All Was Golden in the Sky

Effie and her crew were very understanding when we had to jet out on such short notice. Luckily there wasn’t much that would have had to be done over the next two days, anyway—Effie said we’d already gotten a lot more done than she thought we would have in the four hours we’d been there. I felt less guilty leaving after hearing her say that, but regardless of whether there had been more that needed to be done, I would have left anyway.

Spencer was one of my dearest friends, and if he needed me, I was going to be there.

Dallon picked us up from the airport, having volunteered so Brendon didn’t have to worry about leaving his friend. He filled us in on what had happened. Spencer was depressed, he said, and had gotten really drunk. Only problem was he was on heavy doses of Ativan and Vicodin, too. And those things didn’t really mix.

Luckily Brendon had gone over to Spencer’s house to talk about a new song he’d written, getting there before he’d done any real damage, snatching away his liquor and screaming at him for being such an idiot with mixing it with his medication. Apparently Spencer had been in a daze, not understanding the severity of the situation, and was in the process of sobering up when Brendon had called us. Paramedics said he was lucky no effects had taken place yet, but that he needed to be watched carefully to ensure nothing happened.

“He’s pretty shaken up,” Dallon said, pulling onto the highway.

Meagan sat in the backseat and looked up from her phone, in the process of texting Pete. “Who, Spencer?”

Dallon shook his head, shooting a quick glance over at me where I sat next to him. “No, Brendon. I’ve never seen him so freaked before.”

“Spencer’s one of his oldest friends,” I said quietly, staring at the road ahead. I didn’t want to discuss it anymore; I just wanted to get to Brendon. I stared out the window the entire ride to Spencer’s house, only vaguely aware of any conversation Dallon and Meagan kept up. I was worried—about Brendon, about Spencer, and about how none of us had seen how depressed he had been.

We pulled up into Spence’s driveway and I jumped out of the car, almost before Dallon had stopped completely. I didn’t worry about grabbing anything to bring in—I just needed to see Spencer and make sure he was okay.

He was sitting on the couch next to his girlfriend, Linda. Both looked very pale and nervous; her hand was rubbing his back almost of its own accord. She was looking into his face, sad and concerned, like she was waiting for something. He was staring into space, and didn’t even flinch when I slammed the door open.

Brendon was sitting in a chair on the other side of the room, his head in his hands and his hair awfully askew. He looked up when I walked in, and I saw a flicker of relief spread across his face. “Annie,” he breathed, and then his eyes shot over to Spencer. I figured we’d have plenty of time for a reunion later, and so I walked over to kneel before Spencer on the couch.

Linda smiled softly at me in greeting, and I placed my hand on Spencer’s knee gently in an attempt to get his attention. His eyes rolled to me, and I noticed tension behind them I hadn’t seen when we were together in Nags Head. “I’m not fucking fragile, Annie,” he snapped, brushing my hand off. “You don’t need to be so gentle.”

“Would you rather she fucking slapped you instead?” Brendon shot at him, and my harsh glare only simmered him down a little bit. He sat back in his chair, and I could almost see the fumes burning from him.

“What happened, Spence?” I whispered. I hoped I could soothe the room by keeping everything quiet, but it seemed like I had just walked into the aftermath of a storm.

He rolled his eyes and huffed, but I could see the fear behind his eyes. “Whatever, Annie. It’s not like I tried to kill myself or anything.”

“Are you stupid?” Brendon’s voice cracked, and he jumped out of his seat. “Maybe not directly, but you down a whole bottle of bourbon and all those pills and that’s the route you’re gonna end up taking! Jesus, Spencer!”

I hurried over and placed my hands on his chest, trying to keep him from approaching Spencer while his anger was so vibrant. Linda held back Spencer, too; I could feel the tension breaking behind me, like a guitar string that had been tuned too tight.

