The Killing Kind

The blog post was put online the following day. Brendon had called Jon as soon as he got back to his own place, accused him of siding with Ryan because he knew, of course he knew, and he didn’t tell him, and despite all of Jon’s insistences that he had no idea of Ryan’s secret antics, Brendon refused to believe it because right now he just fucking hated the world and had lost all rational thought.

They put it down to creative differences so no one would suspect a thing. It was an official statement, sort of like a divorce from one half of the band with the other, and soon everyone knew; from now on it was Spencer and Brendon, and whether they were going to continue or not, he was finished with whatever relationship he had with Ryan. He’d believed him too many times now. He wasn’t thinking straight.

And thus was the end.

New Perspective came out soon after. Spencer and Brendon’s own personal achievement, they were immensely proud of it, proud of what they’d managed to do since splitting and proud of everything they’d managed to overcome to get it finished and on the soundtrack for Jennifer’s Body. It was a dream come true, almost, because he’d proved his ability. They could do it on their own; they were going to make it, they didn’t need to be doubtful. It was going to work.

Brendon picked up his guitar that lay dusty and unloved on his sofa, wiped off the dust and strummed his thumb along the strings. It felt right under his palms, like it was supposed to be there, and before he knew it, the faint melodies of songs were threading their way around his heart. A new chapter was opening, another door finally closing, and everything was falling very steadily back into place.

He whistled a tune under his breath and played the same thing on the guitar. He liked how it sounded, tried it again and liked it even more. He smiled to himself, all silent in the house except for this, and breathed out.

He would do everything in his power to forget what Ryan did. He would. It would take some time, maybe a lot of time, but he would. He was certain he would.

*

The girl, Sarah, her name was, according to Brendon, was extremely pretty. When Spencer asked how, he simply avoided the answer but eventually caved, gushed to the drummer about her hair and her eyes and how she was so nice for the mere minutes they’d spoken, but he was already hooked. Time was completely irrelevant.

And, really, he hadn’t felt this way since Ryan.

She seemed to enjoy his company, too, and he enjoyed the way she was actually interested in what he had to say. She hadn’t said much herself. She’d simply introduced herself, nodded along with parts of the conversation and added her own personal input when she felt necessary. But the air of mystique about her enthralled Brendon; she was a challenge and he was going to solve her, no matter what. He did the only thing he could think of to get her attention.

He wrote her a song.

It took a lot of scribbled out lyrics and altered chords and a heck load of personal frustration, but finally, he did it. He liked it, too, which was more than he could ever say about his own songs before. He just hoped that she did too.

And maybe it was a little bit creepy, seeing that he barely knew her and she barely knew him. His conscience told him that. But he didn’t listen.

By chance, when he finally did sing the song for her (it was singularly the most nerve-wracking moment of his life, without a doubt) she wasn’t creeped out; she was flattered and agreed to Brendon’s offer of dinner the following evening.

“Cool, awesome, amazing. I’ll pick you up at eight, yeah?”

He’d tried to play it nonchalantly. And for the most part, he was calm and content, but secretly, although he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, he was beyond excited. He drove home that night thinking maybe, just maybe, things were going to get better. Things were looking up at last. The rain had passed. After that came the rainbow.

*

“Was it difficult making an album with only the two of you? Did you encounter any problems lyrically or musically?”

He should’ve known to expect questions about the split at some point, should’ve known they would get asked about the creative process or the lyric writing or the general life without Ryan and Jon. But what really could either of them say? What could Brendon say about that? He’d loved Ryan since he met him, had experienced him at his best and his worst, had seen the side that no one knew about, knew his body and the things that he liked more than he’d known anyone else; how could he respond to the question?

He remained silent for a few seconds, thinking the answer through. “It was difficult, yes. It took a while to get familiar with writing lyrics myself and having only two opinions to songs. It was really strange at first. But I think it got easier when we came to terms with what we wanted the album to sound like; knowing we had a goal to reach was the most important thing.”

The interviewer nodded, an obnoxious-looking woman who obviously disliked their music but needed the money, and spitefully asked her next question. “How hard has it been without Ryan and Jon?”

