I Was Ripped Apart But Held By Glue

TEN

“Spence! Awesome to see you!” Brendon grins and immediately pulls Spencer into a tight hug. I stand close behind Brendon, awkwardly staring at his back.

The last time I said something to Spencer was on the floor of that hotel bathroom. Not such a nice memory. During the plane ride back home, I clung to Brendon like there was no tomorrow and pretended to be asleep, so I wouldn’t have to talk to Spencer or Jon. I just couldn’t bring myself to that.

“Hey, Ry.” Spencer smiles, after letting go of Brendon. He takes a step closer to me and gives me a hug as well. “How are you?” he asks, pulling back from the hug.

“I’m pretty fine,” I answer and this time, I’m not lying. I really am feeling better.

“Come on, let’s go to the living room and have a drink,” Brendon says, motioning his head to the living room. Spencer nods and follows Brendon. “What do you want to drink?” Brendon asks as Spencer and I sit down on the sofa.

A soft chuckle escapes from my mouth. Brendon has really adjusted to his new ‘home’. It’s more as if this is his home than it is mine. But I don’t mind, I think it’s cute.

“Just some soda, is fine,” Spencer replies.

“A cherry coke, if we still have some. Otherwise some regular coke,” I add and smile. “Thanks.”
Brendon nods and turns around, exiting the living room and walking into the adjoining kitchen.

“Are you feeling better?” Spencer asks me and I know that I should take this question in two ways.

“I’m better,” I reply, nodding and give him a small smile. “I… erm… I’ve been seeing a therapist,” I tell him, my cheeks heating up a little bit from embarrassment. “And it helps, but it’s hard sometimes to talk about certain things. But yeah… it helps,” I tell him, picking at the sleeve of my sweater. I’m not really giving him a good explanation of what is really going on, but I can say by the look of his face that it’s enough to take away most of his worries.

“If you ever need to talk about something, you know you can always come to me as well, right?” he asks and I nod in response.

“I know, thanks,” I say and then he pulls me into a hug.

“I love you, man,” he mutters and pats my back.

“Love you too, Spence.”

“Hey, and what about me?” Brendon asks, standing in the doorframe with a big, goofy grin. “Can I have some loving too?” He pouts and puts all the drinks down on the coffee table. I smile at his silliness and pull away from the hug with Spencer.

“Of course you can,” I say, spreading my arms, inviting Brendon for a hug, which he gladly accepts by sitting himself down on my lap and wrapping his arms around me. After a few seconds, he pulls back and places a quick kiss on my cheek.

“So how are things going with you?” Brendon asks Spencer, wriggling his ass against my lap a little bit, emitting a soft giggle from me. Spencer cocks an eyebrow, but then he smiles and shakes his head in amusement.

“I’ve been doing pretty damn great. It’s awesome that I can finally spend some time with Hayley again. I missed her so much,” he tells us.

The conversation carries on and I notice that both Brendon and Spencer do their best to avoid talking about the last two weeks. I’m grateful for that, because I am really not in the mood to talk about that. I’m not into the mood to talk a lot at all, actually, so I let Brendon and Spencer do that. I just enjoy listening to them and throw in a smile and a laugh every once in a while, letting them know that I’m following the conversation.

***

After my fourth therapy session with Konstantine, I start to see purpose of talking to her and her talking to me. I feel lighter as if she has taken a heavy weight off my shoulders. Today it’s my fifth session with her and I’m no longer dreading it. Having Brendon here with me really helps a lot. When things get too much for me, he’s there to soothe me and when I don’t want to talk, he always manages to make me talk anyway. If our relationship was close a few weeks ago, then it certainly is much closer now. I feel like I can tell him everything about me, without being ashamed of it. He understands me and doesn’t judge me, not even for a split second. That’s true love, I guess. I haven’t told him about my mom, though. I’m scared that he will leave me if I confess that I killed her.

The wounds on my wrist and hand have healed and now I have several scars, which I try to cover up as much as I can because I don’t want to see them. I don’t want to see how fucked up I was only a few weeks ago. Brendon bought me a new pair of fingerless gloves, made out of a thin fabric, so if I want, I can wear them inside the house as well as outside without my hands sweating too much. He’s so thoughtful. I really don’t know how I would ever survive if he wasn’t here for me.

