Cancer

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I was too angry, too completely blown away by his audacity to even say anything in response. I mean, yeah, it was Brendon, and he was never one to mince his words (or, for that matter, think before speaking), but he had definitely crossed the line with that last statement.

He didn't have me? That was his own fault! He wanted me? Bullshit!

I shot him a death glare and, folding my arms across my chest, turned and walked away from him before I did something drastic that I would most likely regret later.

"Kelsey," said Brendon exasperatedly, as if I was being ridiculous. "C'mon--"

"No," I grunted.

"Kelsey--"

There were so many venemous words for him building up in my throat, but I choked them all back. "Just forget it, Brendon."

He hopped down off of the porch railing and was at my side in a matter of seconds, his hand gripping my arm firmly as he tried to stop me from turning my back on him again. "Don't be like this, Kels--"

"Don't call me that!" I screamed furiously, whirling around to face him and jerking my arm out of his grasp.

He took a step back, eyes full of shock and hurt, like I had just slapped him in the face--but it was a different kind of pain that I had just inflicted. He looked away, and so did I, out of shame. I knew it was justified, but I still couldn't help but feel terrible for saying such a thing.

Don't call me that!

Such simple words. But we both knew they had such a heavy meaning behind them: they only cemented the proof of the distance between us, they only stood to show how different things were now...how much he had hurt me. Since the beginning of our relationship, we had taken one step forward, and, now, two (or maybe a hundred and two) steps back.

We were both silent for a while. Finally, Brendon raised his dark eyes from where they had been fixed determinedly on the ground to look at me, and I did my best to stare back at him, swallowing hard and hoping he couldn't see how vulnerable I was, how utterly helpless he had left me. It was disgusting and pathetic, how easily he had broken me.

His eyes darted back and forth across my face as he studied my expression, and he took a step forward, cautiously. He opened his mouth and started to say something--but was immediately interrupted by the loud banging of the screen door.

We both jumped and looked instinctively towards the noise to see Ryan, his face reddening as he pushed the screen door shut behind him (it had slammed into the side of the house with the force of the wind). "Sorry," he murmured sheepishly, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Didn't mean to interrupt anything, I just--"

"No, you didn't, Ryan," I said coldly, despite the pang of remorse in my chest. "We were just finished here."

Brendon scratched his head, and, for all the casualness of the gesture, he looked rather frantic as he licked his lips and said, his words rushed together, "Kelsey, please, just hear me out--"

"Bren?" Ryan winced as Brendon turned his pained gaze on him. "Actually, I came out here to tell you--there's someone on the phone for you, inside."

Brendon growled irritably. "Well, tell them I'll call them back later--"

"Brendon," said Ryan firmly, giving him a look that was full of some meaning I wasn't in on. Then he said, slowly, emphasizing every word, as if speaking in code, "I really think you should go answer the phone."

Understanding washed suddenly over Brendon's face, and he sighed. "Okay," he muttered, "I'll be right back." He disappeared inside, letting the screen door slam shut again and leaving me and Ryan alone together.

As I glanced up at Ryan's face, his expression thoughtful and almost pained, I thought about what Brendon had said earlier: Ryan's dad died... He took it pretty hard at first...

Then, as if he could read my thoughts, Ryan took a deep breath, ran his long fingers through his hair and sighed. Sliding his hands back into his pockets again, he looked away, out towards all the houses across the street, as he said quietly, "My dad died too, a while back. I know it's tough. I'm sorry."

I didn't even know what to say to him. Words weren't enough... I only hoped that he could understand, that he knew how it was...when the pain you felt was deeper than anything you could express in words and do justice.

"I'm sorry, too," I said in a shaking voice. "That must've been really hard for you."

"Not any harder than it is for you," he replied, and finally, he locked eyes with me again. "Especially since..." He trailed off, sighing, and tried again: "It must be hard, being back in Vegas."

I flinched; was I really that transparent? "It's not so bad," I lied. "I really miss it sometimes."

Ryan was quiet for a moment, his dark eyes boring into mine. "But that just makes it even harder, doesn't it?"

I was too startled at how well he was reading me to put up any more fronts. "Yeah," I choked out.

And then, before I knew what was happening, I was crying and he was holding me.

