Don't You Love Me?

Brendon's chin quivers, and he bites his lip to stop himself from crying out. His features are contorted into a hideous, pained expression. He clutches Ryan's picture in his hands, holding it so hard that it starts to crumple. He collapses to the floor and curls up into a ball. Everything hurts. His sides are sore from heaving huge sobs, his head throbs from being imprisoned in those same four walls for who knows how long, his stomach sends pangs of pain though his body from not eating, and his hands sting from holding Ryan's picture so tightly.
It's been eight months. Eight months since Ryan left him.
Everywhere Ryan went, Brendon would follow. Everywhere Ryan slept, Brendon's breath would be synchronized with his. Ryan is his entire life; he doesn't know anything beside his honey eyes, tousled brown hair, and inviting body.
Without Ryan, Brendon feels like a lost child who's separated from their mother.

They met six years ago, while they were both wasting their time away at the local park one afternoon. Ryan was sitting crisscrossed on the ground, strumming his acoustic guitar and singing songs--with his already god-awful voice slurred from drinking. Brendon had walked up to him, with a friendly smile decorating his face.
"You look lost," Brendon said.
"I am," Ryan replied, explaining that he was only eighteen and that he had gotten kicked out of his house for pursuing his musical interests and for coming out as gay to his abusive father.
"Do you want to stay at my place?" Brendon offered. "At least for the night. It's getting dark already."
"Why?"
"I think you need someone right now." Brendon rubbed his neck, squinting up at the purple sky glistening with city lights. "The truth is, I need someone, too."
"I'm not the best person for company," Ryan laughed dryly.
"I think you’ll be lovely,” Brendon argued. He extended his hand towards Ryan, hinting for him to grab it. "Come on."
And after Ryan's grimy fingers clung to Brendon's soft, lavender-scented ones, they never let go.
***
"Shit," Brendon screamed, as he and Ryan sprinted through the night, through a raging thunderstorm, hand-in-hand. They could barely find their way to their new apartment, curtsy of the sheet of precipitation and their lack of knowledge about the new area. Even though they had only been together for three months, the couple was ready for a bigger place designed for the two of them.
"Babe." The way Ryan said "babe," still made Brendon's heart leap. No one had ever called him that, nor with the amount of comfortableness and serenity that Ryan did. "Let's just stay here." He hooked his arms around Brendon's soggy shoulders and pressed their lips together, gently sucking on his bottom lip.
"But I'm cold," Brendon mumbled against Ryan's lips.
"I doubt that'll be a problem," Ryan replied, his voice hushed. He tenderly entangled their tongues, while rhythmically rubbing his crotch area against Brendon's.
Brendon slipped out a shaky moan. "Fuck."
Brendon grabbed handfuls of Ryan's soaked hair as the kiss grew deeper and the grinding grew faster.
The boys were so caught up; they didn't notice that the rain had stopped until a few minutes later.
"Fuck," Brendon breathed, evincing his anxiousness to finish off what he and Ryan had started. "We need to find that fucking apartment."
After splashing through many puddles and giggling about their plans for tonight, the pair found their apartment and sprinted into their room.
Brendon straddled Ryan on their bed, voraciously sucking his neck and squishing his sides with his own legs. With Brendon still on top of him, Ryan kicked off his wet pants and boxers (surprisingly easily). Brendon removed Ryan's shirt, before dashing into the bathroom to fetch a condom. He returned with the packet and with no clothes. And soon enough, the two became one.

On the day of Brendon and Ryan's first anniversary, Ryan got signed to a record label.
"Let me get a picture!" Brendon said to Ryan outside of the record company's headquarters. He instructed the rather reluctant Ryan to stand in front of the water fountain near the entrance. "Smile!" Ryan smiled and Brendon snapped the photo.
Little did he know, that would be the last time he'd smile for a long time.

It was great at first. Ryan's new found stardom supplied him and Brendon with a ton of extra money. But Brendon was nervous now; Ryan would be going on tour for a month and had to start work on his full-length album soon.
