Confessions of a Teenage Zombie

After a few minutes, Ryan and I were out the door. He had his hair pulled up and hidden completely under his hat. I turned in the direction of Brent's, hoping I could pretend that we were just walking in a totally random direction.

Ryan said nothing as we walked, which meant I had to be the one to start the conversation.

"You can have those sunglasses if you want; I've never used them," I said. Ryan looked at me and nodded his head. I could tell he was too busy in his own head; probably thinking violent thoughts.

We rounded a corner; only a few more blocks and we'd be at Brent's. I looked at Ryan again. I hadn't noticed he had one of my hoodies on. Thankfully, one I barely wore, because he'd stretch it out. He was a few inches taller than I was.

"You can keep the hoodie too," I stated. Ryan nodded his head again. Boy was he ever so much fun when he was upset. I sighed and looked ahead. I could already see the top of the weeping willow.

When we got to the house, I cleared my throat as I nonchalantly walked into the backyard. I glanced at Ryan, who was still following. He was looking around, though, an eyebrow arched. I motioned for him to hurry it the hell up.

"Are we trespassing?" he asked as we continued along. I didn't answer, but instead, led him over to the bench. Brent was sitting there waiting. Ryan stopped in his tracks and stared at him. "Brendon, what the fuck!?"

Brent stood up and walked over to us. He stared at Ryan. The quiet, non-stop staring between the two made me nervous somehow. It was like the two of them knew something I didn't. Brent took Ryan's face in both hands.

"Don't touch me!" Ryan screamed. He attempted to pull away, but Brent had a firm grip. Brent looked at me.

"This is the emergency, I take it?" The look on his face told me he already knew the answer. I nodded my head anyway. Brent looked back at Ryan, who was still struggling. "Ryan, calm down. You're going to just call attention to yourself."

"I don't care! Let me go, you fiend!" Ryan shrieked. Bringing Ryan to Brent was probably a better idea in my head. I just didn't know what else I could do to try and get Ryan to leave his body.

"Let's go to the basement." Brent took Ryan's arm and started walking toward the house's back door. I followed.

We got to the basement, and Brent locked the door. And not just a little; he took the time to set up all six locks. The basement was considered his lair, which his parents were fine with. Brent pushed Ryan onto the couch before leading me over to a corner.

"How did this happen?" he whispered. I sighed.

"He got really mad at Art." I glanced at Ryan, who had his arms crossed over his chest and a ridiculously childish pout on his face. His sunglasses were discarded on the floor. "Art said some things to Shane, and Ryan got extremely upset about it. I'm pretty sure if he got the chance, he'd send Art to the hospital."

"So you brought him here hoping I could get him out of his body?" Brent inquired. I nodded my head. He sighed. "Not sure how much help I can be, Brendon. He needs to just stop being angry."

"I know, but he seems hellbent on remaining miserable, and he's probably willing to drag anyone he can with him," I explained. Brent let out a low gasp. I looked over his shoulder, seeing the side of Ryan's face pressed against his back. "Ryan?"

"Let me out." Ryan sounded surprisingly calm, but I knew it was just a ruse to get his way. Brent looked at Ryan. Ryan straightened his posture. "Please?"

"Ryan, you understand that you're so angry you've developed a physical body for yourself, right?" Brent inquired. He turned to face Ryan. "That doesn't just happen. Not for more than a minute or two, anyway. Once you settle down, there's no way I can really stop you from leaving for obvious reasons."

I walked forward to stand next to Brent. He was looking at the hoodie Ryan had on. Ryan bit his bottom lip and looked around.

"Why don't you take that off and get comfortable. Kind of warm, isn't it?" Brent smiled oddly. It was the kind of smile he had when he knew he was onto something. Ryan shook his head.

"I'm fine," he said. Brent continued staring at him. Ryan's lip twitched before he made a run for the door. He tried to undo the locks, but Brent grabbed him by the hood. I felt like I should do something, but somehow, I felt the only thing I could do was watch.

"Ryan, if you want your hoodie on, keep it on. Stop freaking out." Brent's voice was calm, but stern. He couldn't just yell; he probably didn't want anyone coming down and asking what the hell he was up to.

Ryan turned to Brent. He looked way calmer, definitely, but the fact that Brent had a grip on him meant he was still upset. Either that, or he had figured out how to keep the right frame of mind to stay that way. I'm not sure if that was even possible, but who knew?

"Ryan, Art feels bad enough about saying all those things. Being angry at him isn't doing anything for anyone," I explained. Ryan turned to me. I could see his breathing quicken. Brent let go of him, and he turned around fully.

He started unzipping his hoodie. He looked so defeated and sad. He let the hoodie drop to the floor. I gasped when I saw massive bruising and scars on his arms. I'd never seen them before, although it was hard to, since he was semi-transparent.

Did he die in a fight?