. He made sure to press his lips together, so he wouldn't allow the words to escape. It was lost, it must have been. The cause was gone, and Ryan felt useless.
So Ryan did nothing. And as soon as he let go, his shoulders slumped and he pressed in on the hand that was so persistent at his collar. He felt the hand tighten, paranoid, before loosening itself once it realised that Ryan had just stopped being so tense. He still watched the scene with sad eyes, his eyebrows sloping downwards and his mouth pulled to the side and upwards, just showing his teeth. He couldn't control his expression, and he couldn't take his eyes off Brendon, except to occasionally glance at Gabe – everything he did just seemed to unexpected to Ryan, he felt he might suddenly make a move that he didn't see coming. He was afraid everything would come crashing down a lot faster than he had first thought. At this point, he reasoned they at least had a few more minutes. Gabe was enjoying his power, and it must have taken at least a little while to get through killing someone, right?
He wasn't really sure. He hadn't watched many of those kind of movies, nor had he played all those violent, shoot 'em up games. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to work. Maybe, in reality, this gang would spend half an hour talking themselves up and degrading both him and Brendon, before swiftly ending their lives and leaving without a word. But he was fairly sure they would go for a more theatrical performance – after all, they had pretty much tortured Brendon when they attacked him the first time. It just seemed in their nature to do this. Continue messing with them as much as possible.
“So, Brendon,” Gabe started, turning on his heel. Brendon was low and had his lip curled upwards, and Ryan could see anger glinting in his eyes. They weren't shiny, as they had been when Ryan nursed him after the crippling nightmares he experienced as a result of all the pain he'd been through. It seemed unfair. These people had never witnessed the effect it had on Brendon – how sobs would rack his small, thin frame. It was heartbreaking.
“Brendon,” Gabe went on. “You know what you did. You show no remorse --”
“I didn't want to do it,” Brendon argued, hurriedly, seeing his possible way out. “I didn't want for it to happen. It wasn't supposed to go that far. I couldn't control myself.”
“Well, you should have fucking learnt to then, eh?” Gabe said with his familiar smirking voice.
Brendon didn't reply, but Ryan knew the words flashing through his mind. That he was not the only one at fault – the problem was that the other at fault was too dead to speak up.
“I think we've established that you get everything you deserve,” Gabe said. “And trust me, you're going to get what you deserve. You think we fucked you up last time?”
“I know you can do much worse,” Brendon muttered, darkly.
“Fucking right we can. So, stand up straight, Urie.”
Ryan's brow creased in confusion as he heard the word. Urie? Who the hell was that?
Brendon's knees unbent as he tried to push his way upwards on his weak legs. Ryan could see him almost trembling, though he wasn't sure how. It was like every once in a while, Brendon's entire image would quiver before setting straight again. Like he wanted to break, but knew that there was no way that he could.
“That's right,” Gabe said. “Take it like a man.”
Brendon clenched his jaw, fighting against his will to shoot some comment back.
Gabe took slow steps toward Brendon, and Ryan suddenly couldn't see Brendon any more behind Gabe's large frame. All he could see was the purple jacket and baggy jeans. He could hear the chains jangling together, an ever-present noise in a household that really should have been silent at the present time.
Why couldn't it be silent?
Instead, Ryan could hear everything. He could hear all the words he hated, all the threats and deceit and vengeful tactics. And now he could hear Gabe's light foot steps stopping, pausing right in front of Brendon. He stood tall in front of the shorter man. Ryan watched, absolutely horrified, wondering what was going to come next. Of course, in some way he knew exactly what was going to come next, but how could he accept that? He couldn't. No one could face that their friend was about to be killed. And no one could face that they would be tumbling to the ground right after, not completely useless. A once fun game now boring and useless.
He barely even saw Gabe's elbow draw back and his arm shove forward again, but he certainly heard Brendon grunt as Gabe's tight fist made contact with some part of his body. Ryan then heard a gasp, and his heart beat furiously. His stomach was alive. It wouldn't stop writhing, and he swore that his organs were starting to fall from their former positions. He felt as if he were slowly breaking inside. Like everything was just coming apart. Soon he would be no more.
Gabe punched Brendon again, harder this time, and Ryan finally snapped his eyes shut, as if his brain had only just now registered that he really did not want to see what was happening. But with his eyes closed, it was like his hearing had improved. He felt that the sound of low thumps – Gabe's knuckles meeting some part of Brendon's skin, bruises already blossoming as blood bloomed and pumped beneath the flesh – and Brendon trying to take it in the quietest way he could was all he could hear. But in the midst of it all, there was laughter. There was horrible laughter.
It made Ryan's skin crawl. How could they laugh at their own being injured? How could they laugh at one of their own about to die?
Ryan tried not to tremble, but he was also trying desperately not to throw up or wrench himself free and throw himself to the ground uselessly. He didn't necessarily have any plans of running or calling the police, but he just wanted the hand at his collar to be gone. He wanted the fingers knotted in his shirt to disappear, and he wanted to breathe freely again. He wanted to rest on his elbows and knees and bury his face into the carpet between his arms and let out huge, racking sobs that looked like they may come, regardless to the position he was in.
The he heard a yell.
He was almost surprised that it wasn't one of the surrounding men that had called out, and at first he had expected it to be, but it was too far off sounding to be anyone in the room. It was slightly muffled.
“Keep it down!” the voice cried out, sounding full of rage. “I'll fucking come in there, Ryan! Shut up!”
Ryan gazed around with watery eyes to the faces of the gang members. Gabe had paused, his arm still stretched out as if in mid-punch. The others all glanced around fearfully like rabbits, ears pricked and listening. Ryan wasn't sure if this was good or bad, or how to take it at all. Was it good or bad? What if it was neither? What if this was just a slight rumple in the plan, but had basically no effect what-so-ever?
“Shh,” Gabe whispered, and the gang members all nodded obediently. Brendon was cowering where he stood, his eyes focused on Gabe's outstretched hand. He tried to edge away slightly, but the man holding his wrists held fast and aimed a solid glare at him.
The room was quiet. The voice didn't come again, and he could hear everyone in the room except for Brendon and himself breathe an audible sign of relief. Well, it looked like this wasn't going to work out then.
“Okay,” Gabe said, nodding at the rest of them. “Now, where was I?”
“Leaving,” Brendon interjected, quickly.
