Speechless

I bit my tongue down, hard, in hopes that physical pain would somehow distract me from the mental breakdown I was about to ensue upon myself, but as most people would know it, this strategy always fails. Those tears he cried for me, tears of pain, tears of knowledge, tears of sorrow. I couldn’t stop them because I understood them. They were my tears, only his. I wanted to help him, to guide him up, to tell him everything was okay now. The problem was, nothing was ever okay with me. Nothing ever was.

Minutes passed, seconds ticked by. I grabbed my laptop and looked over the essay again. I shouldn’t have fucking showed him that. Regret is a taste I wasn’t fond of, but it is also a taste I was oh-so used to feeling on my tongue.

He walked back into his room to face me, regaining repose and giving me a sorry look in his eyes. “That’s not an essay.”

“Well… The assignment required I write about my summer, so… I did.”

“That’s not an essay,” he repeated himself, quite forcefully and full of anxiety.

“Then… what?”

“Ryan,” was all he could manage before his lips crashed into mine, knocking me off the chair. We were sprawled out over the floor, squirming around, fighting for dominance over the other. I gave up, gave Brendon the throne, giving him myself.

“I love you,” I breathed, just in time before his lips met with mine again. It wasn’t too long before things began going way too far. Brendon was taken aback at this notion, and was almost a little too hasty in his abrupt stop. I realized this too late, and got up with him.

He leaned in, gently brushed his lips against my ear, and breathed on me. “When I hear your voice, that wonderful voice, say those words, knowing it was me who got you to even speak for the first time, I can’t help but smile inside.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks, my mind spiraled out of control – in a good way, of course. Brendon gave me butterflies, and I didn’t even know how to speak anymore.

“I think I should go home, Brendon.”

He froze, his body becoming rigid and unable to be moved even by an outside force.

“I won’t let you go.” His arms were wrapped tightly around my petite waistline, protecting me from every danger that could ever come in contact.

“I think you should come with me.”

A smile helplessly found its way to Brendon’s perfect, smooth face. “Are you sure that’s a good idea, though?”

There was no uncertainty in his voice. None that I could detect, that is.

“It’s a wonderful idea.” I said, with that same certain state of mind. Actually, I was scared out of my fucking mind. After what happened last time, with my dad nearly beating Brendon the same way he did me, well, I wasn’t so sure my little idea was quite intelligent, but I really did not want to go alone.

We walked together, hand-in-hand with nervous shakes, towards my house. The closer you got, the stronger the alcoholic scent became. You could make out the sounds of a slurred, drunk man, crying for his son, wishing for him to return. Guilt filled the pit of my stomach. He was crying. Because of me. He wanted me home.

There was a small squeeze on my hand, a reassurance that everything would be okay. We stepped to the front door, and my fingers tentatively turned the doorknob, slowly making our way into the entry way of my home. “Dad… I’m home.”

“GEORGE RYAN ROSS. WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk any more than I already had. Three words was all he was getting from me. My voice – that was Brendon’s, not his. He can’t have my voice. He just can’t.

“ANSWER ME. I KNOW YOU CAN SPEAK.”

I shook my head, unwilling to cooperate. He swung his fist in the air, but Brendon pushed me out of the way, while dodging himself, and he missed.

“WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?”

Neither of us answered. Neither of us felt he deserved to know where I was, who I was with, what I’ve been doing. Rage boiled deep within the depths of his drunken mind.

“Just go,” he said, barely audible enough for the human ear, but just enough to know I had to do as he said or else. Or else he’d hurt me. He’d hurt Brendon. For some reason, I found myself unable to move, unable to follow his command.

“Ryan, what are you doing? We should get out of here.”

My father stared at us, his eyes filled with hatred and woe. You could detect just a pinch of sorrow mixed in with the fiery pot of rage. It was almost as if he actually gave a rat’s ass. I stared back into his eyes, waiting for a reaction. Waiting for something to happen. Just waiting. But all I got was a whole lot of nothing. No one was speaking, no one was killing each other, and no one was even moving.

“You should listen to your little friend, Ryan.” There was a crisp hatred deep within the tone of his words. The sound was an evil one, a sound I could not identify. A little smirk was drawn upon his face. Still, my body refused to listen. I refused to listen. Brendon stayed by me, unwilling to let me go it alone. I wasn’t going to run like a coward.

This time, my rather angry father decided he wasn’t going to miss. Unexpectedly, his fist connected with Brendon’s stomach, not mine. My initial reaction? Protect Brendon, naturally. I fought back, kicking him in the balls, smashing my fist into his own stomach with all of my might. He didn’t seem to be in much pain. The redness of his face increased with even more anger at my outburst.

“DO YOU HAVE A FUCKING DEATHWISH?”

I shook my head, still unwilling to back down. My father, never seeing me like this, hesitated to go on. The three of us stood frozen in time, unwilling to move, unable to comprehend what was happening.