Cancer

Banner by Insane Gravity. <3

"So I've been thinking," said Ryan as he slowed the car to a stop outside of my hotel.

I waited for him to continue. He didn't.

"You've been thinking what?" I prompted.

He took a deep breath and his jaw set with determination as he turned to face me. "I've been thinking you should come on tour with us."

I could only stare at him in disbelief for a moment. "Come...come with you?" I stammered.

"Yeah." A genuine smile of excitement lit up his face and he went on hurriedly, "Please, Kelsey, come with us! You could sell merch for us or something, and then we could still--"

"No!" I half-shouted before I could stop myself, terrified by the vision of being stuck on a tourbus with Brendon for weeks at a time. Ryan flinched, his expression suddenly hurt, and I sighed regretfully. "I can't go on tour with you, Ryan. I'm sorry, but I just can't."

He stared at me in confusion and sadness. "Why not?"

Was he really going to make me say the words we both knew already? "Because...you know..."

Understanding dawned over his face, but his dejected expression persisted. "Oh," he said shortly. "Right. Brendon."

I hoped he didn't notice me wince as he said Brendon's name. "Sorry," I mumbled pathetically.

"No, I understand," said Ryan, but he looked and sounded more crestfallen than I had ever seen him before. "I should have known, I just..." He trailed off, sighing.

"You just what?" I asked quietly.

"I just hoped. That's all." Despite the sadness in his face, Ryan smiled at me. "I'll miss you."

Startled, I could only blink at him in surprise for a moment. "I'll miss you, too," I said, and I found it was the truth.

He was quiet and excruciatingly serious for a moment; there was a hesitancy and an eagerness about the look on his face that made me think he was about to say something passionate and life-changing. But then his face seemed to relax, the intensity there draining away slightly, and all he said was, "Goodnight, Kelsey."

For a moment, I struggled in vain to read the emotions glittering in his eyes--but it was too dark there in his car, and his soul was too private, so I gave up and got out of the car. "Goodnight," I said as I shut the car door behind me.

I stood on the sidewalk alone and watched Ryan drive off down the street until I couldn't see his tail lights in the darkness anymore, wondering what I was still doing here in this godforsaken town and what the hell I was waiting for, exactly. Because it felt exactly like waiting--waiting and searching but finding nothing, like the infinite secret warmth in Ryan's eyes.

-----

Once again, I found myself stumbling into the hotel room I shared with Mom at 2 AM after spending the day (and, admittedly, most of the night as well) with Ryan. I tried to be sneaky about it, but, once again, Mom was waiting up for me.

"Where've you been?" she wondered from within her fortress of overstuffed hotel pillows (she slept with all four of the pillows on her twin bed and three of mine tucked in around her, like a small child warding off the boogeyman). Her eyes did not look red or puffy like they did when she'd been crying, I noted--just slightly bloodshot and droopy from sleepiness.

"Out," I said shortly as I peeled off my jacket and dumped it onto the small vanity by the bathroom. I changed into a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in and started my nightly getting-ready-for-bed routine.

"Oh," she mumbled simply at my clipped reply. "With...friends?"

There was a tremulous note of curiosity in her voice that made me uneasy. Clearly, she was fishing for information--information I was not at all comfortable with giving out yet.

I finished getting ready for bed and flipped out the light in the bathroom, walking over to perch myself on the edge of my bed, facing her.

"Yeah, I guess so," I admitted reluctantly. Then, recklessly deciding it would be best to go ahead and put the truth out there, I blurted out, "With Ryan Ross--you remember him, from dinner at--" (I mentally stumbled over Brendon's name and then skipped past it)--"with the Uries, the other night?"

She stared at me blankly, her expression polite but noncomprehending.

"The tall skinny one that dresses like a hobo from the seventies?" I prompted.

"Oh!" Understanding dawned across her face. "Oh, yes! He, uh...he seems like a nice boy." She offered me a stained and unsure smile--but her expression radiated hope nonetheless.

