Stuck In My Head Again [1/?]
Title: Stuck In My Head Again [1/?]
Author: chaosxcalamity
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan..Jon?? Will be known by the 2nd or 3rd chapter.
POV: 3rd
Summary: Brendon lowers his head, the truth staring right at him. The honest reasoning for getting to sleep and then the nearly hidden reason for not being in bed. "Yeah, I know, dad. I just--well, I just had to check the doors, you know, just in case." His father does a mental sigh, not at his son but at the predicament that his son is in. He knows his boy is going through a tough time right now, and he knew the reason why he wasn't asleep all along. He had seen him check the front door, slowly turning the knob back and forth, pulling on it, and checking its security.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this is fiction. The title is lyrics taken from the song Given Up by Linkin Park.
Author Notes: Constructive criticism is welcomed. Thanks so much to my awesome beta ryrolovesbden! =)
Previous: Prologue
Brendon keeps his concentration strong as he reaches into his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers and socks. He holds them in his hands as he slowly moves to his closet. He has his eyes glued to the wooden floor the entire time, worried that there might be a small piece of chipped wood waiting to give him a splinter, even though he is wearing socks. He opens the closet door with his right hand, never his left, and grabs a dark pair of jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. He gently places his boxers, socks and shirt at the foot of his bed. Carefully, he folds his jeans to ensure that they won't be creased in any weird spots. Brendon hates creases and wrinkles in his clothes. He will spend all day trying to straighten his clothes if they are crinkled. He lays them down on the center of his wooden chest at the end of his bed. He picks up his t-shirt and folds it just as carefully and places it directly on top of his jeans. Then, he places his boxers and socks to the right of them, making sure they are aligned exactly with his clothes. And lastly, he walks back over his closet and picks up a pair of his favorite black Converses. He has many Converses, and a couple are black, but he has a certain pair that he treasures. And he always has to wear his favorite pair on Mondays and Fridays. He places them to the right of his clothes and takes a deep breath.
Brendon thinks that they look perfect. They look like they will be there tomorrow, ready for him, and they look like they will still be in the same spot when he awakes. But Brendon can't help but to wonder, what if he doesn't wake up? What if they aren't worn? What if he wakes up late and he puts them on late? He thinks they will be expecting him at a certain time and if he isn't there, then what will happen? Will they somehow vanish on him? No, that's crazy thinking. He calms his ever quickening breathing and tells himself to get a hold of himself. He won't wake up late, but mainly because of his three alarm clocks and the self timer he has in his head. And they certainly won't poof out of thin air.
Brendon sighs to himself and walks over to his nightstand to turn on his night lamp. He watches his feet as he walks over to the light switch, which is to the right of the door. Reaching forward with his index finger, he flips the switch downward, causing the room to be only lit by the dim lamp on his nightstand. He quickly turns his ceiling fan on a low speed and turns on his humidifier. Cautiously, not wanting to set them wrong, he sets all of his clocks for 7:00 and re-checks them five more times before believing that they are set. He knows that they are set and he knows his father will wake him up as well, but he can never be too sure of anything nowadays. He has to wake up and he has to wear the clothes he has laid out.
He wraps himself underneath his warm covers and slowly shuts his tired eyes. His eyes are closed and he is trying to relax his tensed up muscles. He takes a deep breath in and exhales an even deeper one.
Brendon really hates change. Even if it is just the slightest little change. He could get a new toothbrush and he would hate it. He could buy a different type of socks and he wouldn't want to wear them. He can't handle anything being different. He is so used to the norm, or as normal as things can be. He doesn't like things that he isn't used to. In his mind, there isn't any way around it; he has to do things a certain way. He has to feel a specific way while doing something. He can't just do or try something new. Something inside of him is keeping him from functioning properly. He wishes he knew what was broken inside of him. He desperately wants to be fixed. He misses his old self so much. He has to know what he is doing and have some sort of plan mapped out in his head. He has to have an idea of what to say and what to do, and if he doesn't, he will feel so lost. And going to a new school is definitely not something that he knows. This house, this town, and this school are all change. Brendon thinks that it is too much for him, everything is too different. He thinks that he is going to hate it here, and that everyone will call him a freak and hate him here, too, just like before. He thinks that if he does, by some miracle, make a friend, then he will lose them quickly once they realize how crazy he is.
Brendon is worse now, more than ever. He has been in this house for two weeks and he is obsessing way more than he used to. He never used to have to set his clothes out, not like this. But now, for some reason, he has no other option. Part of him is telling him to do certain things and he hasn't a clue why.
