Status: Unfinished - Hiatus
Closet Users
Chapter Two
"Now, calmly explain to me the hell happened to you." We arrived at Spencer's house not to long ago. He sat me down on the couch before going to get my hot chocolate. I couldn't really tell him in the car what happened. So he just let me sit there and cry. I'm not the world's strongest girl, I've come to terms with that.
Now I'm here, sitting on his couch listening to his footsteps come closer to the couch and hand me my warm drink.
"Well, I was sitting at home watching TV when Ryan called me saying something about really needing to talk to me about Brendon. He told me to meet him at some restaurant. As I was about to leave, Brendon called me saying he spoke to Ryan and to meet them somewhere else instead. Brendon didn't tell me the name, just gave me instructions before hanging up. I went there and neither of them showed up. They wouldn't answer their phones and I was all alone. Thank god you answered and came to get me."
"That's it? I was half expecting there to be some great tale of triumph and torture." I could tell he was trying to make me laugh, but I didn't feel like it. So he just continued talking. "I just called them, they are both on their way."
"Oh thank god! I thought something may have happened to them. I hope they didn't get into another fight." Spencer sat next to me. Indistinctly, I cuddled closer to him. Thankfully, he didn't push me away.
"Can I ask you a question, Spence?" He nodded his head. "What do you do when you're upset; what do you need?"
"I don't exactly know. Why?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't quite know what to say. When I'm sad I guess I kind of need to be loved to prove to myself it's not my fault and that people still love me. I guess I just always need to be loved. I'm not sure.
"Renee, are you even in in there still?' I stopped my thinking and snapped back to reality.
"Yes I am, sorry! What did you say?"
"I said, Ryan and Brendon are back."
Ryan's Point Of View
Brendon and I both got to Spencer's house the same time, neither of us wanting to acknowledged the other. He glanced at me, running up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind him while I took my time. I was no where near excited for the next series of events.
Once actually inside I kept my eyes down, hoping no one noticed me enter; Renee and Brendon were obviously distracted with yelling at each other and Spencer trying to referee. The couple was in a back bedroom before long, still arguing.
"Do you mind telling me what's going on?" Spencer whisperers, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"I don't think we're the ones who need to quiet down, Spence." I replied, a few bars louder then what you'd consider an 'inside voice.'
"Fine then." He said after a moment, motioning for me to take a seat on the couch, him sitting next to me. "Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on?"
I smirked, staring at the carpet, my legs crossed at the knee, folded hands resting in my lap. When you grow up with a drunk and a fiend of a father and a mother who doesn't take shit, you get use to yelling, and you get use to feeling small. That's how I felt, hearing Renee screaming at the top of her lungs, voice breaking and trying not to cry, with Brendon yelling back at her; I felt small.
"Ryan. Come on, don't you dare zone out on me. Tell m3 what's going on. What's up with Renee and Brendon? Where were you two? What did you need to tell her? Come on..." He urges.
When someone knows you're father is a drunk and a fiend and that your mother doesn't take anyone's shit, they tend to ask you a lot of questions, especially when they know how verbally abusive they can both be at times, him more then her. They always assume that he's hit you, or she'll slap you across the face if you're home late. You get use to people asking you too many questions and assuming the worst when you don't respond. I suppose Brendon and Renee are a lot like my parents, in a sense; minus the drinking and either of them yelling at me. Some thing's wrong and she comes to me; he needs or wants something, or is trying to make up for something he did to her or to me, and I'll be there and accept the bribes. I'm greedy, but I'm not stupid; I'll take the gifts but I don't have a big enough conscience to do what he asks.
That was the case with my father, anyway. I happen to like Brendon a hell of a lot more then I like my father.
"George Ryan Ross the third, answer me!"
When your father is a drunk and a fiend. When your mother doesn't take anyone's shit. When you're a child living this sort of life, being asked to many questions and hearing too much yelling, you get far too use to people using your full name. Including your number.
"Brendon cheats on Renee all the time. Renee is then mine until Brendon comes back around to take what's left of her." I finally choke out
"Yea, I noticed...We all know that. She even knows that. What makes this time so different?" He asks, eyebrows coming together. It's a rather unattractive look on my friend, I must admit.
"He started cheating on her with me."
Quick and painless. Just like a band-aid.
"That's what I wanted to tell her tonight." I added. "I wanted to tell her because I was so tired of Brendon using her. But we went somewhere else, and... I made him stop, and he did. I don't want to be the one hurting her...I don't want to hurt him either, though."
And he stares back, mouth open slightly. This, also, is not a very attractive look. His eyes widen and his mouth opens as if to say something only when he sees Renee storm out of the bed room, crying, Brendon yelling at her.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," She mutters it like a mantra, wiping at her eyes and covering her ears, sinking into an arm chair in the corner.
"Listen to me!" He's yelling, stomping into the room. "You're using him! What you're doing to Ryan is worse then what I'm doing to you -- I don't keep going back to the same women -- !"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Oh, Brendon, what a lying bitch you are.
Did I ever mention how much I --
"Think about it!" I don't know why he feels the need to yell this loud, but Brendon's on a roll, and I don't think I've ever seen him so furious. "You keep going back to him because you know he won't say no to you --"
"Just like you do with me!" Renee finally says something besides 'shut up' and clutches the arm rests of the chair.
Brendon looks at her hard, coming over and holding her chin, making Renee look up at him. "Just like I do with you."
If you changed some of the words around, I could say this next sentence and have it be one hundred percent true.
I am eight years old again, cowering in the corner, watching my parents fight.
