If I Told You I Loved You, How Far Would You Run?

“I’m taking you out the movies tonight, Brendon,” Pete’s lazy voice says through my phone.

“Why?” I ask bluntly.

“Because you’re my boyfriend and I love you,” he says and we both crack up laughing because it’s all such a sham. “No, really, let’s just go as friends. And if we run into Ryan or Keltie while we’re out, then it’s an added bonus.”

Shaking my head, I can’t help but grin. “Okay, fine,” I say. “Pick me up at seven. You’re driving. And paying.”

“You run a hard bargain, Mr. Urie,” Pete says with a laugh and hangs up.

Laughing to myself, I set my phone down on my bedside table. Today has been a good day. Ryan wasn’t at school, so Keltie was pissy all day, and I haven’t touched my razor since last night. And tonight, I’m going on with a date with my boyfriend. I collapse in a fit of hysterical giggles. My boyfriend.

I hear the doorbell ring and I figure Spencer will answer it.

Spencer answers it.

“Omigod!” I hear him gasp. “What—no wait, come inside first.”

Slipping out of my room, I pad silently into the living to find Ryan standing by the couch and Spencer hovering around him.

He’s got another black eye. Another fresh bruise across his jaw. And blood matted in his hair.

“He kicked me out,” he says hollowly. “Can I …”

“Of course you can,” Spencer says.

Neither of them have noticed me yet.

“Would you like to clean up in the bathroom?” Spencer asks.

Ryan nods, and that’s when they see me. “Brendon,” Ryan begins, waiting for me to interrupt him with some biting comment or angry glance.

Instead, I just step forward and take his hand in mine. Neither of us say anything as I lead him to the bathroom and close the door after us.

“Let me help you,” I say in a raw voice and Ryan nods.

I start by carefully rinsing the blood from his hair. “You stubborn fool,” I say softly. “What did you do this time?”

“I … don’t want to talk about it right now …” Ryan whispers, staring up at me with his mesmerizing eyes. “Is that … okay?”

“Of course.”

After I treat the bruises and cuts on his face, I move to gingerly peel his shirt off of him. More bruises and cuts and welts. I put ointment on and bandages those too, and when I reach for the button on his jeans, Ryan doesn’t protest, just numbing allows me to pull them off, leaving him in on his boxers.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much of Ryan, and everywhere I look, I see bruises, cuts, welts, ugly scars. “Poor baby,” I murmur and set about attending to every wound.

I have just finished taping gauze over a particularly nasty welt on his shoulder, when Ryan grabs my arm. “Ow!” I squeak involuntarily. “What was that for?” I ask with a pout, pulling my arm away from him.

“Brendon,” Ryan says fiercely. “What was on your wrist?”

I finch. “Nothing!”

He fixes his hazel gaze on my face. “Brendon,” he repeats firmly. “Show me your wrist.”

I hesitate and Ryan drops one little bomb that kills me: “Please.”

Bracing myself for the worst, I stick my arm out for Ryan to expect. He takes my hand in his and gingerly follows his name, R-Y-A-N, on my wrist with his finger.

I close my eyes, waiting for his reproachful words, but instead he presses his lips to the mess of scars on my wrist. “Poor baby,” he murmurs, throwing my words back in my face. “I know I’m not the only one hurting.”

“I feel better already,” I say with a crooked grin. “’Cuz after all, your kisses are medically proven to relieve pain.”

Ryan blinks at me, remembering that night, and he begins to smile. “Yeah,” he says almost lazily. “They’re also good at relieving sadness.” Before I realize it, we’ve exchanged a quick kiss. “There,” Ryan says quietly. “Don’t you feel better now?”

I look at him, really look at him—this boy, Ryan, whom I love so dearly, the king of mixed messages, this battered, scarred boy who’s watching me with his honeyed eyes—and I can’t honestly answer that question, so instead I say: “Well then, Keltie must be the happiest bitch alive.”

“Don’t call her that,” Ryan says sharply. “It’s not her fault.”

“So it’s mine, then?” I explode. “Is that what you’re saying?”

He gives me a sad look. “No,” he says. “It was never your fault. It was mine. It was always my fault.”

“That’s not what my wrists are telling me.”

Ryan catches my hands and kisses my wrist again. “I’m trying, Brendon, really I am,” he murmurs.

“Try harder,” I say bitingly and leave him alone in the bathroom.

I’m sitting on my bed, head in hands, hating myself, when Ryan comes in, wearing nothing but bandages and the towel I left him.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says and I can tell how hard he’s trying to keep his voice light, “but could I borrow some clothes from you?”

I get to my feet and find a pair of boxers and the pajama pants and tee shirt that Ryan wore last time he was here and hand them to him. “I’m sorry too,” I say quietly.

He nods at me, smiling slightly, and quickly dresses himself without asking me to leave the room or even to turn around. “What?” he asks defensively when he sees my raised eyebrows.

“Nothing,” I say, wondering why it is that he’s suddenly so much more comfortable in his own skin now that we’re worlds apart.

Spencer calls us into the kitchen for the dinner, and there’s something about tonight that makes the four of us feel like a family—Spencer, Jon, Ryan, and myself.

“The meatloaf’s really good, Spence!” Jon says enthusiastically.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Ryan and I smirk as Jon’s face scrunches up at Spencer’s reprimand. “Yes, mother,” he grumbles mockingly.

Spencer sighs. “You know, sometimes it feels like I really am,” he says tragically while winking mischievously at Ryan and I.

Yes, we feel like a family and I know I won’t be touching my razor tonight.

Then the doorbell goes off and everyone at the table exchanges weird looks. “Anyone here expecting anybody?” Spencer asks.

“Oh shit!” I gasp and spring to my feet. I forgot that Pete was taking me out to a movie. “Damn, damn, damn, damn,” I mutter, jogging over to answer to door. “Hi Pete.”

His dark eyes take me in, and he grins. “Hey Brendon. Ready to go?”

“Um, about that …” I glance over my shoulder to see everyone else looking curiously towards the door. Thank god they can’t see Pete from the dinning table. “Can this happen some other time?”

“Why?” Pete asks, raising his eyebrows at me. “You got some hottie over?”

“Well, Ryan come over,” I begin.

Pete’s grin stretches even wider. “So you do have a hottie over!” he exclaims.

“Oh god, shut up!”

“Sorry,” Pete says in a whisper. “So what’s the deal with Ryan?”

“We’re not going to talk about this now,” I tell him. “You are going to leave now.”

“But—” he begins and I shut the door on his face.

“So who was that?” Jon asks nonchalantly.

I look around at all of them: Spencer is watching my seriously, looking after me as always; Jon is leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling and pretending not to care; and Ryan is aimlessly playing with the food on his plate.

“Just Pete,” I say casually. “We were considering doing something together but I’d rather be here tonight since Ryan’s here.”

Ryan’s fork slips from his fingers and lands on his plate with a clatter. “But … Pete’s your boyfriend …” he says, looking at me with startled eyes. “Wouldn’t you rather be with him?”

“No way,” I say, shaking my head as if it were obvious.

Everyone stares blankly at me and I realize that really it isn’t.

“I mean, um, you’re my … best … friend,” I say haltingly. “And I … you … matter to me. A lot.”

Spencer throws a look at Jon and they quietly slip from the room, leaving Ryan and I alone at the table.

“They left us with the cleaning up, I see,” Ryan says weakly and I can tell that he’s trying to ease the tension with a bad joke.

“No,” I say quietly. “They left us with an opportunity.”