I'm A Scar Away From Falling Apart (3/?)
Title: I’m A Scar Away From Falling Apart (3/?)
Author: longerthanwedo
Rating: PG-13 for now
Pairing: Rydon
POV: 1st, Brendon’s
Summary: And my fingers itch to find a phone, to call a doctor to spill forth with a million questions.
Warnings: Accidental violence, swearing.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters, but the beginning of this plot is based off of a true story. Title belongs to Fall Out Boy.
Author’s Notes: This chapter is again not long (at all). Kind of filler, in a way, because I wanted to get back to Ryan’s POV, but I felt like I should put some Brendon in between. Shorter than the other... oh well. I can’t think of anything else to add, so this is all you get. For now ;) Feedback is awesome; it keeps me wanting to write. Also, I know that most of you missed chapter 2, because it was posted along with a whole bunch of other fics, and got pushed to the next page. So please read that before you read this.
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Well. Ryan just completely ruined my plan.
I meant to apologize, to get it off my chest, dull the guilt a little. Then get out of there. I wanted to leave before he could yell at me and make me hate myself a million times more. But of course I forget my entire speech I had planned. I stutter all over the place and it’s worse than him yelling at me. Because he doesn’t yell. He doesn’t even look mad, or like he wants to yell. And it’s terrible, because if he hated me I could walk away without looking back until the door was safely shut. If he hated me it would give me an excuse not to come back and have what I’d done staring me in the face the whole time.
But he doesn’t hate me, and I kind of have to stay if he’s not telling me not to, because I owe him. Big time. I could stay and it would hurt me, or I could leave and it would hurt us both. So I really have no choice, even as my hand shakes on the doorknob. But then. Then Ryan speaks.
“Just. Stay.” And the choice is no longer mine.
But I don’t mind. A smile breaks out across my face, and when I sit down next to the bed, I can tell by his breathing that he’s already asleep.
I’m looking at his sleeping face with a ghost of a smile still etched across mine, and it’s almost hard to imagine him every really hating anyone, with his eyes closed, looking peaceful despite the setting. He doesn’t talk often, but I think it’s because he doesn’t feel the need to. He doesn’t need words to communicate. He has skating for that. Had.
Oh, god. He won’t be able to skate anymore. He won’t be able to skate; to talk, to communicate. Because of me. And, that fast, the self-hate is back and layering with the guilt it makes me almost writhe in my chair.
And my fingers itch to find a phone, to call a doctor to spill forth with a million questions. Will he ever get better? How long do these things take to heal? What even is this thing? Can I do anything to help? Can you do anything to help? Can you call for a fucking magician or something to come in and wave his wand and somehow make him better? Can you do anything at all?
But the last thing I want to do is wake him.
Not now, not when he looks like he’s resting before a long day of practice, or exhausted after a show. Not when he doesn’t have to think, or to feel. Not because of a thousand things that I don’t want to name.
But mostly because there’s still that nagging trace in the back of my mind where I think that when he wakes up, I’ll be kicked out. I can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, after some rest he’ll come to his senses and realize that this is all my fault, and that I’m a terrible person and th-
I cut myself off and think, no, Brendon, we’ve already been over this. I’m thinking in circles again.
He won’t hate me, and maybe, just maybe, I can help him get through this.
Before I can do anything, I need to just not think for a while. The thing is, I don’t know how to do that. Even when I sleep, my mind is riddled with thoughts, ridiculous things. Half the time I can’t make sense of my own mind, but it doesn’t bother me. But now, my conscious is too loud, and I know I won’t be able to sleep sitting in this stiff chair that squeaks when I move. I glance in Ryan’s direction.
And I never knew it was possible to get lost in somebody’s eyes when they’re not even open. But it is, and that’s all the distraction I need.