Sample Disc

It feels like years since Ryan’s dad died.

Ever since, things have almost been normal; things have been almost right, almost like they used to be, almost how I want them to be.

“Ryan,” I sigh, rubbing the heels of my palms into my eyes. “You’re not listening again.”

Ryan looks up, almost startled, doe-eyed and frightened, “Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I breathe, calming myself. “So, Shane’s got this graduation party. With Bill. And Gabe. And like, everyone else on the planet.”

“Okay?” he says, looking down at his phone like he’s waiting for a call.

“And I said we’d go.” I wait for the reaction, and I know it won’t really be a good one.

“Ugh, Brendon,”

“Ryan,” I start, cutting him off, “We haven’t done anything since forever ago. I want to go out and do something.”

“And that’s all good and fine,” he frowns, “but why do I have to go?”

I furrow my eyebrows, getting up from the mattress on the floor.

“Fine, I’ll go by myself.”

“Brendon, don’t be that way,” he huffs as he gets to his feet, as well.

“Don’t be what way, Ryan?” I frown, feeling my stomach turn, sick and thick.

His mouth is slightly open, and that used to be cute, but now I’m getting sick of it.

“Like that! Don’t act like everything is fine!” he throws his arms around, trying to use wild gestures to make a point. “If you’re pissed, say something!”

“Fine!” I shout, the muscles in my arms and neck and stomach clenching as my voice raises. “I’m pissed, Ryan! I’m pissed that we only do things when you feel up to it, and that all you ever want to do is stay home, and we never do anything with our friends anymore, and that you think that I’m pretending things are going fine, when you’re the one acting like you want us to fight to fix things!”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Brendon!”

I can feel my face twisting in anger, and there’s a fire rumbling in my gut, and I’m going to explode.

“What the fuck do you mean ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Brendon’! I mean that you always act like you’re thinking about us, but I know you’re not!”

“Fuck you!” he scowls, and I can see the muscles in his throat straining against the skin of his neck. “You don’t know a thing about what I’m thinking about!”

And I can feel all of my organs twisting and turning, and I can’t tell anymore if what I’m feeling is anger or hurt.

“Whatever.” I breathe, trying to exhale the butterflies in my stomach. “I’ll be at Shane’s.”

“Fine.” He frowns, sitting back down on his bed, pulling out his phone again. “Bye.”

“Yeah.” I say, walking towards the door, out the door, down the stairs, into my car, and the seven miles to Shane’s house.

Oh God, everything feels so wrong.