We Have Been Untangled.
the painful realization that has all gone wrong.
For the first time in years, Ryan cried. He closed the door to his apartment as quietly as a mouse breathes, twisting the lock before he slipped to the floor and let the sobs begin to rack his body. Nothing could have prepared him for this; nothing could have prepared him for the knife to the gut, the twist, the searing pain.
Words would have been better. Screams would have been better. Being dragged out to the parking lot and beaten to the point of losing consciousness would have been better. Anything but that look, the unfocused brown eyes glancing over his face without registering before turning back to the conversation they'd been slipping in and out of.
Brendon had looked at Ryan, directly at him, their eyes had locked. He hadn't recognized him. It had been years since they'd seen each other face to face, years since they'd spoken, but surely . . . surely . . .
Ryan let out a hollow scream, fisting his hands in his hair as he tried to suck the sobs back in, tried to resume breathing like a normal human. But he couldn't and he slipped to the floor further, curling into a ball and letting the tears take him over.
He tried to go over it in his head, what had been the reasoning. His hair was different and so were his clothes. There had been a lot of people there. Maybe they hadn't really locked eyes. (Like the girls at the concerts who were so convinced he'd looked at them when, really, it was hard just to see past the blinding stage lights into the vague shapes that formed the crowd.)
But it didn't matter how he tried to convince himself, he knew it was all bullshit. Brendon hadn't recognized him. Ryan's face hadn't registered in his mind. It had been a decade since they'd met, nine years since they kissed. They'd spent years tangled up in each other, earning trust and secrets and moans. But none of that mattered now; it was all gone, obliterated by a girl or time or something else.
They were strangers now. Not old friends, not old lovers, not acquaintances. Strangers.
Ryan's fingernails clawed at the floor as the noise of his sobs echoed off the walls in the white-walled apartment. He had never felt so alone.
Words would have been better. Screams would have been better. Being dragged out to the parking lot and beaten to the point of losing consciousness would have been better. Anything but that look, the unfocused brown eyes glancing over his face without registering before turning back to the conversation they'd been slipping in and out of.
Brendon had looked at Ryan, directly at him, their eyes had locked. He hadn't recognized him. It had been years since they'd seen each other face to face, years since they'd spoken, but surely . . . surely . . .
Ryan let out a hollow scream, fisting his hands in his hair as he tried to suck the sobs back in, tried to resume breathing like a normal human. But he couldn't and he slipped to the floor further, curling into a ball and letting the tears take him over.
He tried to go over it in his head, what had been the reasoning. His hair was different and so were his clothes. There had been a lot of people there. Maybe they hadn't really locked eyes. (Like the girls at the concerts who were so convinced he'd looked at them when, really, it was hard just to see past the blinding stage lights into the vague shapes that formed the crowd.)
But it didn't matter how he tried to convince himself, he knew it was all bullshit. Brendon hadn't recognized him. Ryan's face hadn't registered in his mind. It had been a decade since they'd met, nine years since they kissed. They'd spent years tangled up in each other, earning trust and secrets and moans. But none of that mattered now; it was all gone, obliterated by a girl or time or something else.
They were strangers now. Not old friends, not old lovers, not acquaintances. Strangers.
Ryan's fingernails clawed at the floor as the noise of his sobs echoed off the walls in the white-walled apartment. He had never felt so alone.