“We’ve talked a lot about your father previous in sessions,” Konstantine starts, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “Maybe we should talk about your mother this time. Can you tell me something about her?” she asks and crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“She’s dead,” I mutter in response, my chest hurtfully tightening as I think of her; of what I did to her. I knew that at one point, I would have to talk about my mom and I have been dreading the moment. I loved my mom and she was the sweetest woman ever, but it’s harder for me to talk about her than to talk about my dad and all the things he did to me and her. But I know I will have to. If I refuse to talk, Brendon will make me talk anyway. If not now, then later when we’re alone again.

“I’m really sorry to hear that,” Konstantine says, sending me a pitiful look. “How did she die?”

“She just died, okay? Don’t ask more,” I quickly reply and stand up, wanting to leave, but Brendon takes my gloved hand in his and pulls me down on his lap.

“Stay,” he mutters, rubbing his nose against my cheek. I can’t stay if she wants me to talk about my mom. I can’t tell anyone that I killed her.

I fiddle a bit with my gloves, slightly tugging at the one that covers my scarred wrist, revealing part of a scar. I trace my index over the thin white line and I’m full aware that both Brendon and Konstantine are watching me, wondering what is going around inside my head. I roughly pull the glove back over the scar and then I look back up.

“Do you want to talk about your scars?” Konstantine asks, keeping her eyes fixed on my arm.

“They’re for my mom,” I say and shift a little bit in Brendon’s lap, so I can no longer see Konstantine. I lean my chin on Brendon’s shoulder and take a deep breath, breathing in his sweet scent.

“Go on, Ry,” he mumbles and kisses my cheek. “You can do this,” he adds.

“I killed her,” I whisper in his ear, making sure that only he can hear me. “I killed my own mom.”

I pull away from Brendon’s embrace a bit and look at his face. His eyes are wide and he looks utterly confused. Then his eyes dart over to Konstantine for a short second.

“Can you give us a few minutes alone?” he asks her and then he looks back at me.

“Sure,” Konstantine answers, but neither of us is really paying attention to her anymore.

Brendon and I leave the living room and go to my bedroom instead. Brendon closes the door behind us and sits down on the bed. I stand next to it, not really knowing what to do now. I just confessed that I’m a murderer to him, he’ll hate me.

“Why did you say that you killed your mom? I thought she had died of a brain haemorrhage?” he questions, stretching his arm and taking my hand to pull me down on the bed.

“She did,” I answer, nodding. “And I did that to her,” I add, looking down at the sheets of my bed, instead of looking at Brendon. He lays his index finger underneath my chin and lifts my head, forcing me to look at him.

“How?” he asks, his expression still beyond confused. “You loved your mom, you can’t have killed her.”

“But I did!” I shriek, tears and snot running down my face. “I should have been there for her every time my dad hit her; I shouldn’t have let him push me into that fucking closet every time. I should’ve protected her. I’m no better than my dad.”

“But I don’t understand, what does this have to do with her death?” Brendon wonders out loud, giving me a pleading look. He thinks I’m going crazy; that I’m seeing things that never happened.

“The brain haemorrhage, Bren,” I whisper. “It was caused by a hard hit on her head. I saw it through the chink of the closet door. But I didn’t do anything. I just stayed there because I was afraid that my dad would hit me again. Even after he was gone, I just left her lying there. I could see her the entire time. I watched her as she died.” I cried, resting my forehead against Brendon’s shoulder. He cradles me in his arms, whispering words of comfort.

“When my dad got back and found her, he asked me why I didn’t do anything; why I didn’t her help her? And he was right. I should have helped her instead of being such a coward.”

“Ryan, baby, it’s not your fault that she died,” Brendon whispers, his own tears leaking down on my hair. This makes me feel even worse, because I don’t want to make him cry. Brendon can’t be sad, he has to be happy and since I am his boyfriend, I should be the one making him happy, but it seems I can’t even do that. I’m worthless. “Your dad killed her, not you,” he adds and lies down, pulling me on top of him. “You really didn’t, please stop thinking that,” he mutters, still cradling my body. It’s not true. I did kill her. If I had come out of that closet and called an ambulance straight away, she would still be alive.

