Speechless

I tossed and turned all night. There was no sign of an escape from this cloudy haze encasing my mind in all thoughts pointed towards Brendon. I began to start hating him with all my being. What kind of person just does that? Kisses you passionately, making you love them, and then just turns their back and walks away? I should stop thinking about him. I should get out of this house and go find someone else, right? Enough of this stupidity.

Aw, who the fuck am I even kidding. I didn’t want anyone else. It was nearly 5:30 AM, but I was still wide awake. Well, not really. I just couldn’t sleep. In a zombie like manner, I slowly lifted myself from the bed and haunted the staircase with my presence and carefully tip-toed my way down. Without thinking, I walked out the front door. I needed to see Brendon right now, regardless of what hour it was. The early morning air was frigid against my skin, causing me to shiver a little, but it was tolerable.

When I finally reached Brendon’s front porch, I hesitated for a moment. Should I really do this at 5:30 in the fucking morning? Aw, fuck it. I had nothing to lose at this point, anyways. It’s not like they’re going to hate me anymore than they already do. I gently twisted their front door knob, and it was surprisingly unlocked. Lucky, lucky me. The door creaked open, but not too loudly, so I was in Scott-free. I snuck across their living room and up the stairs. I crawled around like a burglar or something, all sneaky and cat-like. Finally, I found myself in front of Brendon’s bedroom door. Something inside me froze me mentally and physically for a few moments.

I eventually found myself curled up in a ball, leaning against his door, waiting for him to open the door and welcome me with open arms. I knew that wasn’t happening. Quietly, I got back up and opened the door myself to reveal a terribly sad looking boy. His face was clammy and cold. His eyes were shut, but sagging bags were visible, even in the dark. Suddenly, those eyes flew open, and he flashed me a smile.

“I thought you’d never show up,” he said. The weakness in his voice was enough to make anyone cry. Tears were falling from my eyes now, and I desperately ran over to comfort him. He was in worse shape than I was.

“What the hell happened to you? Brendon, oh my god,” I whispered, loudly.

“You don’t look to good, yourself,” he croaked. I let myself lie in the unused portion of his bed, caressing his sickeningly beautiful face.

“I know,” I whispered, and kissed his cheek. “But seriously, Brendon, what’s going on here?”

“I haven’t moved from this spot since the night you left. I haven’t eaten or drank anything. I haven’t showered. The only thing I’ve done these past 5 days is use the restroom.”

Tears came again, only more violently. “I’m so sorry, Brendon,” I said, not revealing that I had been in a much similar predicament. I wrapped my arms around him and held him for a few hours. We lied in silence, waiting for the sun to rise.

When it was finally the happy, sunny morning I knew, I forced Brendon out of bed. He was so weak, it made me cringe. “Brendon, come on. I’ll help you get down the stairs.” The walk down was painfully slow, as Brendon was much too weak.

The second we came into view of the living room, Brendon’s mother began to cry much harder than before. They were tears of relief, I was sure of it.

“Ryan, I don’t know how in Hell you got in here, but thank you,” was all she could say. I nodded to her and helped Brendon lay on the couch. He was so pathetic right now. All I wanted to do was hold him and nurture him back to health. “I’ll make you breakfast, Bren.”

He only nodded with what little energy he had, and I quickly got to work. I needed something quick. Something filling and will give him plenty of energy. I rummaged through his fridge and found a carton full of eggs. That would have to do. I didn’t take the time to make it fancy like I usually did with my father because I didn’t have that kind of time with Brendon. I filled a glass full of ice cold water and put the eggs on a plate for Brendon.

“Hey, Bren. Breakfast is ready.” His eyes immediately lit up as I brought over the mediocre breakfast to him. He gulped down the water so fast, you wouldn’t even believe the glass had been full, and the eggs were gone in a flash.

“I feel better already. Thank you Ry,” he said.

The whole day was focused on Brendon getting better. It didn’t seem to take long. All he really needed was some food, a good shower, and a decent night’s sleep. Still, I didn’t let him leave my sight. The pain of knowing he was in any kind of pain was the worst feeling I’ve ever known.

Neither of us said much, but we didn’t really half to. All communication was done through our eyes. The sorrow and relief that filled them was enough to know what we were thinking.

The next day, it seemed like Brendon was already fully recovered, which caused the utmost amount of relief to flow through my veins. I watched him sleep as I idly sat in his way-too-comfortably soft chair. What was it about this boy that had changed me so much? Just 2 weeks ago I was completely lonely, isolated, and unwilling to say even just the simplest of words. Now, as if I was a completely different person, I didn’t feel lonely. I was smiling, laughing, talking. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. Should I feel good about this? Should I feel like I’ve lost? I wasn’t sure. All I knew is that Brendon was mine.

A muffled version of my name escaped his lips, causing me to smile ever so slightly. He blinked and realized I heard that. A pinkish tint covered his cheeks, making him even more adorable than he already was – if that’s even possible. We sat there, motionless, just looking at each other.

“Morning,” I said. The smile on his lips was so extravagant, as if he truly believed everything would be perfection from this point on. But, today was July 11th, and I remembered that within 2 weeks, my father would be home, again. The nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach developed during the night when the thought crossed my mind just before drifting off into sleep. I sighed, causing confusion to fill his precious face, but I waved it off.

“So, why the long mood already? The day’s just started, and I’m feeling great,” he yawned out. “I am still a little tired, though.”

“We have 2 weeks left.”

“Huh?” he asked, with even more confusion than before.

“My dad.”

“Oh.”

Silence. More fucking silence. I loathed it, but bathed in it at the same time. Silence was my entire life, but I couldn’t stand even one second of it. Yet, neither of us continued to talk. We just sat there, soaking up the reality that is our last two weeks of easily being around each other with no problems whatsoever.