Hold Your Breath

I angrily mumbled several curses under my breath. I had awoken the next morning in utterly exhausted from the night's events. I had one black eye and had barely avoided getting another one. How do I constantly find myself in these situations? Rolling over in my bed, I stared at the clock. It was ten in the morning and oddly enough, it was uncharacteristically quiet.

"BRENDON!" a voice cried bursting through the door.

I guess I spoke too soon.

"Wha?" I asked, lifting my head and allowing some drool to drip from my mouth.

"Sandy's left back for Nevada," Jon announced though he didn't seem too happy about it. I wonder why.

"Tha's gooooood," I answered tiredly.

"But Ryan's missing," Jon said grimly.

I frowned at him, "Wha? Why?"

"I don't know. No one's seen him after he and Sandy fought in their room. He's been missing all night," Jon said worredly.

Great. Leave it to the great Ryan Ross to go missing the day we have a concert. I pushed myself up unsteadily from the bed and gripped Jon by the shoulders.

"We have to find him," I said barely awake.

Jon rolled his eyes, "Thank you Captain obvious."

[Ryan's POV]
My eyes blinked open and I found myself staring up into the blue sky. Woah, am I dead? I asked myself.

A foot kicked me as someone passed my sprawled out body. I guess not... I thought sadly to myself.

I attempted to pull myself off of the ground and found it impossible. Everytime I moved, my head would start pounding. Where the hell was I? I was obviously outside on the sidewalk. I had come to that conclusion as someone else passed me by and muttered angrily about crazy drunks.

Crazy drunks? Now I remember, although vaguely, the events of last night.

"What can I get you sir?" asked the bartender as he cleaned a cup.

"Whiskey, dry," I said somberly.

Several minutes and six shots later, I began to feel the effects of the alcohol. Everyone was beginning to stare me oddly. Why are they looking at me that way? What did I do to deserve this? I groaned.

"Another one, please," I asked the bartender.

The guy looked at me apprehensively, obviously thinking that it was a bad idea that I be served another shot, "Alright guy,"

He passed me another shot and I downed it immediately. Pretty soon I was asking for me tenth shot.

"Hey, maybe you should lay off it a little. Do you want to talk about your problems?" The guy asked me a little concerned.

I shook my head no and outstretched my arm for another shot.

"I can't man. We're closing up," he said somewhat relieved that he wouldn't have to serve me my killing shot.

I rolled my eyes irritably and got up unsteadily, making my way towards the door. I had barely gotten outside when I collapsed.

"I'm an idiot," I muttered to myself as more pain surge through my head.

An Indian Jones ringtone started to play. I blinked my eyes in disbelief that the high pitched ringtone could be so awful sounding to my ears. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my cell phone.

"Hello?" I asked in a raspy voice.

"RYAN ROSS! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"

"Good morning, Brendon."