Status: Updates coming soon!
For Brendon.
Part Eight
Something clicks in Pete's head, whether it is a sign from Brendon's spirit or just an accurate assumption, something makes Pete say, "You tried killing yourself."
With snot and tears making it hard to breathe, Ryan's mind flashes to the moments that followed his attempted suicide.
Spencer found Ryan sitting in his own puke on the vodka stained the carpet, the pills disintegrating in Ryan's bile. Ryan was breathing slowly and his mind was elsewhere. It had taken Spencer a half hour to get Ryan out of his haze.
Ryan knew that when Brendon had died, he died with him. In small parts, Ryan had slowly sank away. So when Spencer had forcibly made Ryan pack Brendon's stuff into boxes just hours after Spencer cleaned him up, Ryan had lost himself in the mess of things. Spencer said it was for Ryan. He said if Ryan wanted to get better, wanted to move on, he needed to get rid of Brendon's stuff.
Brendon's guitar pics, Brendon's toothbrush, Brendon's shoes. Old socks and stained coffee mugs. Everything that had belonged to Brendon equated to a piece of Ryan.
Ryan felt worse when everything was gone, but Spencer moved in. He replaced Brendon and Ryan hated him for it. Spencer's stuff took up the space that Brendon once owned. Spencer put Ryan on a schedule, made him go to bed and made him eat.
Ryan wanted to try to end it all again, but Spencer watched him, hovered over him like a babysitter. He was bossy in ways Brendon wasn't. He tried filling the void in Ryan's apartment, head and heart, but Ryan refused. He walked around with dark circles under his eyes, and covered up in scarves tied so tight that he had trouble breathing. He ignored Spencer, mentally and emotionally blocked out his friend.
He didn't want Spencer. He didn't want Spencer's crap in his apartment. He didn't want Spencer there, making sure he slept and ate. He wanted Brendon. Brendon. Brendon. Brendon.
Ryan's breathing stutters, as he hears Pete over his own crying. He lets his eyes wander to Pete's, and Ryan hastily rubs sticky tears off his blotchy-red cheeks. He wants to brush it off, make it like it never happened, but something makes Ryan accept it. He nods.
"I was already dead," Ryan whispers. "I was dead and I wanted to be with him, but he was up in heaven while I was stuck in hell."
With snot and tears making it hard to breathe, Ryan's mind flashes to the moments that followed his attempted suicide.
Spencer found Ryan sitting in his own puke on the vodka stained the carpet, the pills disintegrating in Ryan's bile. Ryan was breathing slowly and his mind was elsewhere. It had taken Spencer a half hour to get Ryan out of his haze.
Ryan knew that when Brendon had died, he died with him. In small parts, Ryan had slowly sank away. So when Spencer had forcibly made Ryan pack Brendon's stuff into boxes just hours after Spencer cleaned him up, Ryan had lost himself in the mess of things. Spencer said it was for Ryan. He said if Ryan wanted to get better, wanted to move on, he needed to get rid of Brendon's stuff.
Brendon's guitar pics, Brendon's toothbrush, Brendon's shoes. Old socks and stained coffee mugs. Everything that had belonged to Brendon equated to a piece of Ryan.
Ryan felt worse when everything was gone, but Spencer moved in. He replaced Brendon and Ryan hated him for it. Spencer's stuff took up the space that Brendon once owned. Spencer put Ryan on a schedule, made him go to bed and made him eat.
Ryan wanted to try to end it all again, but Spencer watched him, hovered over him like a babysitter. He was bossy in ways Brendon wasn't. He tried filling the void in Ryan's apartment, head and heart, but Ryan refused. He walked around with dark circles under his eyes, and covered up in scarves tied so tight that he had trouble breathing. He ignored Spencer, mentally and emotionally blocked out his friend.
He didn't want Spencer. He didn't want Spencer's crap in his apartment. He didn't want Spencer there, making sure he slept and ate. He wanted Brendon. Brendon. Brendon. Brendon.
Ryan's breathing stutters, as he hears Pete over his own crying. He lets his eyes wander to Pete's, and Ryan hastily rubs sticky tears off his blotchy-red cheeks. He wants to brush it off, make it like it never happened, but something makes Ryan accept it. He nods.
"I was already dead," Ryan whispers. "I was dead and I wanted to be with him, but he was up in heaven while I was stuck in hell."
♠ ♠ ♠
Thank you, for not giving up on mePS - I said forever ago that there would only be a couple more chapters left...I have an ending planned, but getting from here to the end might not fit into one more chapter, so...this might turn out longer than expected, which could be a good thing (just to keep you updated)
PPS - thanks again :)