Brendon’s nostrils were flaring as he breathed in quickly, his chest rising rapidly beneath my palms. I brought my hands up to his cheeks, alarmed at how hot his skin felt against mine. “Baby, look at me,” I pleaded. I’d never seen him so angry—not when Ryan and Jon left the band, not when he’d dropped his guitar and the neck broke. It was a fury that absolutely terrified me, and I had no idea how to contain it.

His eyes flashed to mine, but it was like he was staring right through me, not even seeing me standing in front of him. It had taken us seven hours to get home—seven hours for his anger to stew, for words to be said that could not be taken back, and I worried what those hours had been like to him, and to Spencer and Linda. I wondered if there had been words, or just painful silence. I worried that he’d kept his feelings bottled up for way too long.

“Brendon, baby, look at me.” I stroked my fingers against his cheeks, feeling some scruff that hadn’t been there before I left. The cool feeling of my ring seemed to shake him into awareness, and his eyes finally focused on me. My heart broke for him; I could feel his sadness and concern, and I knew the tear that slid down his cheek was not for himself.

I heard Dallon and Meagan walk in, but we were all trapped in that quiet standstill, with both Linda and me trying to silently calm our lovers to prevent a further storm. Brendon covered my hands with his and leaned his forehead against mine, closing his eyes with a sigh as he tried to calm down. I murmured gentle words to him, and I heard Linda doing the same behind me.

After several minutes, Brendon pulled away from me, keeping my hands tightly clenched in his. He looked over my shoulder, locking eyes with his best friend for so many years. “You scared the shit out of me, ya dick,” he said quietly.

Spencer surprised us all when he choked out a genuine laugh, quickly wiping at his face. “I know, dude. I know. And I’m sorry.”

Brendon shook his head and walked away from me, over to where Spencer sat. “No, I’m sorry. I’m the one that was a dick and flipped shit on you when that was the last thing you needed.” He bit his lip and scratched the back of his neck. “I just…I didn’t…why didn’t you tell me?”

I’d never seen Spencer cry before, but tears flooded his eyes and streamed down his cheeks as he shook his head. His eyes were looking at Brendon, through Brendon, into his soul, pleading. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t know.”

We stayed for a few more hours, making sure Spencer was feeling well and that Linda was okay enough for us to leave. We moved my bags out of Dallon’s car and into Brendon’s so Dallon could drop Meagan off at her house with Pete. Brendon sped us off towards our home without a word. I so badly wanted to say something to comfort him, but I didn’t know the first thing to say.

It was late, almost midnight, by the time we pulled into the driveway. Brendon carried in my bags, all but ignoring my gentle attempts to take them from him. He disappeared into our bathroom, and it was unsettling hearing no sound coming from the other side of the door. I changed into some pajamas my mom had sent me for Christmas last year and leaned against the door, knocking softly.

“Bren?” I called. “Can I come in?”

I heard some kind of strangled sniffle and then the door popped open enough for me to slide inside. He was sitting in a ball on the floor, head between his knees and arms wrapped tightly around himself, like it was the only thing keeping him together. I sat down next to him and wrapped my arm around his neck, tugging until he turned and buried his face into my chest and embraced me.

“It’s okay, baby,” I cooed, trying to keep the sadness I felt out of my throat. Brendon needed more comfort than I did at the moment. “Spence is gonna be okay.”

“I didn’t even know,” Brendon choked.

“None of us did,” I said softly, running my fingers through his hair.

He gripped me tighter, and I felt his nails dig little crescents into my side. “I should have,” he said. “I should have been able to tell something was up.”

I shook my head and kissed his forehead. “Brendon, don’t do that. Don’t do that to yourself. You couldn’t have known.”

He pulled away, looking at me with wet eyes. He was a beautiful crier, no splotches or mucus or anything—just pure tears and sadness that made my heart break. “I’m his best friend, Annie. How the fuck did I not see how depressed he was? What if I hadn’t gotten there before shit got serious? How the fuck did I not know he was so miserable?”

And just like Spencer, I didn’t know.

