Swallow Your Sleep
of breath,
It took twenty minutes by cab to get to the airport. Thirty in a bus and fifteen in your own car.
He took a cab.
It also takes fifty-five minutes on a plane to get from Las Vegas to California. And costs a hell lot more than it should.
Ryan didn’t care.
The plane seat was too comfy and there was too much space for his legs but Ryan closed his eyes and pretended he was on a couch in their first tour bus. The table had been an inch away, he remembers, and by the end of a week he’d had bruises on his calves in a strangely straight line. They’d – they’d all laughed together about it.
It was kind of beautiful, thinking back. It was kind of fucking beautiful.
Ryan didn’t look when he heard the safety announcement.
The airport was full of lost souls – drifting from baggage collection to glass slide doors, tugging heavy thoughts and bad feelings behind them. Ebenezer scrooge wouldn’t have a link on the chains hanging from their shoulders.
He pushed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, walking past vending machines and small cafe’s to reach the airports doorway. It was cold, outside, but Ryan didn’t pay it any heed as he absentmindedly walked to the taxis still queuing outside the airport at such an early hour. The parking lot stretched out behind them, concrete edges and neon signs hanging like bats from the corner of every building. It was nostalgic in a way that pulled so very brutally at his heart strings, tugging them like the puppet he was no longer.
The window of the nearest car wound down as Ryan made to open the passenger door.
“Where to?” Ryan started, surprised by the contact. He doesn’t think he’d left the apartment since the hospital discharged him, he can’t really remember. He relayed the address, slipping into the backseat and propping his guitar up next to him, fingers brushing against the fabric of its case.
The driver was rough looking and shot more than a single glance at the white spider stuck to the window of his cab; wondering what the words that formed on his lips but were never quite vocalised were to be. Another dead end to a short-circuited generation.
Forty minutes later, and Ryan was climbing from the taxi, towing along his guitar with him. There was snow, on the streets, and its cold crept into his bones. The weak sun made little difference to the skinny figure drifting through the streets of California.
He couldn’t do it. He really couldn’t. They were probably... they were probably having a nice time. A really nice time. Like, Spencer could cook – and god did Brendon love Christmas. Jon would bring his cats and his stupid array of bad jumpers; he would sing Christmas carols with Brendon and wink at Spencer while Spencer made the turkey, calling him a proper housewife.
They just. They fit, together. Ryan had always been the extra piece.
The scenery was familiar now with the slow rising sun. The park Jon liked to go to take photos, the shop Spencer would always buy last minute things from, the candy store Brendon would jump all over. All there, and all well without him. With a heavy sigh, Ryan sat down onto the lightly frosted bench where he’d once been held by a worried Spencer. He ignored the prickle of cold running up his spine and instead focused on the zip of his guitar case, searching for his one comfort.
The 25th of December, 6am Christmas morning, Ryan Ross sat in an empty park, facing an empty street; reflecting on his empty life.
His fingers found strings on the guitar and he bent his head, the start of a familiar song starting to strike the air around him, Brendon used to love singing this song. But now all Ryan had was his own starved voice, a scratchy death to a song.
“I know that it is freezing,
But I think we have to walk.
We keep waving at the taxis,
They keep turning their lights off.
But, Julie...”
He took a cab.
It also takes fifty-five minutes on a plane to get from Las Vegas to California. And costs a hell lot more than it should.
Ryan didn’t care.
The plane seat was too comfy and there was too much space for his legs but Ryan closed his eyes and pretended he was on a couch in their first tour bus. The table had been an inch away, he remembers, and by the end of a week he’d had bruises on his calves in a strangely straight line. They’d – they’d all laughed together about it.
It was kind of beautiful, thinking back. It was kind of fucking beautiful.
Ryan didn’t look when he heard the safety announcement.
He pushed his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, walking past vending machines and small cafe’s to reach the airports doorway. It was cold, outside, but Ryan didn’t pay it any heed as he absentmindedly walked to the taxis still queuing outside the airport at such an early hour. The parking lot stretched out behind them, concrete edges and neon signs hanging like bats from the corner of every building. It was nostalgic in a way that pulled so very brutally at his heart strings, tugging them like the puppet he was no longer.
The window of the nearest car wound down as Ryan made to open the passenger door.
“Where to?” Ryan started, surprised by the contact. He doesn’t think he’d left the apartment since the hospital discharged him, he can’t really remember. He relayed the address, slipping into the backseat and propping his guitar up next to him, fingers brushing against the fabric of its case.
The driver was rough looking and shot more than a single glance at the white spider stuck to the window of his cab; wondering what the words that formed on his lips but were never quite vocalised were to be. Another dead end to a short-circuited generation.
Forty minutes later, and Ryan was climbing from the taxi, towing along his guitar with him. There was snow, on the streets, and its cold crept into his bones. The weak sun made little difference to the skinny figure drifting through the streets of California.
He couldn’t do it. He really couldn’t. They were probably... they were probably having a nice time. A really nice time. Like, Spencer could cook – and god did Brendon love Christmas. Jon would bring his cats and his stupid array of bad jumpers; he would sing Christmas carols with Brendon and wink at Spencer while Spencer made the turkey, calling him a proper housewife.
They just. They fit, together. Ryan had always been the extra piece.
The scenery was familiar now with the slow rising sun. The park Jon liked to go to take photos, the shop Spencer would always buy last minute things from, the candy store Brendon would jump all over. All there, and all well without him. With a heavy sigh, Ryan sat down onto the lightly frosted bench where he’d once been held by a worried Spencer. He ignored the prickle of cold running up his spine and instead focused on the zip of his guitar case, searching for his one comfort.
The 25th of December, 6am Christmas morning, Ryan Ross sat in an empty park, facing an empty street; reflecting on his empty life.
His fingers found strings on the guitar and he bent his head, the start of a familiar song starting to strike the air around him, Brendon used to love singing this song. But now all Ryan had was his own starved voice, a scratchy death to a song.
“I know that it is freezing,
But I think we have to walk.
We keep waving at the taxis,
They keep turning their lights off.
But, Julie...”
♠ ♠ ♠
Aha, I don't really expect any readers because it's September, but as the rate of my update it'll be in the right season soon :c