I Was Ripped Apart But Held By Glue
I Was Ripped Apart But Held By Glue [7/10]
SEVEN
“Hey, Ry… what’s wrong?” Brendon asks, pulling me into a hug. Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head in response. If only I knew what was wrong. Today was perfect, but here I am now, my body shaking and my head feeling as if it’s about to explode. Another shiver runs up my spine and I curl up into a little Ryan-ball, but at the same time hugging Brendon as close as I can. His body is warm and I hope he will be able to warm me up again. He rubs my back with his right hand and with his left he pulls the bedcovers up to our chins.
“I’ll get you a sweater and I’ll switch the heating on,” Brendon says, his warm hand rubbing over my cold skin. I cling to Brendon like a child does to its mother and refuse to let go of him. I don’t have a fucking clue about what is happening to me but what I do know is that I want Brendon to stay here with me. I need to feel him here. Because I know that as long as he’s with me, nothing bad will happen to me. “Ryan, you’re freezing,” he states and I notice that his chocolate brown eyes are full of worry. “Please let go of me so I can get you a sweater and switch the heating on to warm you up. It will only take a minute,” he tells me. My teeth are clattering now and I wouldn’t be surprised if my lips were turning blue. “Come on, Ry, let go of me,” he whispers and then he lightly brushes his lips against mine for the softest kiss I have ever had. “I’ll be back before you know and I’ll be in the same room as you the entire time,” he says, sounding like someone talking to a five-year-old. I can’t really blame him for that because I’m acting like a stubborn five-year-old. I nod in response, my entire body still shivering and I let go of him. Then I immediately wrap my arms around my own body, trying to keep the little bit of body heat that I have left.
Brendon slips out of the bed and the first thing he does, is turning the heating at the maximum. Then he walks over to his suitcase, opens it and quickly fishes out his famous, lavender hoodie. I didn’t know he still had that one. It’s been ages since he last wore it. He crawls back into the bed with the hoodie and pulls it over my head. I put my arms into the sleeves and once I’m wearing the hoodie, I lay my arms around Brendon again. Heating, bedcovers and sweaters are a very good way to warm me up, but Brendon is still so much better.
“Are you feeling sick as well? Or just cold?” Brendon asks after a short silence. My head hurts like a bitch and feel like I’m about to throw up any second now.
“I don’t feel well either,” I reply, another shiver running up my spine. I want this sick feeling to go away. Brendon lays his hand on my forehead, feeling my temperature.
“You’re burning up,” he mutters and takes his hand away again. I sure as hell don’t feel like I’m having a fever. I feel more like I’m about to turn into a snowman. “Try to sleep a little bit,” he whispers, caressing my cheek. My teeth are still clattering, but I’m starting to get warmer. How am I supposed to sleep like this? I’m fucking freezing, my head is pounding horribly and my stomach seems to have turned and twisted around inside my body.
The nauseating feeling is getting worse by the second and eventually, I hop out of the bed and rush into the bathroom. I drop down on my knees and start throwing up all the food I have got inside of me. Brendon crouches down next to me and lays his hand on my back, soothingly rubbing it.
“Shht, everything is going to be fine,” he mutters and presses a light kiss against my shoulder. “Just try to calmly breathe in and breathe out,” he says and I really try to listen to his advice, but I can’t. Every time I try to calm down my breathing, I start heaving again and more vomit comes up. It all ends up in the toilet bowl, together with all the tears I’m crying. After a while, I have thrown up all the food I had in my stomach, but that doesn’t stop the heaving. Instead of throwing up food, there’s now bile coming up to my mouth. The taste of it is revolting, which only leads into me heaving more and more. It’s a never ending cycle.
After what seems an eternity, my body finally seems to have given up and the heaving stops. My entire body is shaking, my vision is blurred with tears and my headache has gotten even worse. I can’t find the strength to stand up myself, so I just whimper softly and cry a bit more.
“Come on, let’s get you back into bed. You need to rest,” Brendon says, reaching out to one of the fluffy white hotel towels. Then he turns me around and cleans my mouth and chin with it. When he has wiped off the vomit that was still lingering on my face, he throws the towel into the bath and wraps his arms around me. Without any big effort, he picks me up and carries me back to the bed. He lays me down and tucks me in, but I immediately throw the sheets back off the bed, because I feel like I’m on fire. A thin layer of sweat is already forming on my forehead and I quickly get rid of Brendon’s hoodie.
