Hell

I don’t understand why you always ignore my calls, especially lately. Ever since you met her she’s all you’ve talked about, all you can focus on for more than two minutes. I’m beginning to believe that she’s the only important factor of your life anymore. Or in other, more blunt, words, she is your life. I used to be your life like that. You’re the type of person that will let someone rule their life for maybe a year and then you dump them. You’re the type of person that falls in love easily, but falls very hard. You’re stubborn and obnoxious and loud but funny and gorgeous and…perfect. Perfect because your life is never your own. I guess that screws the whole grammar aspect up, though. Your life isn’t your life anymore. It’s hers. And we all just live around it.

I can tell you that if you don’t answer my calls today, something bad is going to happen because if you realize this or not, Brendon, I love you. I always will, I always have. I will do anything for you. I’m glad you’re happy and all, but I just don’t like her. She’s fucking slut, Brendon. I don’t see how you cannot figure that out. I’ve seen her in her bra more than once and she’s your girlfriend, not mine. I don’t even like girls. You’re the bisexual one. Besides, I think that you’re just trying to hide our relationship from everyone. We were such great friends, such an amazing couple, and now we’re nothing. Please explain to me why she’s so much better than I am because I can’t quite grasp why. What does she have that I don’t have? Oh yeah, boobs and a vagina. But, I have a penis! A penis is ten million times better than a vagina that’s for sure. And my penis is larger than the average penis; even you told me that. Her boobs are little.

And you told me that you like having butt sex better than you liked having the ‘natural’ kind. But I guess Christian, that’s her name, is an exception to the rules. She’s an exception to all of the rules. You told me I was too. But, I’m not sure I should have believed you. You’re a liar, Brendon Urie, you’re such a compulsive son of a bitch liar. Oh and I hope that you, Christian Wolff – stupid name, by the way -, know that I hate you more than anyone in the world. I hate you and your slutty self. I hate your pink high heels. I hate your black tank tops. I hate your mini jean skirts that allow me to see your stupid black thong. At least you wear underwear, if you didn’t Brendon would like you even more. Well, that’s what he told me. He told me he liked it when I didn’t wear boxers because it attracted him even more to be. He fell for me hard, Christian. He fell for me almost as hard, if not harder, than he’s falling for you. You think you’re so special, you dirty little whore, when you’re just like all the other girls and guys Brendon has dated. Fuck, I hate you so much.

I call you and you answer this time.

“Hello?” You say, breathlessly. You and Christian were fucking, I’m sure of it. You’re probably still fucking right now as I try to come up with something to say that won’t seem too offending with Christian right there. But you want to know something? I don’t care anymore. I’m going to die soon, we all are going to die one day. You already know how much I hate Christian. But she doesn’t know it yet. She doesn’t understand my hatred for her, I don’t think anyone does. Not even you. I think I hate her more than you love her. No actually I know that I do.

I’m not even sure if I can talk at this moment. All my angry thoughts disappeared at the sound of your voice. I hate you, I decide. No, I hate loving you when you’re all over her. But somehow I managed to force out a few mild profanities, at least mild for me, and hung up, violently. I want to leave a lasting impression for them. They know my feelings towards both of them, now. My life is complete.

There’s always an exception of the rules for you, Brendon. You always broke the boundaries you had set for yourself, just for ‘love’. Love that sometimes wouldn’t even last a year. But there’s one thing I will never say about you. You weren’t in our relationship just for sex. We had sex maybe once or twice, but never more than that. You told me that I was special. You told me I was the first person you really loved. I can’t even remember why we broke up now, even though it was just a mere four months ago. But I know you were lying when you said that. I found out about your past relationships with people a few days after we broke up because I was obsessed with getting you back, like I still am now.

Well, not anymore. As I don’t want ‘Christian’ germs.

And it’s sort of ironic how Christian’s name is Christian and she’s probably the complete opposite of a dedicated Christian. Things are always so funny that way. What’s even funnier is that it isn’t really that funny, at all.

My cell phone rings but I don’t answer it. It’s actually been twenty minutes since I called Brendon – and Christian, I guess – but I’ve been way too wrapped up in various thoughts about suicide, love, and hate that I could care less what time it is. Time is just a number the way love is just a word. My house phone rings, now, but I don’t want reach over to answer it either. I figure that Christian had gone back home – if she even owns a house anyway, she’s always at your house – and you have decided to apologize to me for pointless shit that I’ll never believe you about.

I hear you on my answering machine rambling on about things; you know exactly what I’m going to do. You say you’re coming over to get me, that you love me, just not more than a friend. Another lie, you shouldn’t be Brendon Urie. You should be Pinocchio with that long, wooden nose that grows with each dreadful lie that comes out of your mouth. I would laugh at you then, even though I still love you. I always will. Even though love is just a word, just like Pinocchio’s lies are just a little problem, I do love you in a helpless, everlasting way.