I didn't realize until the moment that he reached out and pulled me into him that I had never touched Ryan before. The pressure of his body was odd--it was so thin, so frail, and yet so strong and unyielding at the same time. His embrace was the opposite of Brendon's: where Brendon was soft and warm, Ryan was cold and rather bony--but it wasn't entirely unpleasant.

Standing there, crying on Ryan's shoulder with his arms around me, I felt more secure than I ever had with Brendon. I felt protected and safe, like nothing could ever get to me when he was holding me like that.

Brendon's embrace offered more affection than security. And at the time, I had thought that his love would be enough to save me, and maybe it would have been--trouble was, it hadn't lasted.

-----

"I won't. No, I promise. I know, baby, I know, I'm sorry... I said I was sorry." Brendon sighed and scratched his head awkwardly, looking supremely annoyed and disinterested as he held the old-timey phone receiver to his ear.

Ryan stepped inside behind me, pulling the door shut quietly so as not to interrupt Brendon, who was talking on the phone in the living room with his back to us. Ryan must have noticed the way I stiffened at the sight of Brendon, because he nudged me gently and whispered, so that Brendon couldn't hear, "Cut him some slack, Kelsey. He's been having a hard time lately."

"Oh really?" I challenged unsympathetically, cocking an eyebrow at him.

Ryan just nodded solemnly. "That's his girlfriend he's talking to right now. He hasn't been answering his phone for the past three weeks, and she's pissed."

I just raised my eyebrows higher in a lame attempt to mask the wave of hurt I felt at the word "girlfriend."

Don't be ridiculous, Kelsey, I told myself bitterly. Of course he has a girlfriend. He'sBrendon Urie, remember?

Ryan shook his head, looking grim, and went on. "He barely talks to anyone at all, these days. On tour, he sulks around in his bunk all day. Off tour...well, when we're not on tour, no one knows where the hell he is. He's never home, he won't answer the phone. It's like he's hiding from everyone, all the time. His mother's worried sick about him."

Throughout this whole explanation, I stared resolutely at Brendon's back, determined not to show any remorse or compassion for the boy who had hurt me so badly. For his part, Brendon didn't seem to be aware of Ryan discussing him with me on the other side of the room: he continued to mutter quietly into the phone receiver, looking bored and uncomfortable.

Ryan sighed. "He's just...he's just not the same, Kelsey. He used to be so happy all the time, for no reason. Just happy, all the time. And now...now he's never happy. Never. He never smiles--I mean, he smiles, but not really. It's not a real smile."

He turned suddenly thoughtful, chewing on his lip for a moment before saying, "Sometimes, when we're playing a show or doing a signing or a photoshoot or something, it seems like he's the same. When we're doing stuff with the band, he's normal. He's alright, then. But as soon as we go back to the bus...he just sort of crawls back into his shell again. You know?"

I nodded, and, despite how bitterly I had fought against them, I felt tears stinging my eyes.

What Ryan had described was exactly the way I was now. I showed up for work or school every day with a smile; I made small talk and cracked easy jokes with my co-workers and fellow students, but at the end of the day, I went home to my apartment, alone, and spent every evening wallowing in my own private misery. I never answered the phone, either; everyone I knew eventually gave up on calling me. I never made plans, I never went out with friends--I never made or kept any friends anyway.

People (especially boys) were dangerous. I knew what they were capable of, and it scared me. It was so much easier to be alone, without that risk.

"Mhmm. Yeah. Okay," said Brendon into the phone, his voice strengthening with the hope of freedom, and, at my side, Ryan fell silent. "Alright. Love you too." (I ignored the pang of hurt those three simple words inflicted on me.) "Bye."

Brendon hung up the phone and turned around to see me and Ryan standing there near the front door. He scratched his head like he always did when he was uncomfortable and said awkwardly, "Uh...sorry about that. I had to...had to, um..."

"That's okay," I said quickly, sparing us both the pain of acknowledging my replacement to one another. "I should probably be going anyway."

Suddenly, Brendon got this desperate look about him, and started fidgeting like mad--even by Brendon's standards. "Uh, Ryan--"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," said Ryan hurriedly, backing out of the room. "I, uh, I left Spencer in there with your...um, moms...so I guess I should--uh, yeah." He whirled around and darted back into the dining room to give us our privacy.

Oh, that Ryan--always so damn perceptive.