“C-could you t-turn the heating off again?” I ask, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. “I feel so warm now,” I add, pulling my knees up to my chest, hoping it will ease the pain in my stomach a bit. Brendon nods in response and turns the heating off. Then he disappears in the bathroom for a few seconds and comes back with a glass of water. He sits down on the edge of the bed, puts the glass down on the bedside table and then he turns to me.
“Sit up for a few seconds,” he mutters, slipping his arm around my waist. He pulls me into a sitting position and then he takes the glass again.
“Drink this, I put an aspirin in it, it’ll help a bit,” he tells me, holding the glass in front of my lips. He holds it as I drink of it, but not drinking all the water in the glass out of fear it will make me sick again.
***
When I wake up, Brendon’s warm body is no longer lying next to me.
“I think it’s better if we just cancel the last part of the tour. It’s less than ten shows now. It’s not such a big deal,” I hear him whisper.
“We can’t do that!” another voice replies. Spencer. I open my eyes and see the backs of Brendon, Jon and Spencer who are standing only a few feet away from the bed I’m lying in. “He’ll be better in a few days,” Spencer adds, sighing deeply.
“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake him up,” Brendon says and then he turns around, glancing at me. I quickly close my eyes and try to pretend as if I’m asleep, but he already saw that I’m awake.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and I open my eyes again, watching him stroll over to the bed. He crouches down on the carpeted floor and lays his hand on my forehead. “You still have a fever,” he states and sighs.
“I feel better than last night,” I tell him, sending him a weak smile. My headache isn’t as bad anymore, but my stomach is still sore and there’s still that nauseating feeling. “And I think Spencer’s right. I’ll be better soon, there’s no need to scrap the last dates of our tour,” I say because I really don’t want to cancel the two following weeks of touring that we still have ahead of us. It would be a huge disappointment to our fans and that’s the last thing I want.
“But Ryan,” Brendon whispers and carefully rests his hand on my injured wrist. “It would be so much better if you could go back home now,” he mutters, his big, pitiful eyes staring straight into my own eyes. No fucking way. He told me the whole counselling thing could wait until after the tour. Why would we change that plan now?
“Bren, I’ll be fine,” I reply, pulling my hand away from his. “You told me yourself that I was doing better, yesterday,” I say, keeping my voice down so Spencer and Jon wouldn’t hear me. They don’t need to know what this conversation really is about.
“Yeah, but maybe it’s better if we’d go back to Vegas now, not just because of…” Brendon starts and then he glances at Jon and Spencer who had remained silent the entire time. “… that thing, but also because you’re not well and you need some time to recover properly. You can’t do that while we’re on tour, you know that,” he tells me, laying his hand on top of mine again.
“Aren’t you overreacting, Brendon?” Jon asks, taking a step closer to the bed. “I know Ryan’s your boyfriend now and that you’re worried even more about him than usual and that’s totally understandable. But stopping the tour because he’s got the flu or whatever is a bit drastic,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And besides, if he doesn’t want to leave the tour himself either, then you should listen to him,” he adds. Thank you, Jon!
“Shut the fuck up, Jon. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon hisses and I’m quite surprised by his behaviour. Brendon almost never gets pissed at one of us and if he does, he usually tries to hide it.
“Then tell me what the fuck is going on!” Jon replies, throwing his hands up in the air. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now they’re arguing because of me? It’s my fault.
“Guys, calm down,” Spencer says, stepping in between Jon and Brendon.
My stomach chooses this moment to get all bitchy again and before I get the chance to hurry to the bathroom, I throw up on the carpet next to the bed, some of my vomit also landing on the bedside table. Oh God, that’s disgusting, I think as I look at the light brownish liquid lingering on the little wooden table.
“Fuck, Ry,” Brendon mutters, climbing into the bed. I hang half out of it, still heaving, but luckily my stomach is no longer sending puke up my gullet. For a few seconds, that is. Then I start vomiting bile again, the greenish yellow fluid tasting extremely bitter on my tongue. Brendon places his hand on my back and rubs it in little circles, the soothing and warm feeling of his hand has already became a very familiar feeling on my back by now. “Take it easy,” he whispers and starts placing small kisses on the back of my neck, shoulder and ear. When the heaving stops for a little while, I rush to the bathroom, not wanting to ruin the hotel carpet even more than I already have. Brendon follows me and closes the door behind us as he does so. Another wave of heaving strikes me, causing more bile to practically shoot out of my mouth, straight into the toilet bowl. Brendon presses his body against my back in some sort of hug and that seems to relax my entire body, including my stomach. The vomiting stops and now I’m breathing heavily, wrenching my nose at the scent of my own puke.
