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

Spencer, Jon, and I end up spending the night hanging out together in the living with a DVD popped in the player and warm oatmeal-raisin cookies that Spencer baked, after a serious amount of begging and puppy dog eyes on Jon’s part.

So there we sit—me with my cookies, Jon with his popcorn, and Spencer will his iced tea and lemon slice.

“It’s too bad Ryan decided to move out,” Spencer says calmly, sipping his drink. “The dinning table really only fully completed when it was the four of us.”

You’re telling me?

“And after Ryan had finally moved in with us, too!” Jon exclaims with a hint of a pout in his voice.

“I’m sorry,” I say in a shaky voice. “It’s my fault he left.”

Jon’s hand comes out of nowhere and smacks on the back of the head, causing me to choke on a bite of cookie. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for his stubbornness!” he says loudly.

“Uh … stubbornness?” I ask, after recovering from my surprise.

Jon nods his head, trying to look wise and sage-like. “Yes, Brendon, his stubbornness,” he says.

“And he’s being stubborn, how?”

“By denying his love for you.”

I blush, feeling shy at first, but then the rage takes over. “Why do people keep saying that sort of thing to me?” I hiss angrily. “Saying he loves me. Building up my hopes just for him to tear them down. He doesn’t love me! Maybe he doesn’t even like me! And I’m sick of hearing that he does!”

Jon stares at me in open-mouthed shock as I spring to my feet and run for the bathroom.

“Wait! Brendon!” I hear Spencer call as I slam and lock the door behind me.

He will never love you, I think, staring into the mirror. Who could love a parasite like you?

Screaming in frustration, I grab my razor and go over Ryan’s name on my wrist, again and again and again.

You stupid shit. No one loves you.

R-Y-A-N

Get over yourself! You think you’re special?

R-Y-A-N

Ryan.

R-Y-A-N

“Ryan!”

* * *

I wake up in my bed with Ryan sitting at the foot and I’m thinking, What the hell did I miss?

“Brendon Boyd Urie!” Ryan shouts when he sees my open eyes. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“W-what?” I ask in a small voice; I have never seen Ryan this furious.

“Spencer calls me because you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom and you’re screaming your fucking head off so I come over and Jon helps me knock the door in and I passed out on the floor with your razor and a very scary pool of blood!” he yells, tears streaming down his face. “I thought you were going to die! Don’t you ever do that to me again, you hear me? Do you understand?!”

I nod meekly, shrinking away from him. “Y-yes, sir,” I whisper.

“God, you’re so stupid,” Ryan says, roughly wiping the tears from his eyes. “Gave me a fucking heart attack, you did.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You should be, you ass,” he mutters but pulls me into a hug all the same.

My arms go under his and up his back and I rock him back and forth as he whimpers, thinking it’s ironic that I’m comforting him since I was the one passed out.

When we pull away from each other, Ryan closes his eyes: “Brendon?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I show you something?” he asks in a quiet voice, barely breathing.

“Yeah, course, anything.”

Agonizingly slow, the fingers of his right hand reaches over and pulls back his sleeve to reveal a mess of fresh scars on his left wrist.

My breath catches and I grab his hands to examine his wrist more closely. “What—why … why would you do this?!” I explode.

B-R-E-N-D-O-N

“Now we match,” Ryan says softly.