Spencer inwardly sighed. The interviewer didn’t notice but Brendon did. He was sick of these types of questions, too, but they knew they were going to happen. It wasn’t everyday you released an album as a twosome after years of being a foursome. Of course it was difficult without Ryan and Jon, and maybe Brendon had regretted his decision to sever all ties with the two of them when he remembers looking back on it. The interviewers just didn’t understand. They were best friends, partners in crime, and suddenly it disappeared and they had to continue on their own. There wasn’t a way to describe it at all.

“I think the worst part was finding my own voice, actually. That was the thing that I was most worried about. Ryan wrote most of the lyrics on Pretty. Odd. and the only ones I wrote were short and sweet. So in that way, it was very hard. I had to figure out what I wanted to say. And I had to figure out how I was going to say it. Ryan had a very different technique to his writing that I didn’t feel I could live up to. I had to play bass on the album, too, which was very strange. But we’re both immensely proud of Vices.” Spencer nodded when Brendon finished his answer and they both smiled simultaneously at the interviewer.

If it was possible, the frown melted from her face, replaced instead by a small smile of her own, something that didn’t suit her, but the answer was as perfect as it could be. She didn’t like the band, that much was obvious, but she understood.

*

The day after Brendon’s birthday, his phone rang. He had been sitting on the sofa watching TV with Sarah when it did and he almost pushed the button to ignore the call. It was an unknown number and he was too happy and comfortable to move and talk to a stranger on the phone. But then he realised it could be important and gently pushed Sarah off him, who made a small protesting noise, and retreated to their kitchen to talk.

As soon as he put the device to his ear and said, “hello?” into the speaker, he knew he’d made a huge mistake. Ryan’s timid reply came through the line.

“Hi, Brendon,” was all he said, and Brendon suddenly had the temptation to hang up and never answer calls from unknown numbers again, but the sensible, reliable part of his brain that spoke to him in a voice that sounded almost exactly like Spencer when he was cross, told him to keep the line open, but he couldn’t decide why.

“Before you say anything, I want to apologise. I know it’s taken me too long to do it, but I’m sorry. That’s probably not enough to make you forgive me and that’s alright. What I did was shitty and I understand that you have better things to do right now than to speak to me but I just wanted to tell you.”

Ryan breathed, the phone crackled from lack of signal and he continued again. “I bought your new album, by the way. You and Spencer did good. I like it.”

Without meaning to, Brendon smiled to himself in the empty room. It felt oddly comforting to hear his voice again; Brendon wouldn’t break up with Sarah in order to be with Ryan again, nor would he cheat on her, but maybe they could be friends. He missed their friendship more than anything, and he was sure Spencer did too. Ryan and Spencer had a much deeper and more meaningful friendship than Brendon and Ryan ever would and he loved the idea of them all hanging out again, as best friends, without the hidden enigma and sexual tension of before.

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely pleased. The cloudy air between the two of them had instantly disappeared in one phone call. And maybe Brendon would always hold a tiny grudge against Ryan for using him and making him feel as little and pathetic as he did, but it had been nearly two years, Brendon was happy now and he was sure Ryan was too, and he was willing to try and move on. When the phone call was over, he was going to call Jon and apologise and try to stitch together the holes of their friendship.

“How have you been?” He asked and Ryan’s light laughter filtered down the phone line.

“I’ve been… good, actually. Busy, but good. I’ve got my own place again. And I’ve been doing some writing. I’m thinking of doing some solo work.”

“That’s awesome! You should go for it!”

He laughed again, a sweet sound, and spoke again, “I’m taking it slow this time. Just small stuff. But it’s going well. How’s things for you?”

“Fantastic. I didn’t think I’d say it, but everything is great right now actually. Me and Sarah got a house. The album was a success. We’re going back on tour in a week. It’s been so surreal. But it’s a good feeling, y’know?”

Ryan laughed quietly on the other end, although something was off with the way it sounded, but Brendon shrugged it off.

“Yeah. That’s great, Brendon. I’m happy for you.”