“Fuck up!” Ryan saw Gabe land a punch to Brendon's cheek. Brendon would have gone spinning into the kitchen counter if it hadn't been for his secured hands. He tried to peek over Gabe's shoulder, and just saw the top of Brendon's head, and his eyes looking slightly dazed and out of it.
“Why can you even still talk?” Gabe said. “You're not supposed to be able to do that. Guess I'm not hitting you hard enough.”
There was a cackle around the room as it seemed the other gang members agreed. Ryan felt like he was in one of Brendon's nightmares, and he vaguely wondered if this is what Brendon saw. Was this what they were always like, taunting their victims? Did they have victims often, or was this some sort if incredibly rare lust for blood that only got a chance to surface when they managed to label someone a traitor?
Then –
“I'm serious, Ryan!”
Everyone froze again, and Gabe swore under his breath. As Gabe turned and went to prowl around the room in anger, Ryan could comfortably see Brendon's face again, and he saw the younger man grin widely. It was as if he enjoyed his former leader being subjected to this.
“I'm coming over!”
Ryan had never witnessed such a frenzy in his entire life. Suddenly, he had been dropped. And while he hadn't thought that his weight was being supported by the fingers grasping his clothes at all, he began to second-guess this assumption when his knees buckled slightly at his release.
The six gang members suddenly scattered – that was the only word that Ryan could think to describe it as. Brendon was thrown back in his release so that he landed on the ground with a painful thump, and he let out a groan as he leaned back into the carpet. One of his hands moved to rub lightly at his lower back.
Gabe kept hissing, “Move! Move!” through his teeth as the six gang members scrambled for the door in what looked like a messy race. One of them slipped on the linoleum on the kitchen floor, but even as his hands slapped at the ground, he was back up on his feet again, grasping at the door handle to pull him out into the hall way.
The door was still ajar, and Ryan leaned forward to gaze after the men as they barrelled down the hallway and into the staircase. He gulped and rubbed at his neck, which was a little raw but pretty much fine compared to how it could have been.
“Are you okay?” he asked Brendon in a surprisingly quiet voice. After all the shouting, he felt that he should respect the silence in some way.
“Yeah,” he heard Brendon reply in a grunt from where he was lying.
“What the fuck!” the muffled voice went off again. Then Ryan heard foot steps – the person who had been yelling really was coming over. He glanced around at his apartment. It didn't look too suspicious, except for Brendon.
“Don't tell him anything,” Brendon warned in a low voice, quickly climbing to his feet. Ryan could see the way he cringed and held a light hand to his stomach. “Please. You promised.”
“Okay.”
Brendon trudged across the room into Ryan's bedroom, where he wouldn't be seen if anyone did enter.
Ryan's neighbour, a tired old man in his forties with already greying hair and a receding hairline, appeared in the door way. He glanced at the door in confusion, then aimed a glare at Ryan.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked in a tone that much resembled a growl.
“Sorry,” Ryan apologised quickly, racking his brain for something to say. “It's just – uh, the TV!” He pointed at his television set with an extended index finger, and started nodding, as if this confirmed it. “We had it on way too loud without realising, but um – but now we've turned it off, so, problem solved. No more noise out of us, promise.”
His neighbour looked at Ryan suspiciously, arching an eyebrow and glancing at the television warily. “If you say so,” he replied, slowly. “But if I hear any more noise out of you, I'm calling the cops.”
“Fair enough,” Ryan said. “Sorry again. Uh, you should go and get some sleep. Hear it's gonna be a nice day tomorrow.”
The forty year old man looked at him oddly. “It's winter,” he pointed out, “and there's a forecast for a storm. Are you one of those hippies or something?”
“I-I, uh, no sir,” Ryan said, quickly. “I guess I just heard wrong.”
His neighbour left the apartment muttering bitterly about 'youth these days'.
As the door shut behind the man, Ryan turned toward his own bedroom and marched over to the doorway. He leaned against the frame and switched on the light, to see Brendon lying on the bed with his head on Ryan's pillow. He shaded his eyes and glanced at Ryan when he noticed.
“You didn't tell him anything?” Brendon asked.
“I told him it was the TV,” Ryan replied, sitting on the foot of the bed.
He heard Brendon breathe an audible sigh of relief, then turn to Ryan with dark eyes and a frown on his face.
“Look,” Brendon started, but Ryan shook his head.
“Maybe this isn't the time,” Ryan said. “That was fucking scary, and now I'm really fucking tired and really excited at the same time. Well, maybe excited isn't the right word to use.”
“I get what you mean,” Brendon agreed. He paused, then added, “When do you think we'll have to decide what we're going to do?”
“In the morning,” Ryan answered. “I'll take the day off work. Unless you think they'll come back tonight?”
“They won't,” Brendon assured. “I think I know how they work. I think they'll come back quickly though, but we'll at least have tonight. They'll try to keep us on our toes.”
“I don't know why you had to go and get on the wrong side of the absolute worst people to get on the wrong side of.”
“I don't know why you had to go and pick up the worst hobo to pick up,” Brendon replied with an easy grin.
“You look a sight,” Ryan added. “You're all bruised up again. Your McDonald's job is really going to suffer if you have to keep recovering.”
“I don't need to recover,” Brendon said. “You know I'd go back tomorrow.”
“Except you're not going to. We're both staying off to try figure out a plan. Staying alive is a little more important than McDonald's right now.”
“I think I'll have to agree with you.”
“Now. Bed.” Ryan patted Brendon's leg and motioned to the living room with his head. “Need any help getting up?”
“I'm fine,” Brendon said, shaking his head. “They had less time with me, they didn't cause as much damage.”
“Well, aren't we lucky?” Ryan said, sarcastically.
Brendon just made a face at him as he pulled himself up and trudged back into the living room. He turned off the light on the way out.
“Good night, Ry.”
“Night.”
For that, at least, Ryan was relieved. Because he really needed someone to just talk to and take his mind off what had already become a reality once. This time, he felt like it would only be worse if it occurred again.
“Charlotte is an absolute riot!” Brendon said, throwing his head back in laughter while caring not to spill the drink. Ryan glanced up from his own with a smile. “She has the craziest hair ever. It's purple, and she always wears it so it's sticking out everywhere. She looks like a purple porcupine or something, it's totally awesome.”