“Are you done?” Brendon asks, his chin resting against my shoulder. I nod in response and close my eyes, slightly leaning backwards. He kisses my cheek and then he lets go of me. He flushes the toilet, closes the lid of it and after that, he stands up and picks me up as well, putting me back down on the toilet lid a few seconds later. I slump a bit forward, barely able to keep my head up. “I’ll be right back with some mouth wash and some medicine, then you’re going back to bed and I will try to find a doctor,” he tells me and walks out of the bathroom.
Spencer enters the bathroom a few seconds later, awkwardly looking down at me. He sighs and crouches down in front of me.
“What’s wrong, Ryan?” he asks and I know he isn’t talking about me puking all over the carpet. He knows there’s something else going on. I just shake my head in response, silent tears rolling down my cheek. I can’t tell him, I just can’t. He’ll be disappointed in me. He’ll hate me. “Ryan, I know there’s something seriously wrong, why won’t you tell me? You know you can trust me,” he adds, resting his hands on top of my bony knees.
“I can’t,” I whisper, sobs wrecking my entire body. I can’t tell anyone that I killed her. I fall forward and Spencer catches me, cradling me in his strong arms. “I can’t,” I repeat and bury my face in the crook of his neck. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.”
I hear the bathroom door open again, but I don’t look up to see who it is. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I’m too messed up to send my muscles the order to work. Spencer pulls away from the hug and through blurred eyes, I can see Brendon sitting on the tiled floor next to him. I attach myself to him instead, still crying and hug him as tight as possible, not caring if I might crack my own ribs. Spencer leaves again and for the next half hour or maybe even longer, Brendon and I stay like this, on the floor, neither of us saying a word.
“Hey, Ry… what’s wrong?” Brendon asks, pulling me into a hug. Did I do something wrong?”
I shake my head in response. If only I knew what was wrong. Today was perfect, but here I am now, my body shaking and my head feeling as if it’s about to explode. Another shiver runs up my spine and I curl up into a little Ryan-ball, but at the same time hugging Brendon as close as I can. His body is warm and I hope he will be able to warm me up again. He rubs my back with his right hand and with his left he pulls the bedcovers up to our chins.
“I’ll get you a sweater and I’ll switch the heating on,” Brendon says, his warm hand rubbing over my cold skin. I cling to Brendon like a child does to its mother and refuse to let go of him. I don’t have a fucking clue about what is happening to me but what I do know is that I want Brendon to stay here with me. I need to feel him here. Because I know that as long as he’s with me, nothing bad will happen to me. “Ryan, you’re freezing,” he states and I notice that his chocolate brown eyes are full of worry. “Please let go of me so I can get you a sweater and switch the heating on to warm you up. It will only take a minute,” he tells me. My teeth are clattering now and I wouldn’t be surprised if my lips were turning blue. “Come on, Ry, let go of me,” he whispers and then he lightly brushes his lips against mine for the softest kiss I have ever had. “I’ll be back before you know and I’ll be in the same room as you the entire time,” he says, sounding like someone talking to a five-year-old. I can’t really blame him for that because I’m acting like a stubborn five-year-old. I nod in response, my entire body still shivering and I let go of him. Then I immediately wrap my arms around my own body, trying to keep the little bit of body heat that I have left.
Brendon slips out of the bed and the first thing he does, is turning the heating at the maximum. Then he walks over to his suitcase, opens it and quickly fishes out his famous, lavender hoodie. I didn’t know he still had that one. It’s been ages since he last wore it. He crawls back into the bed with the hoodie and pulls it over my head. I put my arms into the sleeves and once I’m wearing the hoodie, I lay my arms around Brendon again. Heating, bedcovers and sweaters are a very good way to warm me up, but Brendon is still so much better.
“Are you feeling sick as well? Or just cold?” Brendon asks after a short silence. My head hurts like a bitch and feel like I’m about to throw up any second now.
