I Was Ripped Apart But Held By Glue

FOUR

“Please open the door so I can help you,” Brendon speaks softly, sliding his arm underneath the door. “You’re bleeding,” he whispers, resting his hand on my foot. For about two minutes, I stay silent and I just look down at the hand that is resting on my foot.

“How can I be sure that you mean this, Brendon?” I ask with a crooked voice.
“Ryan,” Brendon starts and then he sighs. “I love you, I really do. And I would never, ever hurt you; you know that,” he says and sniffs a few times.

“I do?” I ask, more to myself than to Brendon. Do I know that he loves me?
“Think, Ryan,” he replies. “Have I ever done something to hurt you?” he questions and it only takes me two seconds to come up with the only right answer to that question.

“No,” I answer, dropping the mirror fragment on the floor.

“Then why would I now?” he asks, stroking my ankle. “Please open the door,” he adds. Biting my lower lip, I slowly lean forward and unlock the door. A sigh of relief escapes from Brendon’s mouth and then his hand disappears from my foot.

The door opens and Brendon stands right in front of me, his eyes slightly red from crying. What did I do to him?

“Come here,” he whispers and puts his arm around my waist, leading me towards the sink. He opens the taps, letting the water run. Then he takes my arm in his hand, carefully examining the fresh cut, apparently not caring about the blood that is leaking on his shirt. “Put your wrist underneath the water to clean your arm and then I’ll take care of it in our dressing room,” he says, resting his hand on the small of my back, rubbing it lightly.

“I’m so sorry,” I mutter, several tears tumbling down my cheeks.

“It’s okay, Brendon whispers in my ear and then he gently kisses the lobe. I put my arm underneath the spout of water. I gasp at the coldness, but welcome it at the same time because it seems to numb the pain a little bit. When most of the blood is rinsed off, Brendon closes the tap. My shirt is covered with my blood and there’s also some if on Brendon’s. Fuck. I don’t want to walk back to our dressing room like this. Everyone will see and know exactly what is going on.

“Can’t we just stay here?” I ask in a weak voice, looking at Brendon. “I don’t want everyone to see… you know… what a pathetic person I am,” I say. Brendon sighs and shakes his head.

“One: you’re not pathetic and two: we can’t stay here for the rest of our lives, Ryan. Something has to be done about your wrist. I wouldn’t want it to get infected or anything,” he tells me, laying his hand on my upper arm. “If you want, I can get you a clean shirt, so you don’t have to walk around with a blood stained one,” he adds, giving my shoulder a soft squeeze. This man really is an angel. I still can’t understand why he’s doing all of this for me. I give Brendon a small nod, sniffing away a few tears.

“Thank you,” I mutter, awkwardly standing in front of him. What am I supposed to say to him after I behaved like such a complete idiot?

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I’ll be right back,” he adds, quickly running his thumb over my wet cheek.

I watch Brendon’s back as he walks out of the bathroom, already missing him from the second he’s out of sight. I feel so bad, so rotten right now. How could I ever think that Brendon would be such an ass? That is so not him. In contrary; he’s the most amazing and reliable person I will ever know. I better get my dumb head figured out because I can’t afford doing this again. I really don’t want to hurt him.

I sit down on the toilet seat and through the opened door of the cubicle; I stare at the shattered mirror. It’s broken, just like I am. I wonder if I will ever get fixed. Maybe Brendon can fix me; maybe he has the right glue to mend all the broken pieces that people like to call Ryan Ross.
A little bit more blood drips out of the several wounds on my hand, but I really couldn’t care less at this moment.

Brendon returns after five minutes, holding a plain, black long-sleeved shirt in his right hand. I softly chuckle to myself Black because then people won’t see the bloodstains that will soon appear on the shirt once I have put it on. How odd it may sound, it’s a very thoughtful thing of Brendon to do. I give him a weak smile to show him my appreciation as he gives me the shirt and then I pull it over my head. I wince a little bit as the sleeve of the shirt creates a painful friction with my wounded skin. I make sure to pull the left sleeve over my hand so it covers up the several cuts that were made by the mirror fragments when I smashed it. Brendon lays his arm around my waist and together, we make our way out of the bathroom stall, neither of us saying one word.

Brendon just cleaned up the cut I made in my wrist and now he is cleaning the smaller cuts in my hand.