You call me again. I don’t answer. You leave another one with a message that is, and I quote, “Ryan! Ryan get your ass to this phone right now…you kill yourself or do anything you shouldn’t do…I’ll…I’ll kill myself too!”

My mind kept saying, “You liar. You know you’re lying. I wish you were Pinocchio. God, I wish you were Pinocchio, you fucking liar. You deserve the embarrassment for once.”

If you knew I was thinking this, you would tell me to hush and press our lips together just to make me feel better momentarily. If it made me feel permanently better I wouldn’t be in this position now, ready to stick a knife down my throat and other unmentionable places. If it made me feel permanently better I wouldn’t hate Christian so much. If it made me feel permanently then I wouldn’t be ignoring your calls.

“Ryan! Answer the door now!”

I jump at the sound of you banging on my door but I don’t listen to your yelling anymore. I almost threaten to slice my neck open faster if you don’t leave, but I decide against it. You don’t deserve to feel responsible for my death. After all, I love you and for you to feel pain would kill me even more, if that’s possible once you’re already dead. I don’t want to get into a religious debate but honestly, I don’t see how people believe that we’re all going to go to hell once we’re dead. We’ve already had to go through life, or in order words, Hell # 1. We certainly don’t deserve twice the pain, if that’s also possible. Afterlife and shit has always confused me.

“Jesus, Ryan! Please! I…know what you’re doing. I’ll call the police, I’m going to save you.”

My hand’s shakily crept up to the blade of the knife that was sitting as peacefully as a butcher knife could beside me on the leather of my father’s old chair. My father was another long story, I could write a whole book about him. But, just know that if it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t have this leather chair from his childhood next to me with a sharpened knife on top of it and a whole other load of almost forgotten pain from all of my twenty years. I carefully trail down the side of my wrist with the blade, slitting it slightly, just enough to coat the oh so familiar red liquid on the edges. I don’t even flinch, I was so used to it.

“Ryan, I’m coming in here!”

He says that, but I don’t believe him. Hopefully he won’t remember there’s a key under the mat, the top right corner of the mat, to be exact. Hopefully he won’t remember all the dates we came home from and I had forgotten my key, so we had to use the one under the top right corner of the puppy dog mat that read “Welcome,” that was even easy to see for people at a distance.

I push the corner of the knife even deeper into my skin, just to get used to the hurt. I’m going to do this, almost the same way, to my neck in just a few seconds. I just have to prepare myself first. This has always been my technique. I have to end everything right when I consider myself a professional, don’t I? It only makes sense to do it that way.

I hear more of your screaming, Brendon. You’re freaking me out now. You’re threatening to do all these things but I barely believe you. I can’t believe you anymore. You’re Pinocchio, remember? Maybe that’s why you have such an ugly nose, I realize after thinking about it for a while. It’s quite a realization, to be honest. I always have wondered how you’re so gorgeous but how you’re nose is so deformed. That’s what you get, Brendon. That’s what you get forletting your heart win lying so fucking much. I’m not going to listen to your pathetic shrieks or your hollow caveats. You don’t mean anything to me anymore, you were just some stupid boyfriend that I’m going to forget about when I go to hell. I suddenly know I’m going to hell. Not only did I never worship God or Jesus who ever the fuck they want me to worship – I wouldn’t know, I never paid attention in Sunday School – but I’m also a fag, a worthless faggot who’s ending his life over Brendon Urie, a half fag, and yes, that does count to the ‘Lord’ or whatever. He’s still slept with guys, many, many times, I believe.

The knife slices an even deeper cut onto the side of my collarbone as I brought it up closer and closer to my neck. Blood trickles down my flesh, blending into the thin fabric of my white v-neck. I’m shaking now, though I’ve barely even taken notice of it. My eyes are watering with tears because I can feel pain now. Not only the physical pain but also all of my emotional burdens are crashing out too. Brendon’s still screaming and ready to knock down the door. And even though I try not to let it get to me, it’s making this whole thing so much fucking harder for me. Knowing that Brendon is actually wasting his time to try to save me is too much. He’s probably just doing this so he can torture me more. Torture me enough to where it kills me with so much unbearable pain on my heart and on my body. He probably just wants to chop my dick off himself. He probably just wants to rip out my heart and step on it or stab it with a knife or something. He wants to kill me himself, it would be worse for me to do it myself, you know?