"Don't forget about me when you're on tour, all right?" Brendon said, titling his head up to look up at Ryan, whose legs he was currently sitting in-between.
"I couldn't forget about you even if I tried, Bren," Ryan reassured him, and pecked him on the nose. "I'll miss you so much."
"I'll miss you more."
***
"He was mine," Brendon wails, snorting as he wipes the snot from his clogged nose. He looks at the wrinkly photo; reminiscing about the day that changed his life. Besides the cuddles, laughs, and amazing sex, Brendon misses cooking for Ryan most. They used to cook together, but after Ryan grew tired from work, Brendon was the only one left for the job. In fact, he misses doing all of the household chores. He even had to quit his job at the local barber's shop to get them all done.
He misses the way Ryan's hands would touch him while he worked; it made him feel so alive. He misses the way Ryan would practically demand that they go to bed together after a long day of chores. He misses everything about the damn boy.
***
It was two years after Ryan's musical career started when things grew strange. After each studio session for his second album, Ryan would come home more irritable and distant. His young face was contaminated with wrinkles and his eyes that had once been full of life were empty. His lips never met Brendon's waiting ones and he'd never wrap his arms around Brendon's waist when he'd fling his arms around Ryan.
"How was your day, hun?" Brendon asked him this everyday.
Usually Ryan would mutter a "good," but today he answered with, "Leave me alone."
"How about we have a movie night?" Brendon suggested excitedly, starting to massage Ryan's shoulders. "You look stressed out."
"No." Ryan swatted Brendon away. "Just make me dinner."
"But a movie night, Ryan," Brendon persisted. "You love those! I can make--"
Ryan struck Brendon across his face. "I said make me dinner." Brendon wasn't bothered by Ryan's sudden outburst of violence. Ryan had never hit him before. He took it as a sign of affection and cooked him lasagna without any resistance.
Ryan would beat Brendon regularly now, and basically bestowed him with the role of the household maid. Brendon didn't care. No matter what he did, he got to spend time with Ryan. And every time Ryan would slap him until his face was puffy and bloody or kick him until he collapsed to the floor or hit him so hard that he'd bruise, Brendon would feel alive. It didn't matter what Ryan was doing to him; he was still so perfect. He loved Ryan.
***
"He was all mine," Brendon whimpers. He starts digging his nails into the linoleum floor over and over again. "I hate the music industry. I hate it." Ryan's job had changed him. It made him cold and greedy and fake. And consequently, it had changed Brendon, too.
***
Whenever Ryan was on tour, Brendon would grow horribly lonely. Sometimes, he'd take a photo of Ryan and jack off to it. Sometimes he'd even dress in Ryan's stupid floral shirts and tight pants, even though they were too big for him.
Eight months ago was when it happened. Ryan had arrived home from a long tour. Brendon was looking forward to his return; even though Ryan had continuously been going on tour for over four years, he still wasn't used to the empty house and rejoiced whenever Ryan's voice echoed through it again.
But this time, Ryan didn't enter the apartment alone. This time, it wasn't only his voice that rang through the apartment. Clinging to his shoulder was a petite blond girl.
"Who's this?" Brendon questioned, the smile completely erased from his face.
"Fuck off, Brendon," Ryan snapped. "Don't come into the bedroom any time soon."
Ryan and the girl then entered Brendon and Ryan's room, pulling the clothes off of each other even with Brendon still in sight.
Brendon was in shock. Something in his mind refused to believe that Ryan really had just walked in with a girl… a girl who he was currently undressing. No, no. There hadn't been a girl. Ryan was in there, waiting for him. The Ryan he loved and missed and cherished. The Ryan who loved and missed and cherished him.
Brendon giggled. Ryan was so full of surprises. He undressed himself right there, in the kitchen, before slinking into the bedroom. It was dark, but he saw Ryan getting ready for him under the covers.
"Baby," Brendon cooed, slipping into the bed. "I missed you so much."
He removed the sheet, and saw Ryan thrusting into nothing. He sucked on Ryan's neck, making his way up to his earlobe. "I love you so much. I'd kill for you."