“Do they approve of that at McDonald's?” Ryan asked.
“She works out in the back,” Brendon said. “No one sees her anyway. She says that's the toned down version – so that she can get the cap on. Imagine what she'd look like without the restrictions! Dude, I bet it'd be like a ten foot tall mohawk or something!”
Ryan blinked furiously at the image. “My God. That would be amazing.”
Brendon nodded in agreement. “It would. We'll have to meet her outside of work some time.”
“Are you, like, obsessed with social contact or something?”
“Are you allergic to it?”
Ryan snorted and shook his head. “Do not pull that shit with me, Brendon.”
“No excuses,” Brendon said. “You're not allergic, you can handle it. No night clubs. Just somewhere nice where we can check out her hair, awe over it, and then go home again afterwards.”
Ryan rolled his eyes. “If you can convince her to do that without creeping her out in some way, I'll go,” Ryan said with a grin.
“Oh please. She doesn't scare easy. She's one of those ones who always wins at chicken.”
“Have you played chicken with her?”
Brendon shrugged. “No, but she just seems the type. She hit Tom in the back of the head with a packet of those pasta animals the other day. That's the type of thing that people who are good at chicken do.”
Ryan blinked and raised an eyebrow curiously. “It is?”
“Yeah. You just kind of know.”
“What the hell? Was your childhood totally different to mine or something? … Did they teach you that while stealing food at that community thing?”
Brendon snorted. “No, but they probably should have. I'm sure there were some people there who needed to learn that.”
“Who needs to learn that?”
“You, for one.”
“I have no need to know that,” Ryan replied. “Now, your hot chocolate is gonna get cold. Drink up.”
“You're not my mother.”
“You haven't spoken to her for, like, five years. Thus I'm pretty sure it's in the law that I can rightfully take her place. Sub in, you know. I think she'd appreciate it.”
Brendon shook his head in confusion. “You're a guy, Ryan. Just thought I'd point that out.”
“Mothers are neither female or male. They're of another, genderless species. It's a well known fact up here at the age of twenty two.”
“Well, back at twenty one where we hold our youthful innocence,” Brendon responded with a smirk on his lips, “we're immune to the lies the government feeds us. So, we're really the truth holders. Suck on that, Mr. Twenty Two.”
“Please, the government got a hold of your brain a long time ago,” Ryan snorted. “So don't pull that with us. You can drink legally – your brain is theirs.”
Brendon rolled his eyes and finished off the last of his hot chocolate with a satisfying gulp. He tried to burp and failed. “Best way to end a night.”
“Sure is. Hot chocolate made by one of those amazing old people, on the wise side of the generation.” Ryan grinned as he picked up Brendon's empty coffee mug and took it to the sink to wash it out.
“I'm pretty tired,” Brendon said from the couch. He pushed himself down onto the mattress that was still lying on the floor after the two extra months that Brendon had been staying there. After sleeping on it and repairing his bruised body, Brendon realised it really was a lot more comfy than the couch, so he continued to sleep on it despite how random and in the way it looked in the apartment. Really, it suited the decor of Ryan's home, especially with the clothes and books lying on the ground around it.
“Yeah, me too,” Ryan agreed, suddenly yawning as he realised it was true. “Work tomorrow, too, so get up early.”
“When have I never not gotten up early for work?” Brendon asked, pushing himself beneath the covers of his bed with a sigh. He pulled off his jeans and tossed them to the side, then pulled the covers right up to his chin with a shiver.
“It's only been a few weeks, I felt I should remind you,” Ryan said with a shrug.
Brendon stuck out his tongue. “Go to bed, Ryan.”
“I'm going, I'm going!” Ryan said defensively, crossing the living room to his own bedroom door. “Goodnight, Brendon!”
“Go to bed!” Brendon repeated as Ryan shut the door.
Ryan stumbled over to his bed, his eyes feeling heavy. He pushed his jeans down his legs and tried to lazily step out of them until they were a bundle on the floor that his feet were still caught in. He sat down on the edge of his bed and kicked them off with a frown.
He pulled the shirt he had been wearing off and tossed it on the ground, picking up another instead to wear to bed. He made a mental note in his mind that the one he had just discarded needed to be washed.
He then climbed beneath the warm blankets and slowly let his eyelids droop until all he could see was darkness, and his head was filled with dreams.
*
Ryan didn't even have time to adjust to his shift in consciousness before he was painfully pulled upwards so that he was sitting upright – but he was barely even touching the bed. The change in his position confused him and made his eyebrows furrow, and the pressure under his chin began to throb almost immediately.
He could barely see, and he had been almost floating in the air for a good few seconds before his mind sent the message to the rest of his body to react and wake up, opening up to awareness. In the midst of his confusion, Ryan opened his eyes, finding the room shrouded in darkness, but he could make out the face of someone very close to him.
Someone who didn't look like Brendon at all.
Startled, Ryan suddenly thrashed against the hand that was grasping the collar of his pajama shirt tightly. He felt the knuckles of the hand being pressed against his windpipe, and he instantly started gasping for air, terror beginning to flood his veins and make himself move even more. His air supply just continued to close off as he tried to throw his weight around.
“Stop it,” a harsh voice hissed in the darkness.
Ryan instantly stopped moving, his eyes widening so much that he couldn't control it. It was like watching a horror movie – he wanted to be anywhere but there, but at the same time, he wanted to take in as much of it as possible in some sort of morbid fascination.
As he settled, he sucked air steadily into his lungs now that the hand at his throat had lowered, no longer leaning painfully against his trachea. He tried to breathe evenly, but the only thing his brain seemed to be allowing was taking in huge, uneven gasps, wanting even more while he was still in the process of breathing the last mouthful back out.
“That's better,” the voice said, a hint of a smirk lining each word. “God, you're a light thing, aren't you? I could probably throw you across the room without any effort at all.”
Ryan tried to swallow but almost choked on the gulping action. Images of what could happen began to filter through his mind, starting with what had just occurred and extending to mental pictures of himself, bruised and bloody, lying crumpled on the floor of his own apartment with no one even being aware.
A small whimper escaped his lips unintentionally, and he hurriedly snapped his eyes closed in an attempt to concentrate and prevent another whine. His fingers twitched, and the man with his fingers knotted deep in his collar laughed, making him regret the pathetic noise even more than he had initially.
