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

“You should’ve just gotten yourself a fucking bracelet,” I mutter, staring numbly at my name etched on Ryan’s wrist.

“That’s not what you did.”

I hold my wrist out next to Ryan’s—

R-Y-A-N

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

And I have to laugh. “God, we’re so screwed up!” I say bitterly.

“I know,” he says softly and tucks me back into my bed. “Go to sleep, Brendon. Go to sleep and dream of someone else and in the morning when you wake up, I won’t be here.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t live here anymore,” he says, getting to his feet.

I sigh. “So you really are moving in with Patrick?” I ask, but it’s not really a question. More like a … resignation.

“Yeah,” Ryan says, kisses me forehead and leaves.

It’s the first time I’ve sleep alone since Ryan moved in, and the bed feels cold, empty, lonely without his skinny body curled up with mine. “I miss you,” I whisper and I fall asleep, crying and with no one hold me.

I dream of bloodied razors and wrists with names scratched on them.

His name is on me and now I belong to him, my irrational rationale bounces around in my head, bothering me until I finally realize—

My name is on him and now he belongs to me.

I wake up at three in the morning with tears in my eyes and a crazy smile on my face.

“Fuck you, I love you so much,” I say to no one, but really I’m talking to Ryan.

And I hear his sad voice echoing in my mind.

“I know.”

“Why won’t you love me back?” I ask, almost expecting an answer to come at me out of nowhere but there isn’t one, and I fall back into a restless sleep with horrific dreams.

You’re falling and I’m trying to catch you.

I’m trying to catch you but I’m insubstantial.

I’m insubstantial and you keep falling right through my arms.

You keep falling right through my arms and I can’t forgive myself for being unable to save you.

I can’t forgive myself for being unable to save you and you’re screaming as you fall.

You’re screaming as you fall and I sill love you.

* * *

School is a bitch for the next couple of weeks. Homework, quizzes, tests, pop quizzes, pop tests (wtf?), Ryan’s not there because he’s sick and Keltie’s pissy, Pete keeps trying to kiss me, and every time one of my friends looks at me, there’s pity in their eyes.

And I just can’t stand it.

So when Pete puts his arm around me and leans his face towards mine, I push his arm off and dodge away from his lips.

“Aw, baby,” Pete says, pouting even though I’ve told him a million times that pouts only work for Ryan. “You’re my boyfriend; can’t I kiss you if I want?”

“Yeah, but I’m not the mood today, Pete,” I reply firmly. “If I were a girl, I’d be PMSing. And besides, you know that I don’t like you that way.”

Pete smirks. “Brendon Urie, the PMSing Gay Boy,” he says, putting his hands in the air as though placing my name on a billboard. “I can see it already.”

“You’re a real jerk, Pete,” I say. “I hope you know it.”

He nods. “Yeah, I know, but you know you love it.”

“No, Pete, I really don’t,” I say with a glare. “In fact, I fucking hate it.”

“What? So Ryan can be an ass, toy with your feelings, hurt you and you’ll still love him, and I’m the one who’s looking out for you, being nice to you, caring about you, but if I make the smallest of teasing comments, you’ll barely even count me as a friend?” Pete asks furiously. “That’s not fair.”

“No,” I say nervously, baking away from him. “Oh no. No, Pete, I thought you said you didn’t like me that way.”

“I don’t,” he mumbles, unable to meet my eyes.

I touch his shoulder gently and give him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Don’t think I don’t appreciate you, Pete,” I say softly. “Because I do, really I do. So thank you. For everything.”

He brings his head up to look at me with wide and intensively grateful eyes. “Thanks, Brendon.”