“You can’t play with that hand tonight,” Brendon murmurs, carefully pressing a disinfectant drenched cotton patch against the several cuts in my hand. The disinfectant stings and I secretly enjoy the pain. It makes me forget the terrible mistake I just made.

“I can,” I reply, shooting him a pleading look. I have to play. All those people who bought a ticket for tonight’s show are expecting to see Panic! At The Disco and not Panic! At The Disco minus Ryan Ross. One of the things I really don’t want to do is disappoint our fans. It’s not their fault that my life is so messed up.

“But your hand.” Brendon sighs as he wraps a bandage around my hand. I shake my head.

“No, I’m playing tonight. I’ll just put on my gloves and no one will notice,” I tell Brendon and stand up, hurrying to my bag, hastily trying to find my gloves.

I’m still searching for my gloves as I feel Brendon’s arms wrapping around my chest from behind. He rests his chin on my shoulder, his mouth only a few inches away from my ear.

“You know, there’s really no shame in missing one show,” he says, rubbing his nose against my cheek. “It won’t be the same or as good as with you, but we’ll manage,” he adds. I shake my hand in response.

“No, I’ll be fine. Just let me play, please,” I beg and turn around in his arms so I can look him in the eye. He needs to know how important this is for me. Playing in front of a crowd gives me satisfaction and it also affirms that I am capable of doing something good in my life. Brendon nods understandingly.

“Your gloves are over there, by the way.” He smiles, pointing at the chair that’s standing in one of the corners of the room. Then he leans in and pecks my lips ever so softly, emitting a small smile from me.

“Where are Spence and Jon?” I ask, frowning a little. They must be wondering what’s going on and why I snapped at Brendon like that earlier.

“I asked them if they could get ready someplace else, because I needed to talk to you in private,” Brendon replies, absent-mindedly stroking my upper arm. “And they’re probably waiting for us now. We should have gotten on stage five minutes ago,” he adds and then he walks over to the other side of the room and picks up my gloves. “Put them on,” he tells me, handing me the black, fingerless gloves. “You don’t need your stage clothes or make-up. You look great just like this,” he says, giving me an affectionate smile. I reply to his smile with one of my own and put the gloves over my hands.

“Everything alright?” Spencer asks as he sees me and Brendon. Brendon nods for the both of us, but I can see in Spencer’s eyes that he’s not convinced. I’ve always been able to read Spencer like a book. He looks at me for a few seconds and then he pulls me into a tight hug.
“I love you, man,” he mutters, patting my back. What has happened to me? In the past few weeks, I was so good at hiding things; hiding my problems, but now it seems like I can no longer put up that fake expression and everyone can see just how miserable I actually feel. It scares me because I don’t want people to see me like this.

***

“That was a great show, wasn’t it?” Jon asks, smiling widely. I nod in reply, but I can’t bring up a smile for him. It’s as if the muscles in my face have stopped working, preventing me to lift the corners of my mouth. “But you were off a few times, though. Nothing bad. You just seemed a bit distracted,” he then says, patting my shoulder. “Are you sure everything’s okay?”

I bite my lower lip and look around me, trying to spot Brendon. He’s standing a few feet away from me and Jon, completely soaked from his sweat. He looks so sexy like that.

“I’m fine,” I mutter in response and walk over to Brendon. Yeah, yeah, I know I’m not being too nice to my best friends, but I’ll deal with that later. Now I need Brendon.

I lightly tap Brendon’s shoulder and he immediately turns around, smiling. That’s all what the muscles in my face need to copy a similar action.

“Hey,” I say, not knowing exactly what to do. What I would want to do the most right now, is just lie down with him and relax. Just him holding me and making me feel good about myself.

“Hey,” he replies, resting his hand on my shoulder. “Everything okay?” he asks and I’m seriously getting tired of that question. I got the feeling I already heard it a million times today.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” I answer, nodding. “I was wondering if we could just… you know… go to our hotel room and sleep,” I say, hoping from the bottom of my heart he wants to come with me. I can’t go to an empty hotel room on my own. I don’t even trust myself with being alone right now. I’m like a little child that always needs an adult with him so it won’t hurt itself.

Before Brendon can give me an answer to my question, Spencer comes to us, a big grin spread all over his face.