“Poor boy,” the man mocked, his hand shaking and rocking Ryan back and forth. “Bet you're regretting this now, eh?”
Ryan didn't reply, but just kept gazing intently into the blurred, shadowed face of his attacker.
“That's what you get.”
Suddenly, Ryan was being dragged from his bed with little regard to how he was placed. He felt like a puppet on a string, being carried around by a five year old. His legs slid off the bed to the floor until he could just tip-toe across the carpet behind his captor, his neck starting to ache from his head being tilted upwards.
He heard his bedroom door being thrown open and slammed into the wall behind it with a thud. He cringed and hoped it hadn't left a mark on the paint.
“Look what I found!” the man announced as he entered the living room, throwing his free arm out with a flourishing gesture. “Some skinny little scared kid. Fuck him, you could use him as a javelin or something.”
“Ryan!”
Ryan started at the sound of his name being called, and he peered into the gloom until he could see everything that was in front of him in relatively clear focus.
The room was filled with a crowd of strangers, and suddenly his tiny living room seemed even tinier in comparison to the thick men. He wasn't sure if it was just the darkness blending in with the outlines of their baggy clothes, but they seemed huge to him – as if three of himself could fit into one of them. He didn't doubt his captor's claim that they could use him as a javelin – he certainly felt like an object between them. His breathing quickened in fear, his head screaming in response. Screaming random words and death threats to himself. He was going to die, this was what was going to happen. What else could it possibly be?
Brendon was secured by one of the men, his arms being pulled tightly behind his back until he was almost leaning backwards to accommodate them. His shoulders looked painfully stretched. His mouth seemed to still be forming the syllables of Ryan's name as Ryan noticed him, and his eyebrows were askew in worry. His lip was pulled up in what Ryan could only construe as some sort of apologetic gesture. He looked sadly at his friend, still clad in whatever shirt he had been wearing the night before and a pair of boxers that showed his skinny legs. He was so small and vulnerable looking – probably just about as small and vulnerable as Ryan felt himself.
“Let him go!” he heard Brendon's voice ring out in the silence.
Ryan's captor just chuckled in a gravelly tone.
“He didn't do anything to you,” Brendon argued, straining against the hands that were gripping his own wrists in a constricting grasp. “What the fuck do you want with him?”
“Shut up, Brendon.” The voice came from one of the people standing next to Brendon, and one of the men stepped out into the space between Brendon and Ryan.
He was tall, maybe Ryan's height or a little taller, and definitely a lot thicker than Ryan's gangly frame. He was wearing a bold purple hoodie that lost its colour in the darkness, and had the hood pulled up over a mop of short, black, almost-curly hair that Ryan could only just make out from where he was standing. Over the top of his hoodie sat a hat, pushed to the side slightly, with the front of it pushed down over the side of his face. He was clad in semi-baggy jeans that hung off his hips loosely. Ryan could make out his boxers pushed over the top of the denim material, peeking out from the line between the bottom of his jacket and his jeans.
He automatically struck Ryan as extremely intimidating, with his height accompanied by his general stature. He commanded attention from all the others in the room, who were watching him with hawk-like eyes. He could even feel his own captor following this man as he stepped forward and approached Ryan. He seemed to walk very deliberately, with one foot in front of the other, like the walk of a man who had something very important on his mind. Extremely important – something like murder. He had the walk of someone who could kill, Ryan thought. This was someone ruthless. He was facing someone extremely dangerous, who didn't even think about playing kindly or fairly.
“Well, look at you.” The man bent down slightly to stare Ryan directly in the face. Ryan could make out the way his lips were quirked up in a sarcastic smirk that only seemed to add emphasis to his killer-like look. Someone who could take the whole thing as a game, and consider himself the almighty winner.
Ryan felt his stomach flip in nervousness. He very much hated having the man this close to his face and only leaning in further. They were almost nose-to-nose. Ryan instantly pushed his own head back as far as he could, but the man just placed one of his large hands on the back of Ryan's head and pushed him closer again.
Ryan gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing nervously in his throat.
“What, don't want to be this close?” the man asked, blinking in an almost innocent way. “What, don't you like me?”
Ryan stared at him soundlessly.
“I said, don't you like me?”
“I-I don't know,” Ryan choked out, unable to think of any other words. He could feel his fingers twitching insanely at his sides, touching his t-shirt endlessly, bunching it up in his finger tips and releasing it again a few moments later as his whole hand relaxed and stretched out.
“Well, looks like you're a little indecisive,” the man taunted. “Don't know if we can have that. Can we?”
There was a ripple of murmuring around the room as the other men agreed. A chorus of, “No.”
They couldn't have Ryan's awkward responses and stumbling sentences. This wasn't going to end well, and while Ryan had been pretty sure of this earlier, he was definitely sure of this now.
“Don't do that, Gabe,” he heard Brendon say.
It was then that Ryan clicked. Gabe. The man that Brendon had said was a leader of the community had once been a part of. It just seemed to fit together in Ryan's head only then – he hadn't realised earlier, and he had no idea how he hadn't. Of course.
It was Gabe, and the other members of the community, out to wreak their revenge they craved against Brendon. And now, just as Brendon had expected and definitely not wanted, Ryan was right in the middle of it. But neither of them could have avoided it.
Ryan was supposed to run, but he couldn't. This wasn't how Brendon had planned it, Ryan could tell. And he felt that Brendon pretty much had planned that this would occur at one time or another. These big, burly men seemed to be like wolves, constantly stalking their prey until they found them. And they wouldn't give up, no matter the obstacles put in their way.
Brendon hadn't wanted to leave, but Brendon didn't want to hurt Ryan either.
Ryan was so confused, thoughts running through his head at a hundred miles an hour and never even coming close to pausing.
“What kind of right do you have to talk to me?” Gabe shot back, thankfully leaning away from Ryan's face to turn to Brendon with a scowl. Ryan leaned back again, but the man holding him just pushed him forward again against his will, his head knocking forward so that his chin hit his chest.
“What right do you have?” Brendon said, glowering angrily. “You can't just go and mess with people you don't even know. You're against that, I know you are! You think everything I learned in the four years I was with you guys, I just forgot suddenly when I left?”
“Left?” Gabe spewed out the word with some sort of strange, messed up cackle. “I can hardly call that leaving, Brendon, so much as running away with your tail between your legs. They call that fleeing. Like the coward you are.”
