Arches

I came to a sort of realization, somewhere between screaming at nothing and having Ryans tongue shoved down my throat. That what if God had already damned me? What if this reality I'm living is truly the deepest layer of hell, like my life was a perpetual darkness on an otherwise clean slate.

It seemed odd to be thinking something like that as I was pulled to my feet, it was tame though, no hidden meaning, just Ryan standing there with his narrowed brown eyes. I'm sure he'd look less harsh and intimidating if he just relaxed his face, his eyes seemed like they would belong to a puppy if it wasn't for his constant squinting. I guess it also seemed weird to be thinking about Ryans likeness to a dog as he slowly started speaking to me. Word wound around fingers that continued to pull at his shorn hair.

" I'm not a homosexual ."

It's true, I'm not, but that ever do faithful smirk creeps across Ryans face and it tells menother wise.

Then he asks me a peculiar question. He says a lot of peculiar things in the next declarative sentences to follow.

" What do you do when you're scared, Brendon?" But the use of my name sounds foreign, and I almost dont realize he's addressing me.

" I'm sure there's alot, I mean, you're kindofa baby." That was uncalled for.

I feel the testosterone fueled urge to prove he's wrong, but know that I don't have it in myself to do so. I'm left to answer his question.

" I-" I feel pressured, is that the same as scared? " I sing..." and it's a cracked sound from my throat, but I think I managed the words, because Ryans giving me this look like he struck gold or something. It makes me nervous...

I know I'm not allowed to sing, but it's like telling me im not allowed to eat. My parents had forced me into every instrumental lesson, every band class, tied me down at every recital, until I was deemed worthy of the money they put into me. I wasn't allowed to dance, wasn't allowed to sing, all I was alowwed to do was feel the music in my body, let it rush through my blood, channel it through my fingers, onto whatever socially exceptaable instrument they could find.

I've been dubbed with a grafted cast,child prodigy,band geek, reject ,I mean what normal teenager spends all there time alone with a violin,a piano, cello, organfrenchhornmandolinsytaracordianflute . The list goes on.

But even with the broadest horizons of music thrust upon me at such a young age, I didn't have the lifelessness to play the simplest of instruments. The guitar.

A guitar was far to common; much to common infact, with today's teens and deadbeat drop out nothings. My loving parents would never have there child stoop to such a low. I suppose my rebellion had started much earlier in that sense, seeing as to how I quite simply taught myself how to play, borrowed a guitar from the school supplies and got to work every lunch until I could comfotably lull myself into something that brought me that much closer to normalcy.

I'd sing along. I'd move.

It was the most freedom I had ever had. It was the one thing that I had full control of. And it was beautiful.

" Are you scared?" And I had no clue what Ryan meant then, being pulled from my thoughts, until that mouth was pressed against my neck, his tongue hot and wet against my skin.

I felt a tightening in my core, a serge of feeling that fogged my brain and left me unable to answer. My whole body felt warm, muggy, and I suddenly understood why people take off there clothes as a metaphor for sexual arousal.

" Can you sing for me, baby?" But his mouth wasn't attached to my throat anymore, instead it was at my ear, while rushed hands pushed beneath my clothes.

I shy away( more like push) when Ryans fingers attempt to undo my loosely fitted jeans. This isn't me, I'm not that person. I refuse to be like another William.

" Sing," But what can I say? Sing?

Ryans voice chimes as his lips venture to my collar bone, taking full advantage of the yellow monstrosity I was wearing still. " I want more,".

" I want more-"'My voice couldn't stop shaking.

His lips keep moving, " Give me more,".

" Give me more-" His teeth meet my flesh and I draw out the 'more'.

" I want to burn in bliss aga-"

" Burn, in, bliss, a-gain," I cut him off, and Ryan smirks into my neck, hands busy at my jeans.

It's when my jeans are undone that I breath out a word that would ultimately seel my fate.

" Room?"

When I look back on it, I'm so happy it ended the way it did, because as soon as Ryan had menina room, pressed up against the door, all I hernias a feeble " Ummmmm..."'And I'm pushing Ryan away from mento see a sheet wrapped William, wide eyed and annoyed.

I feel frozen, shocked, caught .

So what do I do? I run, I get the hell out of there and leave all my problems in that dingy apartment, because I can go home, beg my parents and god for forgiveness, then go back to pretending I'm everything my parents want me to be and more.

The moment I'm inthe door, the words of my remorse flood my mouth, spilling onto my mothers clean floor right before her eyes. She picks up my lost words, reassembles them in her mind, and with a simple, ' I love you sweetheart' pats my desperately- in- need- of- a- cut hair, and tells mento go get ready for bible study.

I smile, a real Brendon smile, and rush to my room, changing out of that stupid shirt, and throwing it out my window...

God save me.