Never Alone

I waited for you today,

You didn’t come. I missed you. I stared outside, just waiting. Just watching but you weren’t there. The window was my barrier, you didn’t walk past. Where were you? I had to just watch mom cook. She was a hurried mess. I guess they are gonna fight when he comes back from work. They always do. I wanna live with you. I want you.

I needed you today.

They were shouting again. I couldn’t sleep. Where were you? I couldn’t understand them but mom, mom got hurt. She cried and I cried with her. Dad went off after. Will you be there for me tomorrow? I really need you. I hate him. She’s cut up pretty bad. Can I meet you after school?

You told me to call.

I did. No one answered. It was Sunday. So maybe you were at church. Maybe. But I wanted to talk to you. They were fighting again. They always fight. Dad left again. He always does. I asked mom after what it was about. She said I was too young to understand. But I understood. The fight; it was about nothing. It was about breakfast. They fought for an hour about breakfast. Can you believe that? When will you be back?

He read his piece of work again. Was this really fiction? Or was this him? This wasn’t any nameless character, this was him. Ryan Ross. George Ryan Ross the third. He felt a strange sensation in him; as though he was choking. There was a blockage at his throat. He could breathe but even breathing was difficult.

“Yo, Ross; you’re not looking too good. You okay man?” His face snapped up. An unnamed member from his class was staring at him. Ryan shook his head once to clear it before speaking. He assured the boy; Gabriel was his name, that he was fine. But was he? He didn’t seem fine. He sure as hell didn’t feel fine. George Ryan Ross wasn’t fine. But nobody else had to know that.
_____________________

Where are you?

I need you. I called and I called but you don’t seem to be there. You promised me you’ll help. You promised. You said you’d be there. Didn’t you? I heard you. I know I did. Please where are you? Please he’s hurting me. Please. Mom; please! Please. No. Please no. NO! Mom, help me. Mom. Where are you! Mommy! Mommy he’s not here! Mom! Please! Bring him, MOM! Please! PLEASE!

I prayed for you today.

I prayed you would come by. I prayed really hard. I need you to save me. I want you to. Please. Save me. Did you pray for me? You said you would. But he still beats me. You pray but you’re not praying hard enough. If you prayed harder, I wouldn’t have all this bruises and welts. Please pray for me. Please.

“Ryan, seriously man; What the hell are you doing?”Bent over his notebook, he almost didn’t hear his friend. Almost.

“Hmph.”

“Ryan! Jeez, I could kill you. Lunch! Lunch!” Spencer Smith dragged his friend towards the general cafeteria direction. To no avail of course. Ryan Ross was older and even though he was a scrawny pick of a man, he has strength one cannot imagine. It didn’t take long for Smith to tire.
“Ry please.”

That was like a switch. He almost could hear his own voice screaming those words. And he did. In his mind. It was like a looped reel. Please please please. Somehow, the difficulty came again. It was like a panic attack but it wasn’t. He just couldn’t breathe. God, when did he become so weak? Shrugging Spencer’s hands off him, he turned to stalk towards the cafeteria, ignoring the creeping guilt at the harshness he left his best friend.
____________________

I cried out for you.

I really did. You didn’t reply. Why? You knew I needed you. You knew. He’s still here. He still hurts. She’s gone. She left me. You can’t leave me. I won’t let you. I won’t I won’t I won’t. I swear I won’t. Please don’t leave me. You’re going! No, no you can’t! Just stay; An hour please; just another hour. Please? Just. One. More. Hour. That’s all. No! Please, don’t. Don’t leave me. No, don’t. Please. You promised! You promised! I hate you.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you. You know I don’t. C’mon, please? I don’t hate you. I told you, I love you. I love you. Love love love you. A lot. Lots and lots. Come on please? Stay with me today? Look, I said I was sorry. You know I am. Please B, please.

There was a loud clatter as the paper was ripped out of his hand. There stood Jon Walker. Professor Jon Walker. Shit. Shit shit shit. Fuck. Damn it. No. This was supposed to be private. For himself. Screw fucking creative language. This was his to write, read and fucking own. Damnit. Jeez. And why must it be Professor Walker anyway? Son of a bitch. Walker was a tyrant. A reasonable tyrant who won’t tolerate students who don’t concentrate. A tyrant all the same.

“I waited for you today… you didn’t come…” A pause while Professor Walker read through his ode to emo or whatever. “Ross, love letters are to be written after school. In your own room. Wallowing in bad blood and uncouth kisses. Not, during biology.”

The class roared in laughter. With an infuriating smirk, slightly marred by fiery eyes, Professor threw the piece of paper, ‘fuck you Jon’ thought Ross, back at him before continuing on his empty lesson.

Ryan was shaking. Honest to God, shivering, in anger. If he could just punch that guy; just once. Oh man, his fists were clenched. White, knobby bones showing through pale skin on tanned tabletop. Fuck you. He sat with stiffened back, pursed lips, and burning eyes for the next period. Until the lesson was over. He didn’t move. Not an inch; Stone still just watching the board in front of him. The rest left the moment the bell rang; he didn’t think some waited for Walker to dismiss them. Serves him right, that son of a gun. But Ryan waited. He waited until the whole class left, until it was just him and Jon-I’m-All-That-Walker.