“I'm not a coward,” Brendon said through clenched teeth, fighting against his bonds. Ryan could see his feet running against the carpet.
His feet were bare. He was so helpless. How could they do this? How could they sneak into his apartment in the middle of the night and take control of them? It was so low – it was fighting dirty. But then again, wasn't that what they were all about? They functioned by stealing and taking what was not theirs. They were above the law, in their own opinion, but in reality they were extremely far below it.
Ryan could feel tears coming to his eyes as the fear he had been trying to frantically bat away from himself found another outlet. He realised he was about to feel extremely stupid if anyone spotted him, and while he knew that he really should not be worrying about such a thing, it seemed to require his utmost concern anyway. He started blinking away the tears until his vision had unblurred and he could return to seeing the horrifying scene in front of him. He suddenly couldn't remember why he wanted the tears to be gone. He couldn't remember why he wanted to see. He wanted to be blind and deaf and mute, so maybe someone would take pity on him – some sort of pathetic pity – and let him go.
But he knew Brendon would not settle for that kind of pity, and he desperately wanted for Brendon to be set free as well. He couldn't handle it any other way. Without Brendon, he knew that his life was incredibly bland and boring with little to no meaning. And having to worry about a deceased friend would make that terribly ordinary life even worse. Even harder to live, after knowing the gentle excitement that having a friend like the extrovert Brendon could hold.
“How can you say that?” The conversation was heated, Gabe barking his words harshly at Brendon. “You fucking ran! You fucked everything up and then you ran away. That's what a fucking coward is, Brendon. Someone who can't face up to what they know they deserve.”
“He didn't deserve it!” Ryan couldn't resist from crying out, unable to handle Brendon being unfairly attacked. He noticed Brendon hang his head out of the corner of his vision, and he knew he had done something that his friend definitely didn't approve of. But he didn't care, he couldn't hold back.
“Excuse me?” Gabe's voice was suddenly cold, and it almost made Ryan feel as if his entire body had tensed and frozen. “What right do you have to even talk, you fucker?”
“I know what he did,” Ryan gasped, the grip of his captor growing even tighter on his collar and pressing against his neck painfully. “I know, and he doesn't deserve to die. Fuck, he doesn't!”
“He fucked up!” Gabe shouted, and Ryan cowered back in fear. “He fucked the hell up, and he deserves everything that comes to him!”
Ryan shook his head, closing his eyes, trying to desperately toss the confusion from his brain that just seemed to relentlessly attack him. In one aspect, he realised he was having an angry conversation with someone. As terribly frightening as the circumstances were, he couldn't help but think of this and be almost proud of himself. Spencer would most likely be amazed. The only other time that Ryan had gotten exasperated at all was when Brendon had come home with his face bruised and battered and patterns of blue and green and yellow running all over his body, making his ribs stand out against his skin. And maybe that was where this anger was coming from.
These were the people who had done that to Brendon – who had mercilessly beat him and tried to kill him, but tried to torture him first. Tried to hurt him as much as they possibly could before finally releasing him and letting him die. This thought absolutely terrified Ryan, and he couldn't understand how someone's brain could work that way in any aspect. Why did Brendon deserve to die? He didn't and he knew it. But for some reason, loyalty was becoming a big thing here – so big that it seemed to consume and eat the entire room until it was Gabe's loyalty to his community against Brendon and Ryan, one of which appeared to be a traitor, the other knew nothing of what was going on and was basically considered an invalid argument. A nuance. Something that didn't even become a part of the equation despite how much he wanted to convince them that this was not how things should be.
“He doesn't,” Ryan mumbled, realising he was definitely getting too ahead of himself. He could barely throw a punch. He had been dragged out of his bed at some ungodly hour of night, and he hadn't even managed to defend himself. He couldn't possibly take on a good six of these men. Each of them looked like cobras, ready to strike at any given moment. Gabe seemed to be dancing in circles, relishing the confusion of his prey. Relishing the argument, even. Enjoying that he could prove himself right above others and take control.
“I don't know what world you come from, kid,” Gabe said slowly, his voice low and almost disappearing into the silence that sunk into them and wouldn't slip away. It stuck fast, crawling up their skin and through their clothes, until it was almost as inky black as the darkness around them. Each word was like sludge through the silence. Messy yet deliberate. Required. It was like there was no wasting words under circumstances like these. “I really don't. But where I come from, murder isn't looked up to. Are you fucked in the head like this guy?” He tossed his head so that he pointed at Brendon, who was glaring at him with his eyes narrowed dangerously.
“I'm pretty sure murder in self defense is perfectly legal,” Ryan stated, trying to make his voice clear, despite how the fear leaked from it like gasoline.
“Self defense?” Gabe laughed, and it was slightly hoarse. “That's not fucking self defense.”
“It is,” Ryan argued. “That guy – I mean, Brendon had to do something.”
He noticed Gabe roll his eyes and turn to Brendon.
“I don't know how you've messed this guy up, but it's pretty rude, Brendon. Maybe you should set him straight.” Gabe was almost grinning in a cat-like way. Like the Cheshire Cat. But maybe Ryan had just watched Alice in Wonderland one too many times. “Or maybe you could just shut him up. I'd prefer that, actually. He's fucking annoying, and his voice is a little messed up as well, you know.”
Brendon's eyes just narrowed even further. “Let him go.”
“Fuck, and have him go tell every cop in town that we've taken his precious little killer, Brendon?”
Ryan felt his hand suddenly curl into a fist at the word killer – what sense did it make that Gabe would call Brendon a killer when he was about to do the exact same thing? It seemed unfair, unjust. He tried not to let himself lurch forward, but just trembled on the spot for a few moments before calming himself again. Anger still fogged his brain, but he trusted himself not to move. He had no idea how they would possibly get out of this, and any opportunity seemed to be growing bleaker by the second. Six men, six times the muscle that both Brendon and him possessed. Ryan was only being held by one of them and he could barely move, and Brendon couldn't so much as shift his weight without the man grasping his hands, tightening his grip and causing Brendon's lip to curl in silent pain.
It was torture, it was cruel, and Ryan couldn't make himself watch it.
“He wouldn't,” Brendon defended. “I promise you, he wouldn't. Just let him go, and I promise that he won't tell them a thing.”