I cut a long strip from the top of my neck all the way around to the top of my back with one long stride and drop the knife in utter pain. Swears come rushing out of my mouth like diarrhea, I can’t control them, or anything else, at this moment. At least I don’t scream, at least I don’t show Brendon any sign that I was almost gone. The last thing I faintly hear is the sound of Brendon’s cell phone ringing outside my door. There’s a pause in his yelling, just enough for him to answer the phone. I can tell by the tone of voice that it’s Christian he’s talking to. There’s more yelling. He’s yelling at her. Her!

I black out for a few minutes from bleeding so much and finally when I think I’m dead, I’m not. I hear his voice, your voice, saying, “Ryan, don’t…don’t l-leave me, baby. I love you….p-please don’t go.”

I can’t help it, Brendon. I’m slipping away, falling away from you. I’m not sure if I believe you, do you really love me? Did you really just call me baby, or am I hallucinating? Is this what hell is like? It is just wanting me to feel guilty for committing suicide? I’m only realizing now that I’ve just committed suicide.

Then, I feel myself coughing up blood, something no dead person could do. I’m still alive. I hear your voice again. I can’t make out what you’re saying, but you’re speaking to me. That’s all that matters. I tell myself, I can make it. I’ll do it for you. After all, you love me. I really believe it now. I’m going to do okay. I’m going to live. I feel you pressing your lips up against mine, even though they’re sickly and bloody and I’m going to die any second now. You’re kissing me like the world is about to end, not just my stupid, short life. I try to talk but nothing’s coming out. You hush me. You’re telling me I can make it. I’m getting closer to opening my eyes. But, nothing’s happening. I’m giving up hope again, Brendon. Please say you love me. Please, just for me. Save me, Brendon. Save me from this cruel place they call hell.

“I l-love you, R-Ry.”

That’s all I hear and I feel a smile creep up my cheeks, onto my pale face. I don’t understand what’s exactly happening now. I feel dizzy, like I’m going to collapse into thin air. And that’s exactly what I do. I’m angry with myself, as I flash through bright colors. They are pretty bright colors though. They’re the ugly kind of crayons that you never use in the 72 crayon box. They’re scary, very very scary. I want to die but soon enough I realize – and understand fairly well – that I am dead. There is no going back now. Though for some strange reason, I feel okay. I’m not hurt, I’m not damaged, and I’m not even bleeding anymore. But I don’t have you, Brendon. You let me slip away, I let myself slip away. Even after promising that just those three simple words, “I love you”, could fix it all, I let myself go.

But you love me even though I’m in a nonexistent state now. And I can honestly say, I cannot wait for you to come join me in this place they call ‘hell’. Why do I feel so amazing if I’m in hell? I suddenly get a incoming thought – I didn’t know you could think when you’re dead – and decide, It’s Opposite Day. And it’s always opposite day in hell, that’s the trick.

I fall out of the crazy colored tunnel and feel relieved for a moment. It hadn’t been bothering me too much, but I still didn’t enjoy the flashing lights and shit. It wasn’t too comfortable and it was giving me a migraine – you can feel when you’re dead? – besides, something else caught my eyes. Both of them. Christian is lying beside me, motionless and pale. Suddenly, I want to see those ugly ass colors again. I want it back. I’d rather have anything to be stuck in here with her, that’s probably why they call it hell. You’re stuck with your unresponsive worst enemy.

I feel like I’m being sucked out of my position and my eyes flutter open – you have eyes in hell? I feel a hand on my arm and there’s someone talking in the background – you can hear in hell? I feel someone breathing on my neck now, too – you can feel in hell?

“Ryan,” someone whispers, I can’t really tell who it is. “I love you. C-Come back…it’s…it’s o-okay. I b-broke up with C-Christian.”

Who’s Christian?

Then, I snap out of that and see Christian back beside me, again. Wait, wasn’t I just asking who Christian is? I do this a few more times, with various voices all saying the same thing. I’m slipping in and out and consciousness that’s what I’m doing, I realize in what must be hours later, I’m not sure. I’m not exactly sure about anything anymore, until I hear you say, so proudly, “Ryan, you’re okay! Baby…baby you’re awake! You’re not d-dead!”

I’m not sure of this yet, but I think you’re right. I think I’m all right. I’m out of hell and I’m with you now, Brendon. You’re holding me in your arms and I must have been crying – crying is an understatement, really – because you’re rocking me and wiping my eyes. You’re telling me it’s okay, you’re going to help me. We can be together now.

“I love you, Ryan,” you say and I wish I could say the same back, Brendon, but my throat won’t let me speak. My voice cords won’t vibrate into any noise. But it’s okay because you know this, you understand. And somehow you just know everything. “You’re out of hell,” You state. You really do know everything. You’re my savoir, like god is to some. You saved me from hell, not Him.

“I love you,” You repeat, forcing another smile upon my lips. I love you just for saying that, just for saving me from hell. I’ve escaped hell because of you so thanks, for everything.