Brendon smiled again and his mind flashbacked to the moment when he realised he loved him, when he smelt so deliciously of girls’ deodorant and had smiled at Brendon and then left again, and the memory seemed so ancient and forgotten now. It reminded him how much they’d all grown up in four years, even if none of them realised it themselves. This was the happiest he’d ever felt; all bad weather had cleared.

“Thanks. I’m happy for you, too.”

Brendon could hear the smile in Ryan’s voice when he said, “thanks. Well, I have to go now, but I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

He agreed and the line went dead. He wandered back into the living room and barely five minutes had passed since he’d answered the call, although it felt like a lifetime. He sat down next to his girlfriend.

“Who was it?” Sarah asked, not taking her eyes off the show she was watching. Brendon couldn’t even remember the name, Ryan’s phone call pushing everything else from his mind.

“Ryan, actually. He just called to say hi.”

Sarah turned her head to face her boyfriend and stared incredulously, “You finally sorted things out?” She seemed happy, and the thought made Brendon smile. He nodded brightly and she grinned.

“That’s great, hon! You’re gonna call Jon now, right?”

Brendon smiled. It was small and timid but it was a genuine sign of happiness and Sarah hadn’t felt so relieved.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I am.”

Sarah grinned again, leaning forward and kissing Brendon on the cheek as she did so. He instantly relaxed and pulled her into a tight hug as a way of saying thanks, I love you, wish me luck.

“Good, I’m glad. Good luck, hon.”

Brendon pulled out of the hug and stood up from his position on the sofa. It was about midday, outside the wind was calm. He felt more confident than ever. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone again. He didn’t even have to think about Jon’s number, even though he hadn’t called or texted it in almost two years. He didn’t even want to think about how we would feel if Jon hung up. He was a little bit scared; Brendon had, basically, accused him of taking sides in an argument that had nothing to do with him and then kicked him out of the band. But then his Spencer-conscience began to gnaw away at the back of his mind again (it had a habit of doing that when he didn’t want it to), telling him to just do it and get it out of the way and stop being a pussy, and he walked into the kitchen, dialled the number and waited for the soft voice on the other end.

What answered was not Jon but his answering machine, and Brendon left a message saying he was sorry for what he did, and asking him to call him back. He was a little disheartened because Jon didn’t answer – he really did want to clear the air between them, although he did hope that he checked his answering machine often – but he didn’t want to dwell on the past anymore. He was done with that, looking forward to upcoming prospects, a future with the band and with his girlfriend. The sun was shining. He was happy.

*

Ryan hung up and stared at his phone in a mixture of internal agony and distress. It almost pained him to hold it, because he had been so certain and it had let him down. He thought that phoning Brendon would make things easier, but in fact it had made it twice as hard. It was a foreign object in his hand now, something not to be trusted, and he threw it to the floor with such a force he hoped it would shatter. After all this time, after all the events that occurred in between, and it had all been for nothing.

He felt humiliated.

This time he didn’t have anything to comfort him; not a topless girl in his bed, or a willing male hooker, or even Brendon himself so he could pretend. His apartment felt cold and empty, small and unliveable, and he suddenly wanted to leave and run as far away as possible.

He sat down on the nearest seat, which turned out to be his cream-coloured sofa that so rarely got used anymore, and put his head in his hands. He was hopeless. He was out of his mind. He’d blown the opportunity and now there was nothing he could do to rectify the mistakes he’d made. It was two years ago. It shouldn’t feel this way still. But everyday it hurt more, the screams of a missed chance deafening him inside his own head.

Who could love him?

He kicked the coffee table in front of him over, and the newspaper on top scattered all over the floor. It made a slamming sound as it hit the carpet, a dull thud, and now he could clearly see his reflection in the mirror opposite him. He looked dreadful. For the first time ever, he wanted to find cupid and strangle the fucker.

Brendon had a girlfriend, was most likely serious in the relationship, and only now was Ryan realising how truly alone he was. What the fuck was he going to do? He’d ruined everything. He’d created the perfect mess. His defence was lost at the closing of the door.

The tears came next.