“Fuck, what kind of impact do you think you even have?” Gabe laughed, seeming to find enjoyment in the situation that he had caused. He knew he was in charge of it all, and knew that he was the cause of it, and he knew that he was the reason that both Brendon and Ryan were worried about their lives and only thinking about all the possibilities of the things that could occur, or couldn't occur, or would never happen to them again or would never happen to them full stop. There was so much that Ryan knew he would never get to do, and maybe that was just as well. He would probably never do those things that he was afraid of not being able to experience, and this would just give him an excuse to never take part in general population traditions, like having sex and getting married and having children and growing old in a none-so-graceful way that caused him to die in happiness, experiencing what he wanted until the last moment of his life.
He had never really seen his life going that way, in reality. He wanted it just as bad as everyone else wanted it, but in reality, the wife was blurred and had no face. He had no one he particularly wanted to fit that mold. He had no idea what his kids would be called, or what their round faces would look like, or whether they would take over their non-existent mother or their crazed, socially-stunted father that had no idea how he had even managed to have kids or a wife in the first place.
Surely this failure – dying at twenty two at the hands of what he took to be a complete maniac trying to make things 'right' in his own mind – was better than failing by never succeeding when he had the chance to. Maybe he would have lived the rest of the life the same way he had lived it now. On his own, with the odd speck of reason to continue on without just giving up and disappearing into the greyness of the pavement without ruthless passers-by even noticing.
They hadn't noticed his first life-changing event. They hadn't noticed when he met Brendon. They'd barely cared when he had been sprawled across the pavement with a fear-stricken boy sitting on top of him, his knees digging into his chest as he tried to pull himself. They hadn't been there each night when Ryan tried to repair Brendon and drag him away from the nightmares, caused by the horrific past he shouldn't have had to experience and was now being stalked for. He didn't deserve a second of it, and why could Ryan be so aware of it, and this large, intimidating figure in front of him be so not?
How could they be fed the exact same information and have such different points of view?
Why was Ryan the only one concerned with fending for the small, helpless Brendon when he was the person in the room that had known Brendon for the least amount of time? He had watched Brendon gaze around the room with recognition in his eyes, even for the man standing just behind Ryan with his fingers grasped around the material of his shirt. His fingers were warm against Ryan's neck now. He was pretty sure that they had been cold at the beginning, but they had warmed quickly against his hot skin and as a result of the sticky sweat beading and running down his neck.
How was this even possible? Was this some sort of social function that he was missing entirely? Turn on someone you have been protecting so fast they find it jarring – and not just turn on them, but go from taking care of them to attempting to kill them every time you lay your eyes on them?
It made Ryan's mind buzz fearfully. He never wanted to be like that. If that was what it was like to function with the rest of society, then he wanted absolutely no part of it.
But, for once, he was pretty sure that he was not the messed up one in this situation. He was pretty sure that that title went to the others in the room. He had never seen Spencer spitefully turn on anyone else, nor Brendon. Brendon was still trying to communicate with his potential killers like the humans they were.
“You're going to be dead,” Gabe stated in an almost mocking tone, as if he was trying to get it through Brendon's head. Ryan was frowning, hating the condescending attitude of the man standing in front of him. He had chains dangling from his pants, and he was occasionally tugging at the purple jacket sagging over his shoulders with a grace comparable to some sort of deadly spider. His long limbs functioned like those of an arachnid, allowing him to make his way across the floor with long steps. But Ryan imagined how terrifying he would look if he had been running straight at him. Those long legs would suddenly be so much more threatening, bringing them ever-closer to their goal. Something Ryan definitely didn't want.
Brendon made a muffled little noise at the word 'dead'. Ryan wondered if he'd really ever realised that this was how it was going to end. With him dead. And God, he just wanted anything else, absolutely anything. But it was so unrealistic, and he knew it, but he couldn't believe it. There had to be some way out, ready to spring and come to Ryan's attention. He searched for anything. He fidgeted slightly in the hands of his captor, searching for some sort of weak spot, but just got a tighter hand around his throat, leaning on him. He gasped and nodded as some sort of signal for it to let go, but it didn't. He went up on his tip toes to try and evade the lack of breath. He needed to breathe, he needed to stay alive. He needed to come up with a method to save Brendon and make sure they both came out of this alive. They needed to keep living. Ryan needed to see Spencer and Kayla tomorrow, and he desperately needed to meet Charlotte and see what was just so interesting about her purple porcupine hair. He needed to do all those things, because they were in his capacity to achieve. He may never have kids and he may never even come up with names, but he needed to see Spencer and talk to him again. He needed to smile again, because he felt that his lips hadn't quirked up in one of those satisfactory smiles in so long. Surely, it must have just been a few hours since he went to sleep and left Brendon in the living room.
The night suddenly seemed so long. So long, and he wasn't going to live through it.
“Not liking that?” Gabe asked, tilting his head. “Don't want to die, eh? Maybe you should have thought about that a little earlier, then.”
“Maybe he should have too,” Brendon mumbled under his breath, obviously not intending for the words to be heard by his former leader.
But Gabe had heard. He had raised his head, then it had suddenly snapped to turn to Brendon, with his eyes narrowed. “What was that?”
“Nothing,” Brendon answered quickly, the word sounding almost stilted. “It wasn't anything.”
“It was fucking something,” Gabe answered, prowling across the room until he was next to Brendon. He leaned in, his face close, just as he had done to Ryan earlier. It was obviously some sort of intimidation tactic, and Brendon shrunk away as well.
“It wasn't, Gabe,” Brendon said.
Gabe's arm shot up and grabbed Brendon's hair in a tight fist, his fingers curling into the dark brown strands. He wrenched Brendon's head back, and Brendon let out an agonised gasp, his knees buckling beneath him, but he was kept on his feet by Gabe's hold.
Gabe leaned in real close, until they were eye to eye. “What the fuck did you say, Brendon?”
“I said he should have thought of it earlier,” Brendon hissed, but Ryan could hear the reluctance in his voice. He had wanted to do anything but repeat that sentence to Gabe, and it showed. He was already trying to shrink even further away, and his feet were desperately trying to regain their hold.
“You fucker,” Gabe whispered, before releasing Brendon and pushing his head down. His knees buckled again and he fell to the floor, his shoulders pushed back painfully as the man holding his wrists grinned.