Brendon clenches his eyes tighter and prays that he'll be able to fall asleep tonight, at least before five o'clock. Just this once, please, let him fall asleep before five. That is all he is asking. He looks dead and he feels dead. He'll go to school tomorrow and they won't see him as a new student but as a walking corpse. They will all look at him with disgust and horror; it will be on display in their eyes. They will see someone that truly looks miserable. But, if the gods choose to help him out this one time, if he actually gets a decent amount of sleep, then maybe that won't happen. Maybe if he looks normal enough for a change people might not hate him right away.
He looks at the clock to the left and begins to panic. He has to fall asleep. It's 9:30 now and maybe if he falls asleep within the next six or seven hours he will be rested enough for school. He is so used to being deprived of sleep that he isn't really sure what a good night's sleep feels like anymore. He doesn't remember what it is like to wake up all refreshed and in a good mood. He wakes up afraid and tired. He feels sluggish throughout the entire day. And no matter how many energy drinks he has, and no matter how much sugar he intakes, he can't seem to really wake up. He feels like he is sitting there, standing there, watching everyone around him. He doesn't feel like he is actually living. To an extent, he feels like someone is moving for him. When he reaches for an object, or when he scratches his arm, or even when he breathes, he feels like someone else is doing it for him. He feels like a puppet being dragged through this miserable pit that is his life. He wishes he could take a pair of scissors and cut the strings that hold him down. He wants to fall from the puppet master's clutches and be free. He wants to be able to breathe and live again, and actually feel as if he is not watching, not following the mass, not being afraid, not obsessing, and not being told what to do.
Brendon cocks his head to the side again -- the clock reads 10:45 and he isn't any closer to falling asleep. Brendon is really against sleeping pills, but only because he is afraid of not waking up again. Not that he thinks he really has anything to live for anyway. But he is just so terrified of falling asleep and not waking up. He wants to feel normal before he dies, if only for a minute.
Brendon's mind is racing and he can't seem to make it stop. He doesn't even know what he is thinking about. Silly things are crossing through his mind. Did I remember to lock the doors? Did I check them five times? What if I didn't lock them, nor check them -- will someone break in? Will someone break in and kill my family? Brendon doesn't think he can handle causing another family member's death, not again.
Brendon pries himself out of bed and tiptoes to check the front door first, just in case. And sure enough the door is lock, dead-bolted, and chained. But there is a chance that he didn't lock the back; that happens. So, once again, he quietly tiptoes to the back door and makes sure that it is locked. And it is locked, of course. Normally, Brendon would check the windows, too, but seeing as how they are painted shut, he doesn't really think that someone would be able to open them. He takes comfort in the strong paint that holds them shut.
And just when Brendon is starting to finally relax, he hears a noise echoing from the kitchen. He wants to run, hide, and panic, but he doesn't. He freezes momentarily before he starts to creep to the kitchen. He has to do this, for his family. At first, he only sees a tall shadow peering from behind the fridge, and for a second there he doesn't realize who it is. But then the man steps from behind the door and he sees that it is his father. He sighs a thankful sigh and starts to head back to the almost-comfort of his room. But his father sees him and stops him before he can leave completely, "Brendon, son, why aren't you trying to sleep? You know that you need to go to bed as early as possible, otherwise you might not sleep."
Brendon lowers his head, the truth staring right at him. The honest reasoning for getting to sleep and then the nearly hidden reason for not being in bed. "Yeah, I know, dad. I just--well, I just had to check the doors, you know, just in case." His father does a mental sigh, not at his son but at the predicament that his son is in. He knows his boy is going through a tough time right now, and he knew the reason why he wasn't asleep all along. He had seen him check the front door, slowly turning the knob back and forth, pulling on it, and checking its security.
"Okay, well, get some rest now. Sleep well," his father replied.
Brendon lowered his head once more, feeling bad about the situation. He sauntered back to his room and took his place in his bed for the last time that night.
Brendon fell asleep around 2:30, which really, was a great accomplishment for him. He never falls asleep that early, or gets that much sleep. He is really proud of himself for being able to sleep and he thinks that this must be a good sign. He hopes that today will be a good day for him. Those are rare for him now, so he looks forward to those days.
Brendon takes his time and gets ready for school. And once he is all dressed and has eaten his cereal, he grabs his backpack and takes his little sister by her hand and walks out of their house while yelling a goodbye to his father and brother.
They don't live too far from the elementary school, so his sister is a quick drop-off. He gently kisses her on her forehead and tells her that he will pick her up at 3:45.
Brendon has to backtrack to the bus stop that is on one of the blocks between his house and his sister's school. He walks with his head down and his feet shuffling. And he starts to hum a tune to himself, which is a rarity; he only hums when he is feeling good. He gets lost in his humming and doesn't see the young boy walking from a house. And he really wishes he would have because his head has just hit the boy's chest. And now, he feels like this might not be such a great day after all.
