The Bridges Between Us

Ryan can feel his fingers twitch at his side and he clamps his other hand heavily down on the offending digit, attempting to crush away the reflex with bone thin hands; it's only covering peaking, blue veins and sickeningly off-white skin. The small pain is nearly enough to distract from the slow, throbbing ache of his back - it's tiny, deceitful teeth latching into his spinal cord, creeping through his nerves like an over-meticulous sadist.

It's been 14 hours.

"Are you sure about him? I mean, you don't know him and-"

"He's fine, Brendon! Get off my back! I know what I'm fucking doing." Except he really, really doesn't. Jon said he 'knew a guy' and after he rattled of the address of some cemetery near Freeland Park Ryan didn't have the time to hang around for warnings. Jon was always full of them, because it was fucking Jon. Too good for the good stuff but bad enough for the high-school easy.

Brendon leans against the cold metal gates behind them just as an emaciated, long haired teenager rounds the corner with his head down and hand up at his chest; looping around a black handle. Ryan's eyes instantly zone in on the bag, mind switched to it's contents - not full enough to be anything but what the breathy voice down the phone had promised, and yet held by a boy that was clearly not who he'd spoken to.

The boy reaches them and drops the bag onto the floor at Ryan's feet. He looks up from the bag and straight into Ryan's eyes, brown eyes boring into hazel.

"They're around the corner. Don't try to run with it. The agreed amount, please." his voice is bland and filled with the boredom of repetition and if Ryan's unnerved at all by his lack of movement, he's too overcome by the cravings hitting his being to care. Ryan feels the caress of mother natures purity as he turns, but he doesn't like to think about her anymore. With what she did to him.

Ryan approaches Brendon, slipping into his personal space as he slides a hand down his jeans, wrapping long fingers around the paper notes and brushing the pads against his inner thigh. Brendon shivers and can't seem to help himself as Ryan disappears from his immediate area and towards the boy, his jeans hanging from sharply angled legs.

Neither Ryan or Brendon comment on the school uniform the boy is wearing.



There were two needles in the bag, and the plastic container of one wasn't quite sealed.

Ryan didn't think anything of it.



"How could you let him do that? Ryan! How fucking could you? You promised he'd be safe! You promised me, Ryan, now fucking look! Look! Tell me what you fucking see!"

Men and women in formal black suits stop short of their entry into the church, tracing the direction of Spencer's hand as towards them and the spiraling building ahead. Spencer's face is red with anger and all Ryan can feel is the familiar sway of cement below his trainer clad feet, rocking him to oblivion.

"You're drunk, Spencer. Please don't shout." Ryan whispers, concentrating on the sharp tang of alcohol in the air. His old home.

"You'd fucking love that, wouldn't you? You did this, Ryan! This was you! All fucking you!"



It's dark.

"Was it really my fault, Brendon?"

Silence.

"I mean, I."

A bottle breaks far away, though it could be just outside. It's all the same to Ryan.

"I can't see something like that, Brenny. I can't."



He hasn't spoken to Jon since. It's not like. Not like he didn't mean to. It's just.

Ryan would like to blame it all on Jon for directing him to the dealer. He'd like to blame Jon for not grabbing Ryan and yelling every single warning he had in his face.

In the same way, he could blame Brendon for not acting more on his feelings. Blame Brendon for letting Ryan get him high, for letting Ryan drag him down into his little corner of a dark, fearsome world.

He couldn't ever blame Brendon, though.

God, innocent Brendon.



The bridge is cold on his skin and it feels like it's finally stopping the blood from pumping through his veins. Blood that should still be pumping in Brendon. Ryan always wondered why his veins were so blue but his blood so red. But curiosity is what got him here in the first place and it's deadly whispers are to be heeded no longer.

The water looks choppy below and it's grey tinge reflects heavily from the sky above. Ryan feels like it's heaven locking him out for good - feels like it's the first belonging of hell. The turning of white innocence to black pain.

If Ryan waited long enough the skies would turn black.

They always do.

"They're blue again, the next day. Always."

Ryan starts and tries to turn, almost losing his balance from the cold bridge. There's a second he thinks that's it - he's going to fall and die and ungraceful, partially accidental death. He was sure he could have got more painful metaphors flowing through his grey matter before he jumped. Just as he loses his footing arms grab his upper body - they're not particularly strong but it's all Ryan needs to pull his leg up and back onto the thin ledge.

"I'll come out there with you."

Without a pause a slim teenagers hops into view next to Ryan - white school blouse scarily familiar. His long hair is a pale blonde and it takes a second for Ryan to remember him - the boy - and it takes him a second longer to realise his voice isn't a flat, bland tone it was last time he saw him.

"Why did you say that - about the sky?"

"You were speaking out loud. It's true, though, it gets dark and then it gets light and it goes on and on..." he trails off and looks questioningly at Ryan, like there was something to be answered. Ryan looks down at the water again and knows there's a lot to be answered, really, though not to the lackey of the drug dealer that.

That.

A long silence spreads out among the years between them and there's a sudden rustle, a quake of the the bars in his hand, and the scruffy teen is gone from his side. A hole spreads along the edges of his rib cage before a chilled hand touches its fingers to his side.

"Why don't you come and see another blue sky with me?"

"Is it worth it?"

Silence.

"Is it fucking worth it!"

Silence.

20 minutes later when the boy doesn't talk and Ryan can't jump and the cold doesn't feel so cold anymore he climbs back over the bridges bars and onto cracked tarmac, wiping the tears from his cheeks.

The boy is gone.