“I don’t feel well either,” I reply, another shiver running up my spine. I want this sick feeling to go away. Brendon lays his hand on my forehead, feeling my temperature.
“You’re burning up,” he mutters and takes his hand away again. I sure as hell don’t feel like I’m having a fever. I feel more like I’m about to turn into a snowman. “Try to sleep a little bit,” he whispers, caressing my cheek. My teeth are still clattering, but I’m starting to get warmer. How am I supposed to sleep like this? I’m fucking freezing, my head is pounding horribly and my stomach seems to have turned and twisted around inside my body.
The nauseating feeling is getting worse by the second and eventually, I hop out of the bed and rush into the bathroom. I drop down on my knees and start throwing up all the food I have got inside of me. Brendon crouches down next to me and lays his hand on my back, soothingly rubbing it.
“Shht, everything is going to be fine,” he mutters and presses a light kiss against my shoulder. “Just try to calmly breathe in and breathe out,” he says and I really try to listen to his advice, but I can’t. Every time I try to calm down my breathing, I start heaving again and more vomit comes up. It all ends up in the toilet bowl, together with all the tears I’m crying. After a while, I have thrown up all the food I had in my stomach, but that doesn’t stop the heaving. Instead of throwing up food, there’s now bile coming up to my mouth. The taste of it is revolting, which only leads into me heaving more and more. It’s a never ending cycle.
After what seems an eternity, my body finally seems to have given up and the heaving stops. My entire body is shaking, my vision is blurred with tears and my headache has gotten even worse. I can’t find the strength to stand up myself, so I just whimper softly and cry a bit more.
“Come on, let’s get you back into bed. You need to rest,” Brendon says, reaching out to one of the fluffy white hotel towels. Then he turns me around and cleans my mouth and chin with it. When he has wiped off the vomit that was still lingering on my face, he throws the towel into the bath and wraps his arms around me. Without any big effort, he picks me up and carries me back to the bed. He lays me down and tucks me in, but I immediately throw the sheets back off the bed, because I feel like I’m on fire. A thin layer of sweat is already forming on my forehead and I quickly get rid of Brendon’s hoodie.
“C-could you t-turn the heating off again?” I ask, wiping away my tears with the back of my hand. “I feel so warm now,” I add, pulling my knees up to my chest, hoping it will ease the pain in my stomach a bit. Brendon nods in response and turns the heating off. Then he disappears in the bathroom for a few seconds and comes back with a glass of water. He sits down on the edge of the bed, puts the glass down on the bedside table and then he turns to me.
“Sit up for a few seconds,” he mutters, slipping his arm around my waist. He pulls me into a sitting position and then he takes the glass again.
“Drink this, I put an aspirin in it, it’ll help a bit,” he tells me, holding the glass in front of my lips. He holds it as I drink of it, but not drinking all the water in the glass out of fear it will make me sick again.
***
When I wake up, Brendon’s warm body is no longer lying next to me.
“I think it’s better if we just cancel the last part of the tour. It’s less than ten shows now. It’s not such a big deal,” I hear him whisper.
“We can’t do that!” another voice replies. Spencer. I open my eyes and see the backs of Brendon, Jon and Spencer who are standing only a few feet away from the bed I’m lying in. “He’ll be better in a few days,” Spencer adds, sighing deeply.
“Keep your voice down, you’ll wake him up,” Brendon says and then he turns around, glancing at me. I quickly close my eyes and try to pretend as if I’m asleep, but he already saw that I’m awake.
“How are you feeling?” he asks and I open my eyes again, watching him stroll over to the bed. He crouches down on the carpeted floor and lays his hand on my forehead. “You still have a fever,” he states and sighs.
“I feel better than last night,” I tell him, sending him a weak smile. My headache isn’t as bad anymore, but my stomach is still sore and there’s still that nauseating feeling. “And I think Spencer’s right. I’ll be better soon, there’s no need to scrap the last dates of our tour,” I say because I really don’t want to cancel the two following weeks of touring that we still have ahead of us. It would be a huge disappointment to our fans and that’s the last thing I want.
“But Ryan,” Brendon whispers and carefully rests his hand on my injured wrist. “It would be so much better if you could go back home now,” he mutters, his big, pitiful eyes staring straight into my own eyes. No fucking way. He told me the whole counselling thing could wait until after the tour. Why would we change that plan now?