--

Brendon went over to Spencer’s a lot that following week. With how distracted he was over the whole thing, I didn’t have a chance to tell him about my meeting in New York at all, but I didn’t mind. All our focus was on making sure Spencer was getting better. Nothing was more important than that.

I sent a lot of casseroles and desserts along with him whenever he went. I didn’t want Spencer or Linda to stress about cooking while things were calming down. Linda seemed to appreciate it; whenever I tagged along to hang out with her, she always had this sad smile on her face, but now that we all knew I could see a lot of the tension gone from her. We were all going to help. She wouldn’t be alone in helping Spencer now.

A lot of my nights during that next month were spent alone. Brendon would lock himself up in his music room until well into the early morning. I spent a lot of nights waking up at odd hours to the pressure of him collapsing onto the bed and tugging me into his chest with an exhausted sigh. We hadn’t been intimate since before I left for Maryland, which was far from the norm for us. By the middle of November, I was beyond lonely, and so I finally decided to sneak down to the music room to convince Brendon to come to bed.

I wasn’t surprised to find him passed out on his desk, his guitar strapped over his shoulders and his cheek pressed against the pages of some of his lyrics. Brendon usually threw himself into his work, but since we found out about Spencer’s growing addiction to alcohol and his medication, Brendon had been working to near obsession. I didn’t like seeing him so worn out and depressed.

He snored a little when I brushed his bangs back from his face, his lips parting to form the most adorable pout. I carefully maneuvered him to take the guitar off and gently placed it on its stand. When I turned back, he was sitting up on his chair, tiredly rubbing his eyes as he watched me. “I fell asleep,” he said, and his voice sounded so sleepy and adorable I couldn’t but help but giggle.

“Yeah, you did.” I stood in front of him and draped my arms over his shoulders. “Why don’t you come to bed, honey?” I tickled my fingers against the back of his neck where his hairline started, and I smiled when I felt him shiver. “You’ve been working so hard.”

He sighed and reached up to grab my hands, pulling them down gently, but I didn’t miss the rejection in his sigh. “You go ahead up, babe. I’ll be there soon.”

I bit my lip, trying to calm the swell of disappointment that was boiling in my stomach. “You say that every night.” I sounded like a child, but I didn’t care. I missed my fiancée, gosh darn it. Glancing over at his papers, I couldn’t help but feel some small amount of hatred for whatever had been consuming all his life for the past month. “How’s the song coming?”

Brendon looked really tired when he looked back up at me, but I tried not to look in his eyes. I wanted to feel bad for myself that night, not him. “It’s good,” he said softly. “I’ve pretty much got it done. I’m gonna play it for the guys tomorrow so we can start recording it.” He cleared his throat and looked down at his hands. “It’s for Spencer.”

I wrapped my arms around myself and sat down on the desk, looking anywhere but at him. “Can I hear it?” I asked quietly. I thought I saw him smile, but I kept my eyes glued on his guitar as he picked it back up. He hesitated, trying to catch my eye, but when I didn’t give in to his stare he sighed and began strumming.

“This is gospel for the fallen ones, locked away in permanent slumber, assembling their philosophies from pieces of broken memories.” The more I listened to him sing, the more difficult it was to hate him and his music—it was incredible, and I was a sucker for that voice. He kept his eyes down the entire time he sang, fingers sliding along the fret board flawlessly, and I couldn’t help but become mesmerized by him.

When he finished, his eyes rolled up to look at me. I felt my breath catch when he looked at me; I could see he still held such pain behind his eyes, questioning himself still for not knowing about his friend’s depression. Staring into those eyes, seeing the man I loved more than anything feeling so tortured, I realized I didn’t have the heart to add to his guilt.

I gave him a watery smile, trying to hold back my tears. “It’s great,” I said. I pushed off the desk, avoiding his eyes as I walked back to the door. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Annie—“

I didn’t have it in me to look back at him. Instead, I could only walk up to my cold bed and shiver under the sheets, wiping away old tears and waiting for the midnight moment when I would finally feel exhausted arms hold me, if only for a few hours.