Author: chaosxcalamity
Rating: PG
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan..Jon?? Will be known by the 2nd or 3rd chapter.
POV: 3rd
Summary: Brendon lowers his head, the truth staring right at him. The honest reasoning for getting to sleep and then the nearly hidden reason for not being in bed. "Yeah, I know, dad. I just--well, I just had to check the doors, you know, just in case." His father does a mental sigh, not at his son but at the predicament that his son is in. He knows his boy is going through a tough time right now, and he knew the reason why he wasn't asleep all along. He had seen him check the front door, slowly turning the knob back and forth, pulling on it, and checking its security.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, this is fiction. The title is lyrics taken from the song Given Up by Linkin Park.
Author Notes: Constructive criticism is welcomed. Thanks so much to my awesome beta ryrolovesbden! =)
Previous: Prologue
Brendon keeps his concentration strong as he reaches into his dresser and pulls out a clean pair of boxers and socks. He holds them in his hands as he slowly moves to his closet. He has his eyes glued to the wooden floor the entire time, worried that there might be a small piece of chipped wood waiting to give him a splinter, even though he is wearing socks. He opens the closet door with his right hand, never his left, and grabs a dark pair of jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. He gently places his boxers, socks and shirt at the foot of his bed. Carefully, he folds his jeans to ensure that they won't be creased in any weird spots. Brendon hates creases and wrinkles in his clothes. He will spend all day trying to straighten his clothes if they are crinkled. He lays them down on the center of his wooden chest at the end of his bed. He picks up his t-shirt and folds it just as carefully and places it directly on top of his jeans. Then, he places his boxers and socks to the right of them, making sure they are aligned exactly with his clothes. And lastly, he walks back over his closet and picks up a pair of his favorite black Converses. He has many Converses, and a couple are black, but he has a certain pair that he treasures. And he always has to wear his favorite pair on Mondays and Fridays. He places them to the right of his clothes and takes a deep breath.
Brendon thinks that they look perfect. They look like they will be there tomorrow, ready for him, and they look like they will still be in the same spot when he awakes. But Brendon can't help but to wonder, what if he doesn't wake up? What if they aren't worn? What if he wakes up late and he puts them on late? He thinks they will be expecting him at a certain time and if he isn't there, then what will happen? Will they somehow vanish on him? No, that's crazy thinking. He calms his ever quickening breathing and tells himself to get a hold of himself. He won't wake up late, but mainly because of his three alarm clocks and the self timer he has in his head. And they certainly won't poof out of thin air.
Brendon sighs to himself and walks over to his nightstand to turn on his night lamp. He watches his feet as he walks over to the light switch, which is to the right of the door. Reaching forward with his index finger, he flips the switch downward, causing the room to be only lit by the dim lamp on his nightstand. He quickly turns his ceiling fan on a low speed and turns on his humidifier. Cautiously, not wanting to set them wrong, he sets all of his clocks for 7:00 and re-checks them five more times before believing that they are set. He knows that they are set and he knows his father will wake him up as well, but he can never be too sure of anything nowadays. He has to wake up and he has to wear the clothes he has laid out.
He wraps himself underneath his warm covers and slowly shuts his tired eyes. His eyes are closed and he is trying to relax his tensed up muscles. He takes a deep breath in and exhales an even deeper one.
Brendon really hates change. Even if it is just the slightest little change. He could get a new toothbrush and he would hate it. He could buy a different type of socks and he wouldn't want to wear them. He can't handle anything being different. He is so used to the norm, or as normal as things can be. He doesn't like things that he isn't used to. In his mind, there isn't any way around it; he has to do things a certain way. He has to feel a specific way while doing something. He can't just do or try something new. Something inside of him is keeping him from functioning properly. He wishes he knew what was broken inside of him. He desperately wants to be fixed. He misses his old self so much. He has to know what he is doing and have some sort of plan mapped out in his head. He has to have an idea of what to say and what to do, and if he doesn't, he will feel so lost. And going to a new school is definitely not something that he knows. This house, this town, and this school are all change. Brendon thinks that it is too much for him, everything is too different. He thinks that he is going to hate it here, and that everyone will call him a freak and hate him here, too, just like before. He thinks that if he does, by some miracle, make a friend, then he will lose them quickly once they realize how crazy he is.
Brendon is worse now, more than ever. He has been in this house for two weeks and he is obsessing way more than he used to. He never used to have to set his clothes out, not like this. But now, for some reason, he has no other option. Part of him is telling him to do certain things and he hasn't a clue why.