"Mhmm," I agreed suspiciously.

I could see that she was only trying to please me by flattering who she believed to be my friends. She had never used this tactic on me before, and I couldn't help but feel a little on edge and distrustful.

What was she getting at?

"You, uh...you two get along well?" Another hopeful smile, attempting to urge me on to say more. I was instantly on guard.

"Yes." I could even hear the confusion coloring my voice. "He's...he's a good friend." She started to say something else, but I cut her off, reaching over to touch her shoulder gently. "Mom, you should get to sleep. It's late and you need your rest."

"Honey," she cooed, touching my face tenderly. "You don't need to get so nervous. I think it's good that you're getting out with some new friends. You need to get your mind off of...Brendon."

I could tell by the way she hesitated before she said his name that she knew how much it hurt me, that she expected me to wince and turn away at the sound of it--and I did. She was exactly right. Again.

"You really miss him, don't you?" said Mom quietly.

"No," came the instinctive lie, the knee-jerk I'm-okay reaction. But a second later I realized how it could be a partial truth: "I just miss the way things used to be, that's all."

Her expression shifted and pinched inward on itself, screwing up into one of unfathomable intensity. "Oh, honey!" she gasped, her eyes suddenly fierce and wild with some strange emotion I couldn't recognize, and before I even had time to be startled, she reached out and grabbed me and pulled me into her tight embrace. She held me there for a while, rocking me back and forth on her lap as if she was comforting me. But I felt hot beads of moisture drip onto my neck one-by-one, and I wasn't the one crying.

"Oh, honey...so do I," she whispered, so quietly that I couldn't even be sure that was really what she said.

I didn't have time to ask, because just then, my phone rang. I untangled myself from my mother's embrace and fumbled clumsily in my purse for my phone.

"Who's calling at this hour?" complained Mom tearfully, dabbing at her eyes with one of her ever-present tissues.

I ignored her. "Hello?" I said into the phone.

"Hi, is this Kelsey Matthews?" asked an unfamilar male voice.

I froze in surprise for a moment, racking my brain for who this could possibly be. "Yes. Who is this?"

"Uh, well," said the unidentified man awkwardly, "you don't know me, but I'm Brendon Urie's roommate."

I was too terrified, too shocked, too hurt and curious and overjoyed to even breathe, much less say anything.

"I'm sorry to bother you so late. I wouldn't normally, but it's...it's kind of important."

There was a tremor of fear in his voice too, and the instinctive need to protect Brendon--long buried and finally rearing its head once more--pushed past all my own self-preservation instincts.

"What's wrong?" I demanded.

"I...I don't know." His voice shook and he heaved a little sigh--somehow, the sound was frenzied. "It's Brendon. I don't know what's wrong with him, but I think you need to come out here if you can."

The questions spilled out of their own accord, one on top of the other.

"What happened? Is he hurt? Did you call an ambulance?"

"No, no, no, he's not hurt. He's fine. He's just..." He trailed off uncertainly. "I would just really appreciate it if you could come out here and talk to him or something."

I didn't even think about what that might entail. The knowledge that Brendon was in trouble and needed my help dominated all other rational thoughts.

"Okay," I agreed. "Give me your address."

I wrote down the directions Brendon's roommate gave me and his phone number in case I needed to call him back. I hung up and hurriedly put my clothes back on, shoving the piece of paper with Brendon's address and number in my pocket as I got ready to go out again.

"Where are you going?" said Mom. "You're not going back out again?"

"Yeah. Have to," I replied breathlessly as I pulled my coat on.

"Why? What's going on?"

I straightened up and took a deep breath, struggling to steady my voice so she couldn't see how much turmoil I was going through on the inside. "I don't know, but Brendon's in trouble. I have to help him."

Before the shock could register on her face and I could see whatever reaction she might have to this--before she could try and stop me or talk me out of it or remind me for the millionth time of how vile and undeserving Brendon was--I turned and half-ran out the door, rushing as fast as my body would carry me to Brendon.