Confessions of a Teenage Zombie

Ryan looked at Brent and I. We were both just standing there, gaping. I never thought Ryan would look like that; his body seemed so okay. Although I guess it was hard to see due to the transparency.

"Who did this?" Brent inquired. He seemed so calm, which was way better than me. I was freaking out on the inside. Ryan kept his mouth shut. Brent pulled Ryan into a hug. "It was what killed you, yes?"

Ryan mumbled something that I couldn't make out. Brent brought him over to the couch. We all sat down; Ryan in the middle. He looked at me, almost like he was sorry. For what, I didn't know. Was he sorry that he didn't tell me?

He lifted his shirt a little, revealing more bruising on his stomach and sides. There were spots where I knew he had bled at some point.

"Ryan, what happened?" I wanted to start crying for him. Whatever happened to him, it more than likely had everything to do with how miserable he used to be all the time. Ryan let go of his shirt and rubbed his eyes.

"I died," he murmured. I put an arm around his shoulders. He looked at me, his eyes widened. He turned to Brent, who was rubbing his back. "It was five months before Art brought you home, Brendon."

He stopped and looked at the floor.

"I was hanging out with Spencer a lot more; anything to be out and about. My dad... he hated me being gone all the time. He liked knowing where I was and what I was doing," he continued. "He drunk too. Lots."

Brent and I looked at each other. I think we both knew where this was leading.

"He used to hit you." Brent's hand curled into a fist, like he was ready to go beat someone up. Ryan nodded his head.

"In places he knew no one would see. He used to tell me no one would ever want to see me naked, so it was mostly my stomach and chest," he explained.

"What about your mother, though? Did she know?" I inquired.

"She left when I was little. She was kind of a free spirit; she couldn't just stay in one place," Ryan said. Brent sighed heavily.

"That's bullshit. Leaving a kid like that? A guy doesn't just become abusive; she should've known about him and taken you along. I think she just wanted to do things without having to think about your best interest," he stated.

"I guess." Ryan rubbed his eye. "Anyway, my dad wanted a beer before I left, and asked me to get him one from the fridge. The phone rang while I was in, so I went to pick it up. I guess I took too long, and he hung up the phone and hit me."

"And didn't stop," I said.

"No. He grabbed the beer and emptied it, then hit me with that. I closed my eyes, and the next thing I know, I'm in a graveyard, and I can't touch anything anymore." He took in a deep breath, which was incredibly shaky.

I looked at Brent. He had turned away; he was probably trying not to cry in front of us. He turned to Ryan and pulled some of his hair away, giving him a kiss on the cheek. Ryan covered his eyes and started crying.

"When I heard Art had said all those horrible things to Shane, it reminded me so much of how my dad would call me stupid all the time!" he exclaimed. "And I fucking hated him so much, because all Shane tried to do was love him! I didn't always like my dad, but I still loved him as much as I could. I think... maybe if I just stayed home in the first place."

"And continue getting abused?" Brent asked. I could tell vast amounts of rage was building in him. "Even if you had stayed home and never left the house, I think he would've gotten you sooner or later."

"Is he still alive?" I inquired. Ryan shrugged his shoulders. He would have no way of knowing; he never left the house, and he didn't even attempt to read the paper; not that he could read anything other than what was left open.

"If he is, he'll get what's coming to him." Brent sounded so ominous, almost like he was going to do something. I doubt he would, since he's a pretty harmless person, but damn he could be so threatening and scary. I looked at Ryan. He looked like he was fading in and out of his usual amount of transparency.

He was probably trying to hold onto his body.

"Ryan, you can't keep in your body forever," Brent murmured. I looked at him. He sighed. "If he stays in his physical body for too long, he'll eventually fade into nothing."

"That's fine. I guess there's no point anyway," Ryan mumbled. Was he going to go back to being sad? No. He was just sad about what happened during his last few live moments. "It's not like I'm doing anything as a ghost anyway. I'm useless, and I'm probably just a problem for everyone."

"We all love you, Ryan." I wanted him to know he wasn't useless. If we both were alive, he'd be someone I'd trust my life with. Like, I'd tell him my deepest darkest secrets; including the fact that I sucked my thumb until I was eleven. He was that trustworthy.

"You guys just deal with me," he mumbled. He was still fading in and out. "I don't know why you two even bother with me anymore."

"Cut the crap, Ryan." Brent sounded angry. I looked at him. "I get that your father said horrible things to you, and it's had an effect on how you see yourself, but you should get by now that people actually like you. You know you're important, but you're somewhat stuck in the victim mentality. I get it; your dad killed you. It sucks. But that doesn't have anything to do with the fact that some psychotic part of you needs people to tell you you're good enough."

"Brent." I didn't just want him being mean to Ryan. The guy was having enough of a hard time right now. Brent looked at me.

"Oh, sorry. I forgot that if anything negative is said to someone, even if it's completely true and needs to be addressed, it should immediately be swept under the rug and never brought up again," he grumbled. I furrowed my eyebrows. "It's how you think of it, right? If someone says something another person doesn't like to hear, you automatically think it's horrible and wrong."

"I just think you shouldn't be so harsh about it," I countered.

"Tough love, Brendon. I'm telling him this because I care, and maybe it will change how he acts." Brent took a deep breath and put a hand on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan looked at him. "You know it's not because I like being like that, right? I just know that because of how you act, people don't always give you the respect you should get otherwise."

"I get it," Ryan murmured. He smiled and turned to me. "Can I talk to him? Like, alone. For a minute?"

"Sure," I replied. I got up and undid the locks. I opened the door and left the room. I closed the door behind me and took a few steps toward the backdoor. I sat down and stared ahead, waiting.

Ryan floated through the door fifteen minutes later. So much for it just being a minute, but at least he was back to normal. I stood up and walked over to him.

"Are you okay now?" I inquired. Ryan nodded his head and smiled. I sighed. "As much as you probably wanted to strangle me or cause some form of bodily harm, I knew bringing you here would be for the best. Didn't know it would get a confession of your death out of you, but I guess that was for the better."

"It was," Ryan murmured. "I'd never told anyone about what happened; I think keeping it all bottled up so no one would be sad made me, personally, worse. I should've just said something earlier so I could get over it."

"We all learn." I grinned. "And hey, you're learning that it's okay to actually do something that's good for yourself. You're happy now, and that is the most important thing."

"Yeah," Ryan mumbled. He looked at the ground. He sounded upset, like he wanted to start crying or something.

Some things never change, I guess.