“That was fucking awesome!” he states, clapping his hands. “It’s been ages since we had such a good show as tonight. The kids were so cool!” he adds, his eyes wide from excitement. “So, are you guys up for some partying tonight?” he asks and takes my still gloved left hand in his and tugs at it. I gasp loudly at the pain it causes and immediately pull my hand back.

“Oh, fuck, sorry dude,” Spencer says, giving me a concerned look. “Did you hurt yourself?”

“Yeah, I had a little accident with my hand earlier,” I lie, not looking him in the eye. “But it’s okay, I’m fine, it’s just a small wound.”

“You better take good care of it. I don’t want a cripple guitar player,” Spencer tells me, playfully poking me in the side. I shrug in response and roll my eyes. “So, are you guys coming along? Party. Party. Party.”

“No, thanks. I’m going back to the hotel, I’m tired,” I reply and then I send Brendon a pleading look. I really hope he doesn’t want to go out tonight. It’s quite selfish of me to claim Brendon like I’m doing, but what else can I do?

“Yeah, me too,” Brendon says, sending me a quick, reassuring smile. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow morning. Have fun,” he adds and lays his arm around my shoulder in a friendly way.

“Wussies,” Spencer mutters, shaking his head with a smile. Brendon playfully shoves him in the ribs and sticks his tongue out.

“Says the man that will probably drink fruit juice the entire night,” he says, a mischievous grin spread all over his face. Ouch, burn, Spencer! That was a good one. I laugh lightly, but my laughter is quickly pushed aside by a long yawn.

“Awww, Bren, I think you better put our little one here into his bed.” Spencer grins, patting my head. I raise an eyebrow at this. Little, me? I didn’t think so, but I’m too tired to protest.

“Mmm, yeah,” Brendon replies, throwing his arm around my shoulder again and after saying goodbye to Jon as well, we leave, together with a few people of our crew.

***

“Let me just put a clean bandage around your hand before you go to bed. The one you have now must be soaking wet from your sweat,” Brendon says, grabbing his toilet bag, before taking my hand in his free one, leading me into the little bathroom. He switches on the light, puts the bag down and then he turns to me. “Does it hurt a lot?” he asks with a worried undertone in his voice.

“I’ve felt worse pains, I’ll be fine,” I answer. Brendon nods, carefully taking off the dirty bandage.

“And how are you feeling, you know, apart from the pain in your hand and wrist,” he then asks and continues taking care of my wounds. I shrug my shoulders in response. How am I supposed to feel after what I did? Like an idiot? Worthless? Retarded?

“I’m fine,” I reply. This seems to have become my standard answer to this question, but I’m afraid that Brendon will see right through my lie. He’s smart.

“Do you really think you can satisfy me with that?” he questions, throwing the dirty bandage into the bin. It’s the same bin where I threw my razor in this morning. I wonder if it’s still there or maybe one of the cleaning ladies of the hotel emptied the bin while we were out. I really can’t be more thankful that we’re leaving this place first thing in the morning, because it’s so tempting to check the trash bin and maybe, if it’s still there, retrieve my razor.

“Okay, I feel like shit.” I sigh, tearing my eyes away from the bin to look at Brendon instead. It’s as if he is my new razor, but then one that doesn’t harm me. “Happy now?” I add, already regretting the words as they leave my mouth.

“Ryan,” Brendon starts, resting his hand just above my knee. “You know that I really want to help you through this, don’t you?” he asks, looking into my eyes. I slowly nod in response. I know he wants to help me, but it’s still beyond my knowing as to understand why. “Okay, good. Then you’ll also understand what I’m about to say,” he says, still looking me in the eye. What the fuck is he talking about? What am I supposed to understand? I cock an eyebrow, expressing my confusion.
“I think you should get professional help,” he answers, nervously biting his lower lip. Oh. Fuck.

“No,” I mutter quietly and I’m not entirely sure that he has heard me, until he opens his mouth to react.

“Ryan.” He sighs, trying to look me in the eye, but I won’t let him by looking down at my lap. He can’t force me to talk to a shrink or whatever.

“No, Brendon. I don’t want that,” I say and push him away from me so I can stand up. “I’ll be fine like this,” I add and walk out of the room. I am not going to get help from someone else. Brendon promised me that he would help me and not some stupid counsellor.