When the older brunet made his way to the front of the class for his briefcase, Ryan just stared at him. His backpack was zipped up and ready, books all stacked up for the next class. Ryan could see the slight tension in his teacher’s shoulders. Slowly Jon looked up. Looked right into those hazel eyes, burning gold. They both held their stares. Nobody wanted to give up. Not showing any emotion at all, just plain indifference, Ryan slung his bag over his shoulder, shrugged once and carried his books and head high as he walked out. The piece of paper crumpled and forgotten.
_______________

Rewind a decade back. Two friends. Two neighbours. Both families living in isolation on that well to do street. Different beliefs, different lifestyles, different moral compasses. Two boys. Two innocent boys cared for differently, taught differently, disciplined differently, made friends. With each other. One slightly older, slightly more matured, a lot more vulnerable. The other, younger, safer much more naïve. With mousy brown hair, deep hazel eyes, angular face, George Ryan Ross met shy, carefree mormon boy Brendon Boyd Urie. They shared smiles through window panes; they played cautiously, never with each other. They hardly spoke to the other.

A friendship grew. From curiosity and maybe jealousy, they became friends. They even went out to play together after a while. They didn’t understand the other. They caused pain, they cried because of the other but they loved. Ryan loves Brendon. Brendon loved Ryan. But only they understood their destruction. Only they can understand why they hurt and love at the same time. At seven, they understood the world that didn’t understand them.

You will lose the things you love. That’s why they shouldn’t love. But they did. So they lost. They lost their game against the world. All that took was abuse. Accidental abuse for the wrong child. It was supposed to Ryan. It was Ryan who should be slapped. But he was drunk. There were too many little kids running around in his house. He grabbed the boy from the neck, the little kid screamed. Shut up you! A tight slap. The kid was sent hurtling across the living room. He saw his son coming down the stairs. Fuck. He stared at the boy on the floor, bleeding. That’s not Ryan. That’s not his child, shabby, scared Ryan. Whoever it was was too cleaned up, too neat to be his son. He ran.

And Ryan was left to pick Brendon up from the floor. Crying and bleeding Brendon who needed his own mother. He half carried the younger boy down the street and when his mother opened the door, hell broke loose. Screaming and shouting and cursing. All Ryan thought about was Brendon. Brendon couldn’t think. And then, two days later, the Urie family moved. Ryan’s first heartbreak.

Fast forward to 2 years from then. From the present. Ryan’s eighteen now. College bound. School bound. Home free. He could leave. He was leaving. Finally. His room was cleaned out. His mom had to work. Dad was dead. He died a long time ago, did Ryan forget to tell you? With his duffel bags and all his itmes in place. He started the trip to his car, bag by bag. He was leaving. For real. Forver. He made sure of that. At his boot, trying to lift in his second bag alone, Spencer had already left for Har-frigging-Vard, a blue car drove past him. He saw a flash of brown. Was that Professor Jon Walker? He watched the car stop in front of the driveway of a house three down from him. A guy stepped out. He looked young. In a red hoodie and dark jeans. He held a piece of paper, Ryan could see. Must be lost. Or blind. Can he not see the “For Sale” sign on the top floor window? Suddenly, the boy turned back to look into the car. He leaned in before abruptly straightening up. And looked straight at Ryan. Ross blinked. The boy walked towards him. Ryan contemplated running. Maybe he just wants instructions. If he does then I’m a fucking rock star.

The boy stood in front of him. Not too close but Ryan could almost feel the excitement from this guy. He looked like he was in his late teens. His hair was shaggily cut, but short enough. He had dark chocolate eyes that were shining. He was fit border lining on anorexic but who was Ryan to judge? Ryan stared expectantly. The boy cleared his throat; he stared down at the paper.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I left. I’m sorry, I didn‘t come back Ryan. I’ve missed you. For a long time, I never stopped thinking about you.” Ryan was shocked. Who was this guy? He looked down at the paper in the brunet’s hand. I waited for you today. He almost fell to the ground. Could this really be? Brendon. The boy, with utmost seriousness in his face looked into Ryan’s eyes.

“I was half-assed without you.”

And Ryan just knew. He knew it was Brendon. It was his Brendon. Tackling the boy, he wrapped his skinny arms around him, sobbing with relief. They were both crying. They were hugging and crying and Ryan felt so good to be alive. Finally he pulled away.

“Brendon, are you trying to say I’m half your ass?”

“Aww man, how can I ever compare to this!” the other boy replied, laughter in his voice, waving Ryan’s long forgotten “love letter” up in the air. They both chuckled, eyes never leaving the other. Finally when it was too awkward to continue, they both stopped. And they stared. Seconds passed.

They moved with amazing speed. They launched at each other, lips meeting. It was decisive and desperate. They moved jerkily, unsure but wanting all. Ryan ran his hand through Brendon’s hair, lips and tongue messaging the other. They both were breathing hard, flushed red when they pulled apart. They grinned at the other.

“I’ve missed you.”

“Me too”

They held hands. Suddenly, Ryan remembered him moving. He looked at his two bags in the car, and thought of the rest still waiting.

“Hey B,” the nickname fell off his lips so easily. “Wanna help me move out?”
And they did. They moved in together soon after. Brendon and Ryan. Urie and Ross. Together. Not alone

Never alone.