We stay in the bed for another while, until Brendon says he is going to tell Konstantine that she should leave for now. He lets go of me and steps out of the bed.

“I’ll be right back,” he says before turning around and exiting the room.

***

After I told Brendon about what really happened to my mom, he practically forced me to tell Konstantine my story. It hurt less to talk about all of it again. Now that I know that Brendon still loves me and doesn’t think I’m a murderer, I’m feeling a bit more comfortable with the subject. But that still doesn’t mean I like talking about it. Hell no. It took Brendon about half an hour to convince me to talk to Konstantine.

I had to stop taking the anti-depressants, because they made me lose weight and they gave me these terrible rashes. I’m glad I don’t have to take them anymore because I’m not really fond of any kind of pill.

“Are you ready to leave?” Brendon asks, slipping his arm around my waist. I look down at the bouquet of flowers in my left hand and nod. I can do this. I’m strong enough. Brendon presses a light kiss on my cheek and then he takes my free hand in his, entwining our fingers. “Let’s go then.” He smiles, tugging at my hand and leads me to the front door.

We exit the house and hop into Brendon’s car. The grave yard is only two miles away from where I live and normally we’d go by foot, but it’s too cold for that now. During the entire ride, neither Brendon nor I say one word. It makes me feel a bit uncomfortable and I decide to break the silence once we get out of the car.

“Do you think she has forgiven me?” I wonder out loud, looking at Brendon. He quickly glances at me and then he stops walking.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he answers, laying both his arms around my neck. “You never did anything wrong. I’d even dare to say that she is probably glad that you stayed inside that closet to protect yourself. Who knows what might have happened if you didn’t,” he says, his chocolate brown eyes staring straight into my lighter brown ones.

“Don’t say that,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Maybe I could have saved her. So what if I got hit a few times. It’s not like he had never done that before,” I tell him. “She could still be here.”

Brendon sighs and shakes his head.

“No, Ryan, you could not have saved her. The ambulance would probably have been too late,” he tells me, stroking the back of my neck. “She was probably already dead shortly after your father had hit her,” he adds, desperately trying to convince me that I am not to blame for her death.

Thanks to Brendon and Konstantine I have realised that I didn’t murder her, but I could have saved her, though.

“Please, Ryan. Don’t think she died because of you,” he whispers, his big eyes looking sad.

I shrug my shoulders in response and look down at the flowers I bought for my mom. Orchids. Those were her favourites. A few tears leak down on the bouquet and then I look back up at Brendon.

“Let’s go,” I murmur and sniff away my tears.

This is the first time I ever visit my mom’s grave. I didn’t go to her funeral either because my dad wouldn’t let me. About a week after her funeral, he disappeared and I haven’t seen him ever since. That was when I was nineteen. I have lived in my parent’s house on my own until I moved a couple of weeks before we started our latest tour. I wish we could find him and make him pay for everything he did, but that will probably never happen.

It takes us a while until we have finally found the grave and when we do, I lose track of everything. I fixate my gaze on the grave and everything around it disappears. It’s just me, Brendon and my mom’s grave. I drop the flowers on the ground, not caring if I mess them up. Brendon puts his arms around my waist, probably so he can catch me if my legs would turn into jelly. But they don’t. I keep myself strong because I am strong now and so I can deal with this. The Ryan Ross that broke down at the least is no longer here, he’s replaced by a better and stronger version.

“Hi, mom,” I whisper and slowly crouch down in front of the grave. “It’s me, Ryan,” I add and then I pick up the flowers that I had dropped. “I brought you some flowers, they’re orchids,” I tell her and gently lay the flowers down on the grave. “I miss you.”

Brendon crouches down next to me and lays an arm around my shoulder, pulling me a bit closer. I lean my head against his and then things go silent. We don’t need any words to explain our feelings here. The sight of my mom’s grave; her name engraved in the stone, it rips me apart. But it’s okay. It really is. Because next to me is the strongest glue I will ever find and that’s all I need to keep all my pieces together.