Brendon clenches his eyes tighter and prays that he'll be able to fall asleep tonight, at least before five o'clock. Just this once, please, let him fall asleep before five. That is all he is asking. He looks dead and he feels dead. He'll go to school tomorrow and they won't see him as a new student but as a walking corpse. They will all look at him with disgust and horror; it will be on display in their eyes. They will see someone that truly looks miserable. But, if the gods choose to help him out this one time, if he actually gets a decent amount of sleep, then maybe that won't happen. Maybe if he looks normal enough for a change people might not hate him right away.
He looks at the clock to the left and begins to panic. He has to fall asleep. It's 9:30 now and maybe if he falls asleep within the next six or seven hours he will be rested enough for school. He is so used to being deprived of sleep that he isn't really sure what a good night's sleep feels like anymore. He doesn't remember what it is like to wake up all refreshed and in a good mood. He wakes up afraid and tired. He feels sluggish throughout the entire day. And no matter how many energy drinks he has, and no matter how much sugar he intakes, he can't seem to really wake up. He feels like he is sitting there, standing there, watching everyone around him. He doesn't feel like he is actually living. To an extent, he feels like someone is moving for him. When he reaches for an object, or when he scratches his arm, or even when he breathes, he feels like someone else is doing it for him. He feels like a puppet being dragged through this miserable pit that is his life. He wishes he could take a pair of scissors and cut the strings that hold him down. He wants to fall from the puppet master's clutches and be free. He wants to be able to breathe and live again, and actually feel as if he is not watching, not following the mass, not being afraid, not obsessing, and not being told what to do.
Brendon cocks his head to the side again -- the clock reads 10:45 and he isn't any closer to falling asleep. Brendon is really against sleeping pills, but only because he is afraid of not waking up again. Not that he thinks he really has anything to live for anyway. But he is just so terrified of falling asleep and not waking up. He wants to feel normal before he dies, if only for a minute.
Brendon's mind is racing and he can't seem to make it stop. He doesn't even know what he is thinking about. Silly things are crossing through his mind. Did I remember to lock the doors? Did I check them five times? What if I didn't lock them, nor check them -- will someone break in? Will someone break in and kill my family? Brendon doesn't think he can handle causing another family member's death, not again.
Brendon pries himself out of bed and tiptoes to check the front door first, just in case. And sure enough the door is lock, dead-bolted, and chained. But there is a chance that he didn't lock the back; that happens. So, once again, he quietly tiptoes to the back door and makes sure that it is locked. And it is locked, of course. Normally, Brendon would check the windows, too, but seeing as how they are painted shut, he doesn't really think that someone would be able to open them. He takes comfort in the strong paint that holds them shut.
And just when Brendon is starting to finally relax, he hears a noise echoing from the kitchen. He wants to run, hide, and panic, but he doesn't. He freezes momentarily before he starts to creep to the kitchen. He has to do this, for his family. At first, he only sees a tall shadow peering from behind the fridge, and for a second there he doesn't realize who it is. But then the man steps from behind the door and he sees that it is his father. He sighs a thankful sigh and starts to head back to the almost-comfort of his room. But his father sees him and stops him before he can leave completely, "Brendon, son, why aren't you trying to sleep? You know that you need to go to bed as early as possible, otherwise you might not sleep."
Brendon lowers his head, the truth staring right at him. The honest reasoning for getting to sleep and then the nearly hidden reason for not being in bed. "Yeah, I know, dad. I just--well, I just had to check the doors, you know, just in case." His father does a mental sigh, not at his son but at the predicament that his son is in. He knows his boy is going through a tough time right now, and he knew the reason why he wasn't asleep all along. He had seen him check the front door, slowly turning the knob back and forth, pulling on it, and checking its security.
"Okay, well, get some rest now. Sleep well," his father replied.
Brendon lowered his head once more, feeling bad about the situation. He sauntered back to his room and took his place in his bed for the last time that night.
Brendon fell asleep around 2:30, which really, was a great accomplishment for him. He never falls asleep that early, or gets that much sleep. He is really proud of himself for being able to sleep and he thinks that this must be a good sign. He hopes that today will be a good day for him. Those are rare for him now, so he looks forward to those days.
Brendon takes his time and gets ready for school. And once he is all dressed and has eaten his cereal, he grabs his backpack and takes his little sister by her hand and walks out of their house while yelling a goodbye to his father and brother.
They don't live too far from the elementary school, so his sister is a quick drop-off. He gently kisses her on her forehead and tells her that he will pick her up at 3:45.
Brendon has to backtrack to the bus stop that is on one of the blocks between his house and his sister's school. He walks with his head down and his feet shuffling. And he starts to hum a tune to himself, which is a rarity; he only hums when he is feeling good. He gets lost in his humming and doesn't see the young boy walking from a house. And he really wishes he would have because his head has just hit the boy's chest. And now, he feels like this might not be such a great day after all.