When Happily Ever After Fails

Swearing, Ricky slammed his phone down on the counter and stalked out of the kitchen and sat himself down on the couch in a huff. After what had happened the previous night, he simply could not believe that Alex would have the audacity to ignore his phone calls. Whenever someone asked him anything, his irritation had him snapping out a bitter and harsh reply.

"Ricky, is there something that you wanted to tell me?" Danny asked cautiously as he leaned against the door frame. Everyone had left the two alone in the apartment in hopes that Danny would be able to get Ricky to confess why he was so upset by the situation at hand. In everyone's eyes but Ricky's apparently, the events had been much anticipated. "I mean, we're just kind of worried about how you're taking this..."

"I don't need you guys to worry about me, I'm fine," Ricky replied coldly.

"Really, now? You're fine, are you? Last time I checked, people who are fine usually aren't this bitchy. If you don't want to talk about it, then say so, but don't feed me this bullshit about you being okay."

"Fuck you!" Ricky shouted before jumping out of his seat. Shoving his way past Danny, Ricky grabbed his coat and was out the door before his friend had a chance to respond. He pulled his coat on as he made his way down the stairs and out into the cold afternoon. It only occurred to him then that he had left his phone up in the apartment, and when he realized this an almost silent curse fell past his lips.

Distaste clung to the frigid air and he couldn't help but breathe in the sickening scent. This city was cold and dispassionate, and for the first time since moving East, Ricky wanted to go back to California. He didn't necessarily want to go back to his parents, but the atmosphere back in the west didn't have quite as much of a bite to it. Sighing, he came to the conclusion that maybe some problems just couldn't be walked away from.

When Ricky was positive that he couldn't take the cold any longer, he stepped into a record shop and hissed as his hands started to sting. In his haste to exit the apartment, he hadn't really stopped to consider whether or not he should grab gloves or anything along those lines. As soon as the sensation in his fingers returned, Ricky stepped out into the cold air once again and made his way back to the apartment.

Slowly, he pushed the door open and felt an immediate pang of nerves; the apartment was never empty, especially not lately. There was quiet, tinkling laughter from the living room and Ricky was tempted to see who it was, but thought better of it and headed towards the kitchen once again.

Anger swelled in his gut as he saw that his phone was not on the counter where he had left it. He knew that they had planned this strategically so he would have to go and speak with the people in the living room in order to find out where his phone had gone. Cursing quietly, Ricky decided to ruin their plans and just head to his room without his phone.

It wasn't like anyone was trying to get a hold of him anyways.

He slammed his door behind him and surveyed his room with a scowl. The room had taken a few hits for the team in the last few days. Papers with angry words scrawled across them littered his desk and bedside, and dirty clothes littered the floor. Even though he hated to admit it, he had been drowning in self pity all day and he had to clean up his act as well as his room.

First came the laundry, and then out went all of the notes scrawled with bitter words; the majority of them anyways. Ricky decided that a few of them would make half decent songs, or poems if all else failed. He sighed in discontentment as a note with an especially bitter undercurrent was exposed by his digging. If he was being honest with himself, he didn't even remember writing half of these things.

Before long his eyes had started to get droopy, so he sat on the floor beside his bed and leaned against it. The day had been tiring for some reason unknown to him, and he couldn't help but press against the bed and beg for a bit of sleep. He yanked the comforter off of the bed and onto the floor. Dust swam around his eyes as he fluttered his eyelashes a few times before letting them close for a final time.

Two hours later, Ricky's senses started to pull themselves out of slumber. The first thing he noticed was that the soft feeling of his blanket was gone, and had instead been replaced by a scratchy fabric that reminded him of the texture of wool. A burnt smell permeated his nasal cavity and he sat up, gagging. His eyes watered as the smell became stronger as wakefulness claimed him.

When he walked out into the living room to confront the obscene scent affronting his nostrils, he could do nothing but gape at the strange scene for a moment or two. It took only a few more moments before he found his voice.

"What the hell are you doing?"