And just like when I was eight, I bolt out the door, whispering the same mantra my mother and Renee used, only slowing when going down the stairs or when I knew I was at least two blocks away.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up...
Now I'm here, sitting on his couch listening to his footsteps come closer to the couch and hand me my warm drink.
"Well, I was sitting at home watching TV when Ryan called me saying something about really needing to talk to me about Brendon. He told me to meet him at some restaurant. As I was about to leave, Brendon called me saying he spoke to Ryan and to meet them somewhere else instead. Brendon didn't tell me the name, just gave me instructions before hanging up. I went there and neither of them showed up. They wouldn't answer their phones and I was all alone. Thank god you answered and came to get me."
"That's it? I was half expecting there to be some great tale of triumph and torture." I could tell he was trying to make me laugh, but I didn't feel like it. So he just continued talking. "I just called them, they are both on their way."
"Oh thank god! I thought something may have happened to them. I hope they didn't get into another fight." Spencer sat next to me. Indistinctly, I cuddled closer to him. Thankfully, he didn't push me away.
"Can I ask you a question, Spence?" He nodded his head. "What do you do when you're upset; what do you need?"
"I don't exactly know. Why?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't quite know what to say. When I'm sad I guess I kind of need to be loved to prove to myself it's not my fault and that people still love me. I guess I just always need to be loved. I'm not sure.
"Renee, are you even in in there still?' I stopped my thinking and snapped back to reality.
"Yes I am, sorry! What did you say?"
"I said, Ryan and Brendon are back."
Ryan's Point Of View
Brendon and I both got to Spencer's house the same time, neither of us wanting to acknowledged the other. He glanced at me, running up the steps and into the house, slamming the door behind him while I took my time. I was no where near excited for the next series of events.
Once actually inside I kept my eyes down, hoping no one noticed me enter; Renee and Brendon were obviously distracted with yelling at each other and Spencer trying to referee. The couple was in a back bedroom before long, still arguing.
"Do you mind telling me what's going on?" Spencer whisperers, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
"I don't think we're the ones who need to quiet down, Spence." I replied, a few bars louder then what you'd consider an 'inside voice.'
"Fine then." He said after a moment, motioning for me to take a seat on the couch, him sitting next to me. "Will you please tell me what the fuck is going on?"
I smirked, staring at the carpet, my legs crossed at the knee, folded hands resting in my lap. When you grow up with a drunk and a fiend of a father and a mother who doesn't take shit, you get use to yelling, and you get use to feeling small. That's how I felt, hearing Renee screaming at the top of her lungs, voice breaking and trying not to cry, with Brendon yelling back at her; I felt small.
"Ryan. Come on, don't you dare zone out on me. Tell m3 what's going on. What's up with Renee and Brendon? Where were you two? What did you need to tell her? Come on..." He urges.
When someone knows you're father is a drunk and a fiend and that your mother doesn't take anyone's shit, they tend to ask you a lot of questions, especially when they know how verbally abusive they can both be at times, him more then her. They always assume that he's hit you, or she'll slap you across the face if you're home late. You get use to people asking you too many questions and assuming the worst when you don't respond. I suppose Brendon and Renee are a lot like my parents, in a sense; minus the drinking and either of them yelling at me. Some thing's wrong and she comes to me; he needs or wants something, or is trying to make up for something he did to her or to me, and I'll be there and accept the bribes. I'm greedy, but I'm not stupid; I'll take the gifts but I don't have a big enough conscience to do what he asks.
That was the case with my father, anyway. I happen to like Brendon a hell of a lot more then I like my father.
"George Ryan Ross the third, answer me!"
When your father is a drunk and a fiend. When your mother doesn't take anyone's shit. When you're a child living this sort of life, being asked to many questions and hearing too much yelling, you get far too use to people using your full name. Including your number.
"Brendon cheats on Renee all the time. Renee is then mine until Brendon comes back around to take what's left of her." I finally choke out
"Yea, I noticed...We all know that. She even knows that. What makes this time so different?" He asks, eyebrows coming together. It's a rather unattractive look on my friend, I must admit.
"He started cheating on her with me."
Quick and painless. Just like a band-aid.
"That's what I wanted to tell her tonight." I added. "I wanted to tell her because I was so tired of Brendon using her. But we went somewhere else, and... I made him stop, and he did. I don't want to be the one hurting her...I don't want to hurt him either, though."
And he stares back, mouth open slightly. This, also, is not a very attractive look. His eyes widen and his mouth opens as if to say something only when he sees Renee storm out of the bed room, crying, Brendon yelling at her.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up," She mutters it like a mantra, wiping at her eyes and covering her ears, sinking into an arm chair in the corner.
"Listen to me!" He's yelling, stomping into the room. "You're using him! What you're doing to Ryan is worse then what I'm doing to you -- I don't keep going back to the same women -- !"
"Shut up, shut up, shut up..."
Oh, Brendon, what a lying bitch you are.
Did I ever mention how much I --
"Think about it!" I don't know why he feels the need to yell this loud, but Brendon's on a roll, and I don't think I've ever seen him so furious. "You keep going back to him because you know he won't say no to you --"
"Just like you do with me!" Renee finally says something besides 'shut up' and clutches the arm rests of the chair.
Brendon looks at her hard, coming over and holding her chin, making Renee look up at him. "Just like I do with you."
If you changed some of the words around, I could say this next sentence and have it be one hundred percent true.
I am eight years old again, cowering in the corner, watching my parents fight.
And just like when I was eight, I bolt out the door, whispering the same mantra my mother and Renee used, only slowing when going down the stairs or when I knew I was at least two blocks away.
Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up...