Stupidity and Boys and Alcohol

What a stupid boy. Stupid stupid stupid. That’s all he ever was. He woke, groaning with a sick feeling in his throat. Hangover. Another one. When he drank, he knew he’d wake up the next day with a buzzing hangover and he’ll feel sick so he’ll throw up. He felt happy when he saw his insides unloaded into the toilet bowl. He liked the feeling when it came out of his mouth. When he turned twenty, he promised he’d stop. But he didn’t, he just kept going. This is why he’s so stupid. Stupid boy. Sick boy. Stupid.

He crashed onto the floor out of his bed, covers falling with him. He rubbed his head slowly whilst standing up, ready to hurl. He ran. The toilet stank from what had been puked into it day after day after day. It was gladly graced with another unload in the day as he threw up what he had into the toilet bowl.

He says he’s not finished yet. Jon said he was finished a long time ago, but no. In his mind, he wasn’t. In reality, he had.

And so why him? Why was it him who lived day after day after day like this?

Twenty-one and according to the thoughts of Ian Beale, he wasn’t normal. “Because, you just know, don’t you?”

Easing himself into death, that’s what he was doing. Drinking and not eating and not sleeping properly and putting himself into pain. That’s what he was doing.

When he was fifteen he met a boy. Sounds clichéd and boring, right? He met a boy who looked like a girl who looked like she’d just done it with a cokehead. Well done. When he was sixteen, he was close friends with the boy. When he was seventeen, they were nearly attached at the hip. Who cared? It’s not like people hadn’t been like this before...inevitable. He now lived with the boy. The boy had a name. The name was Ryan. Ryan supported him. Made him stable, made him believe he was worth living. Tried to make him stop. Each night, Ryan would whisper into his ear. “You can stop now. You can stop for me. Night, Brendon. Love you.” It was a routine. Ryan would give him a light kiss on the forehead before shutting off the light, closing the door and going to his room for his night’s sleep. He was worried.

That night, Ryan said those same words. And, what he didn’t know was that Brendon hadn’t got wasted that night. He heard those words. He knew Ryan loved him, but really, did Brendon love Ryan enough back?

Ryan shut off the light.

“Ryan,” Brendon shouted, making Ryan stumble in shock. Ryan didn’t know that Brendon was awake; Ryan didn’t know that he was sober that night.

Ryan wondered if he should answer. Well, of course he should answer!

“Brendon, do you know what you’re doing?” the truth was no. He didn’t understand what he was doing and why he was doing it. No, he knew why he was doing it.

“Yes,” Brendon gulped. “I’m being Brendon.”

Ryan just sighs, “You’re not, you don’t get it. You’re killing yourself slowly, Bren. Don’t do this to yourself, don’t do it to me.”

Ryan sits on the bed after flicking the light back on, perched. He looks at Brendon. Brendon looks back at Ryan.

“I’m not.”

And he is. Slowly.

The next morning, he jumped out of bed and rushed downstairs to the fridge. He had a small craving for orange juice. Ryan had seen him leap down and further watched him. He smiled. Morning, sober, active Brendon was cute to Ryan...and he realised. Ryan had fallen. Ryan loved this boy.

Brendon skipped into the room with a clear glass turned orange in his hand. Smiles all around.

“Hey, Ry,” He says, sipping the juice. “Why’re you up?”

“I’m always up at this time.”

Brendon wore a pair of boxers and a short sleeved t-shirt. Ryan was used to this. However, Ryan was probably used to a Brendon with a hangover and a decrease in clothing, just boxers.

“Cool. You feel like doing anything today?” one thing Ryan was not used to. Brendon was happy, active and sober. All it was, was a surprise to Ryan.

Ryan believed in God. Ryan believed that there was someone there out to help. Ryan believed that miracles can happen.

“What about you?” stupid Ryan. Make the most of this opportunity. Jesus Christ, make something happen!

Kiss him.

“Don’t really mind; let’s just do something together for once. We’re slipping apart, I think.” This had happened. Whenever Brendon wanted dry Rice Krispies, Ryan wanted milk. When Ryan wanted Shreddies, Brendon wanted Cornflakes.

“Would you hold my hand?”

“Of course I would.” Their hands linked in each others. They were happy, they were pleased.

They kissed.