Ryan had no idea what to do or what to say. He didn't want to receive another angry look from the now anguished Brendon on the floor, but he couldn't just watch. He made sure to press his lips together, so he wouldn't allow the words to escape. It was lost, it must have been. The cause was gone, and Ryan felt useless.
So Ryan did nothing. And as soon as he let go, his shoulders slumped and he pressed in on the hand that was so persistent at his collar. He felt the hand tighten, paranoid, before loosening itself once it realised that Ryan had just stopped being so tense. He still watched the scene with sad eyes, his eyebrows sloping downwards and his mouth pulled to the side and upwards, just showing his teeth. He couldn't control his expression, and he couldn't take his eyes off Brendon, except to occasionally glance at Gabe – everything he did just seemed to unexpected to Ryan, he felt he might suddenly make a move that he didn't see coming. He was afraid everything would come crashing down a lot faster than he had first thought. At this point, he reasoned they at least had a few more minutes. Gabe was enjoying his power, and it must have taken at least a little while to get through killing someone, right?
He wasn't really sure. He hadn't watched many of those kind of movies, nor had he played all those violent, shoot 'em up games. He wasn't sure how this was supposed to work. Maybe, in reality, this gang would spend half an hour talking themselves up and degrading both him and Brendon, before swiftly ending their lives and leaving without a word. But he was fairly sure they would go for a more theatrical performance – after all, they had pretty much tortured Brendon when they attacked him the first time. It just seemed in their nature to do this. Continue messing with them as much as possible.
“So, Brendon,” Gabe started, turning on his heel. Brendon was low and had his lip curled upwards, and Ryan could see anger glinting in his eyes. They weren't shiny, as they had been when Ryan nursed him after the crippling nightmares he experienced as a result of all the pain he'd been through. It seemed unfair. These people had never witnessed the effect it had on Brendon – how sobs would rack his small, thin frame. It was heartbreaking.
“Brendon,” Gabe went on. “You know what you did. You show no remorse --”
“I didn't want to do it,” Brendon argued, hurriedly, seeing his possible way out. “I didn't want for it to happen. It wasn't supposed to go that far. I couldn't control myself.”
“Well, you should have fucking learnt to then, eh?” Gabe said with his familiar smirking voice.
Brendon didn't reply, but Ryan knew the words flashing through his mind. That he was not the only one at fault – the problem was that the other at fault was too dead to speak up.
“I think we've established that you get everything you deserve,” Gabe said. “And trust me, you're going to get what you deserve. You think we fucked you up last time?”
“I know you can do much worse,” Brendon muttered, darkly.
“Fucking right we can. So, stand up straight, Urie.”
Ryan's brow creased in confusion as he heard the word. Urie? Who the hell was that?
Brendon's knees unbent as he tried to push his way upwards on his weak legs. Ryan could see him almost trembling, though he wasn't sure how. It was like every once in a while, Brendon's entire image would quiver before setting straight again. Like he wanted to break, but knew that there was no way that he could.
“That's right,” Gabe said. “Take it like a man.”
Brendon clenched his jaw, fighting against his will to shoot some comment back.
Gabe took slow steps toward Brendon, and Ryan suddenly couldn't see Brendon any more behind Gabe's large frame. All he could see was the purple jacket and baggy jeans. He could hear the chains jangling together, an ever-present noise in a household that really should have been silent at the present time.
Why couldn't it be silent?
Instead, Ryan could hear everything. He could hear all the words he hated, all the threats and deceit and vengeful tactics. And now he could hear Gabe's light foot steps stopping, pausing right in front of Brendon. He stood tall in front of the shorter man. Ryan watched, absolutely horrified, wondering what was going to come next. Of course, in some way he knew exactly what was going to come next, but how could he accept that? He couldn't. No one could face that their friend was about to be killed. And no one could face that they would be tumbling to the ground right after, not completely useless. A once fun game now boring and useless.
He barely even saw Gabe's elbow draw back and his arm shove forward again, but he certainly heard Brendon grunt as Gabe's tight fist made contact with some part of his body. Ryan then heard a gasp, and his heart beat furiously. His stomach was alive. It wouldn't stop writhing, and he swore that his organs were starting to fall from their former positions. He felt as if he were slowly breaking inside. Like everything was just coming apart. Soon he would be no more.
Gabe punched Brendon again, harder this time, and Ryan finally snapped his eyes shut, as if his brain had only just now registered that he really did not want to see what was happening. But with his eyes closed, it was like his hearing had improved. He felt that the sound of low thumps – Gabe's knuckles meeting some part of Brendon's skin, bruises already blossoming as blood bloomed and pumped beneath the flesh – and Brendon trying to take it in the quietest way he could was all he could hear. But in the midst of it all, there was laughter. There was horrible laughter.
It made Ryan's skin crawl. How could they laugh at their own being injured? How could they laugh at one of their own about to die?
Ryan tried not to tremble, but he was also trying desperately not to throw up or wrench himself free and throw himself to the ground uselessly. He didn't necessarily have any plans of running or calling the police, but he just wanted the hand at his collar to be gone. He wanted the fingers knotted in his shirt to disappear, and he wanted to breathe freely again. He wanted to rest on his elbows and knees and bury his face into the carpet between his arms and let out huge, racking sobs that looked like they may come, regardless to the position he was in.
The he heard a yell.
He was almost surprised that it wasn't one of the surrounding men that had called out, and at first he had expected it to be, but it was too far off sounding to be anyone in the room. It was slightly muffled.
“Keep it down!” the voice cried out, sounding full of rage. “I'll fucking come in there, Ryan! Shut up!”
Ryan gazed around with watery eyes to the faces of the gang members. Gabe had paused, his arm still stretched out as if in mid-punch. The others all glanced around fearfully like rabbits, ears pricked and listening. Ryan wasn't sure if this was good or bad, or how to take it at all. Was it good or bad? What if it was neither? What if this was just a slight rumple in the plan, but had basically no effect what-so-ever?
“Shh,” Gabe whispered, and the gang members all nodded obediently. Brendon was cowering where he stood, his eyes focused on Gabe's outstretched hand. He tried to edge away slightly, but the man holding his wrists held fast and aimed a solid glare at him.
The room was quiet. The voice didn't come again, and he could hear everyone in the room except for Brendon and himself breathe an audible sign of relief. Well, it looked like this wasn't going to work out then.