“Bren, I’ll be fine,” I reply, pulling my hand away from his. “You told me yourself that I was doing better, yesterday,” I say, keeping my voice down so Spencer and Jon wouldn’t hear me. They don’t need to know what this conversation really is about.
“Yeah, but maybe it’s better if we’d go back to Vegas now, not just because of…” Brendon starts and then he glances at Jon and Spencer who had remained silent the entire time. “… that thing, but also because you’re not well and you need some time to recover properly. You can’t do that while we’re on tour, you know that,” he tells me, laying his hand on top of mine again.
“Aren’t you overreacting, Brendon?” Jon asks, taking a step closer to the bed. “I know Ryan’s your boyfriend now and that you’re worried even more about him than usual and that’s totally understandable. But stopping the tour because he’s got the flu or whatever is a bit drastic,” he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And besides, if he doesn’t want to leave the tour himself either, then you should listen to him,” he adds. Thank you, Jon!
“Shut the fuck up, Jon. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Brendon hisses and I’m quite surprised by his behaviour. Brendon almost never gets pissed at one of us and if he does, he usually tries to hide it.
“Then tell me what the fuck is going on!” Jon replies, throwing his hands up in the air. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now they’re arguing because of me? It’s my fault.
“Guys, calm down,” Spencer says, stepping in between Jon and Brendon.
My stomach chooses this moment to get all bitchy again and before I get the chance to hurry to the bathroom, I throw up on the carpet next to the bed, some of my vomit also landing on the bedside table. Oh God, that’s disgusting, I think as I look at the light brownish liquid lingering on the little wooden table.
“Fuck, Ry,” Brendon mutters, climbing into the bed. I hang half out of it, still heaving, but luckily my stomach is no longer sending puke up my gullet. For a few seconds, that is. Then I start vomiting bile again, the greenish yellow fluid tasting extremely bitter on my tongue. Brendon places his hand on my back and rubs it in little circles, the soothing and warm feeling of his hand has already became a very familiar feeling on my back by now. “Take it easy,” he whispers and starts placing small kisses on the back of my neck, shoulder and ear. When the heaving stops for a little while, I rush to the bathroom, not wanting to ruin the hotel carpet even more than I already have. Brendon follows me and closes the door behind us as he does so. Another wave of heaving strikes me, causing more bile to practically shoot out of my mouth, straight into the toilet bowl. Brendon presses his body against my back in some sort of hug and that seems to relax my entire body, including my stomach. The vomiting stops and now I’m breathing heavily, wrenching my nose at the scent of my own puke.
“Are you done?” Brendon asks, his chin resting against my shoulder. I nod in response and close my eyes, slightly leaning backwards. He kisses my cheek and then he lets go of me. He flushes the toilet, closes the lid of it and after that, he stands up and picks me up as well, putting me back down on the toilet lid a few seconds later. I slump a bit forward, barely able to keep my head up. “I’ll be right back with some mouth wash and some medicine, then you’re going back to bed and I will try to find a doctor,” he tells me and walks out of the bathroom.
Spencer enters the bathroom a few seconds later, awkwardly looking down at me. He sighs and crouches down in front of me.
“What’s wrong, Ryan?” he asks and I know he isn’t talking about me puking all over the carpet. He knows there’s something else going on. I just shake my head in response, silent tears rolling down my cheek. I can’t tell him, I just can’t. He’ll be disappointed in me. He’ll hate me. “Ryan, I know there’s something seriously wrong, why won’t you tell me? You know you can trust me,” he adds, resting his hands on top of my bony knees.
“I can’t,” I whisper, sobs wrecking my entire body. I can’t tell anyone that I killed her. I fall forward and Spencer catches me, cradling me in his strong arms. “I can’t,” I repeat and bury my face in the crook of his neck. “I really can’t, I’m sorry.”
I hear the bathroom door open again, but I don’t look up to see who it is. I can’t, even if I wanted to. I’m too messed up to send my muscles the order to work. Spencer pulls away from the hug and through blurred eyes, I can see Brendon sitting on the tiled floor next to him. I attach myself to him instead, still crying and hug him as tight as possible, not caring if I might crack my own ribs. Spencer leaves again and for the next half hour or maybe even longer, Brendon and I stay like this, on the floor, neither of us saying a word.