"What's the hell are you doing?!" Ryan shrieked, pushing Brendon off of the bed. The blond clutched to his arm, looking frightened.
"Ryan, what's going on?" she demanded, wrinkling her face at Brendon.
"Nothing, darling," he replied in a comforting tone, kissing her reassuringly on the cheek. "My roommate was just leaving."
"Ryan," Brendon choked out, his eyes stinging with tears. "I love you. I love you more than fucking anything. I love you. I love you! Don't you love me?" He lay sobbing on the floor, naked, showing no signs of leaving.
"What?” Ryan gave Brendon a bewildered look. “No, Brendon. I don't love you?” Ryan offered, still deeply confused. "Why do you think that?”
"I kissed you and you kissed back. I made love to you and you made love to me. I loved you and you loved me back." Brendon rocked back and forth uncontrollably.
"Brendon,” Ryan said quietly. “Why do you think I pushed you away? Because I didn't feel the same way. I thought we were over this! Can't you take a hint, after being my roommate for five years?" Ryan tried to stay as calm as possible. "When did I ever kiss you? When did I ever make love to you?"
"In the rain. That was my favourite time," Brendon whispered. "You were so good in bed after that."
"What?!" Ryan spat. "We went to bed right after that!"
"No."
"Brendon, you are delusional! Nothing happened between us! I'm not even gay, for crying out loud!"
"But you said you were when we met. That's why you got kicked out."
"Brendon, I was never kicked out," Ryan's voice was quiet. "I met you at the park, and I told you that I needed a place. You told me that your father abused you. You told me that you found a new place for yourself because of him. You offered me to stay."
"No!" Brendon broke into a convulsion of shaking and crying. "I don't have a dad!"
"Brendon, you've been living inside your head this whole time. You're sick. You're very sick."
"Don't you love me?" Brendon hissed. "I love you. Even when you hit me, I loved you. Even when you raped me, I loved you. Because you're all mine."
"Brendon, when did I hit you?! When did I rape you?!" Ryan sputtered. "You're insane!"
"The music ruined you," Brendon screamed. "It kept you from me."
"The music?" Ryan closed his eyes. "Brendon, I'm an engineer. Your father was a musician."
"Stop it, Ryan!" Brendon's yell caused Ryan's and his girlfriend's blood to curl. “Why did you live with me if you don't love me?"
"I thought you were my mentally stable roommate! Nothing more!"
"Don't you love me?"
"Come on, Brendon." Ryan got out of bed and grabbed Brendon's arm. "Let's get you dressed."
Brendon complied and followed Ryan into the kitchen. Ryan pointed at Brendon's clothes on the floor, hinting for him to put them on.
"I love you, Ryan," Brendon whispered, staring the clothes down. He began to slowly walk toward the knife drawer. Ryan stuttered in protest as Brendon pulled out a sharp blade. "Don't you love me?"
"Yes, yes, I do," Ryan said hastily, hoping that saying those words would cause Brendon to render the knife. "I love you."
"Husbands don't hit their husbands. Husbands don't rape their husbands. I thought they did. But they don't. Husbands don't cheat on their husbands. Now, they really don't do that." Brendon drew closer to Ryan. "Husbands love their husbands."
"Brendon, I'm sorry about your past, but I'm not your husband! I'm not your dad! This can all be over and done with if you put the knife down!" With each step Brendon took towards him, Ryan took one back. He wasn't looking where he was going, and found himself cornered against a wall.
"No," Brendon said simply. "I want you all to myself." And then, he plunged the knife into Ryan's body multiply times. Blood spurted everywhere; on Brendon, on the walls, on the floors, everywhere. After a struggle, Ryan finally fell to the floor, dead, yet so alive to Brendon.
Brendon knelt beside him, and kissed him, tasting the bitter blood on his lips. "I love you, Ryan. I'll always love you."
***
A guard comes into Brendon's jail cell to give him dinner. He's rocking on the flood, banging his head into the wall continuously.
"Ryan?" Brendon stops rocking, with his back still turned to the guard. "You're back. I knew you'd be back. I love you. Don't you love me?”