“Okay,” Gabe said, nodding at the rest of them. “Now, where was I?”
“Leaving,” Brendon interjected, quickly.
“Fuck up!” Ryan saw Gabe land a punch to Brendon's cheek. Brendon would have gone spinning into the kitchen counter if it hadn't been for his secured hands. He tried to peek over Gabe's shoulder, and just saw the top of Brendon's head, and his eyes looking slightly dazed and out of it.
“Why can you even still talk?” Gabe said. “You're not supposed to be able to do that. Guess I'm not hitting you hard enough.”
There was a cackle around the room as it seemed the other gang members agreed. Ryan felt like he was in one of Brendon's nightmares, and he vaguely wondered if this is what Brendon saw. Was this what they were always like, taunting their victims? Did they have victims often, or was this some sort if incredibly rare lust for blood that only got a chance to surface when they managed to label someone a traitor?
Then –
“I'm serious, Ryan!”
Everyone froze again, and Gabe swore under his breath. As Gabe turned and went to prowl around the room in anger, Ryan could comfortably see Brendon's face again, and he saw the younger man grin widely. It was as if he enjoyed his former leader being subjected to this.
“I'm coming over!”
Ryan had never witnessed such a frenzy in his entire life. Suddenly, he had been dropped. And while he hadn't thought that his weight was being supported by the fingers grasping his clothes at all, he began to second-guess this assumption when his knees buckled slightly at his release.
The six gang members suddenly scattered – that was the only word that Ryan could think to describe it as. Brendon was thrown back in his release so that he landed on the ground with a painful thump, and he let out a groan as he leaned back into the carpet. One of his hands moved to rub lightly at his lower back.
Gabe kept hissing, “Move! Move!” through his teeth as the six gang members scrambled for the door in what looked like a messy race. One of them slipped on the linoleum on the kitchen floor, but even as his hands slapped at the ground, he was back up on his feet again, grasping at the door handle to pull him out into the hall way.
The door was still ajar, and Ryan leaned forward to gaze after the men as they barrelled down the hallway and into the staircase. He gulped and rubbed at his neck, which was a little raw but pretty much fine compared to how it could have been.
“Are you okay?” he asked Brendon in a surprisingly quiet voice. After all the shouting, he felt that he should respect the silence in some way.
“Yeah,” he heard Brendon reply in a grunt from where he was lying.
“What the fuck!” the muffled voice went off again. Then Ryan heard foot steps – the person who had been yelling really was coming over. He glanced around at his apartment. It didn't look too suspicious, except for Brendon.
“Don't tell him anything,” Brendon warned in a low voice, quickly climbing to his feet. Ryan could see the way he cringed and held a light hand to his stomach. “Please. You promised.”
“Okay.”
Brendon trudged across the room into Ryan's bedroom, where he wouldn't be seen if anyone did enter.
Ryan's neighbour, a tired old man in his forties with already greying hair and a receding hairline, appeared in the door way. He glanced at the door in confusion, then aimed a glare at Ryan.
“What the fuck was that?” he asked in a tone that much resembled a growl.
“Sorry,” Ryan apologised quickly, racking his brain for something to say. “It's just – uh, the TV!” He pointed at his television set with an extended index finger, and started nodding, as if this confirmed it. “We had it on way too loud without realising, but um – but now we've turned it off, so, problem solved. No more noise out of us, promise.”
His neighbour looked at Ryan suspiciously, arching an eyebrow and glancing at the television warily. “If you say so,” he replied, slowly. “But if I hear any more noise out of you, I'm calling the cops.”
“Fair enough,” Ryan said. “Sorry again. Uh, you should go and get some sleep. Hear it's gonna be a nice day tomorrow.”
The forty year old man looked at him oddly. “It's winter,” he pointed out, “and there's a forecast for a storm. Are you one of those hippies or something?”
“I-I, uh, no sir,” Ryan said, quickly. “I guess I just heard wrong.”
His neighbour left the apartment muttering bitterly about 'youth these days'.
As the door shut behind the man, Ryan turned toward his own bedroom and marched over to the doorway. He leaned against the frame and switched on the light, to see Brendon lying on the bed with his head on Ryan's pillow. He shaded his eyes and glanced at Ryan when he noticed.
“You didn't tell him anything?” Brendon asked.
“I told him it was the TV,” Ryan replied, sitting on the foot of the bed.
He heard Brendon breathe an audible sigh of relief, then turn to Ryan with dark eyes and a frown on his face.
“Look,” Brendon started, but Ryan shook his head.
“Maybe this isn't the time,” Ryan said. “That was fucking scary, and now I'm really fucking tired and really excited at the same time. Well, maybe excited isn't the right word to use.”
“I get what you mean,” Brendon agreed. He paused, then added, “When do you think we'll have to decide what we're going to do?”
“In the morning,” Ryan answered. “I'll take the day off work. Unless you think they'll come back tonight?”
“They won't,” Brendon assured. “I think I know how they work. I think they'll come back quickly though, but we'll at least have tonight. They'll try to keep us on our toes.”
“I don't know why you had to go and get on the wrong side of the absolute worst people to get on the wrong side of.”
“I don't know why you had to go and pick up the worst hobo to pick up,” Brendon replied with an easy grin.
“You look a sight,” Ryan added. “You're all bruised up again. Your McDonald's job is really going to suffer if you have to keep recovering.”
“I don't need to recover,” Brendon said. “You know I'd go back tomorrow.”
“Except you're not going to. We're both staying off to try figure out a plan. Staying alive is a little more important than McDonald's right now.”
“I think I'll have to agree with you.”
“Now. Bed.” Ryan patted Brendon's leg and motioned to the living room with his head. “Need any help getting up?”
“I'm fine,” Brendon said, shaking his head. “They had less time with me, they didn't cause as much damage.”
“Well, aren't we lucky?” Ryan said, sarcastically.
Brendon just made a face at him as he pulled himself up and trudged back into the living room. He turned off the light on the way out.
“Good night, Ry.”
“Night.”
♠ ♠ ♠
I hope you guys managed to get through that all right.This might be a piece of irrelevant news, but I've sent out to get a free proof copy of Lights (like, an actual book copy) from Createspace. Winning NaNoWriMo got me this code to do it for free, so when I get it, I'll post pictures for you guys. (: I'm pretty excited.