Evil Thoughts
Title: Evil Thoughts
Author: morbid_rae
Rating: PG, I guess.
Warnings: suicide attempt
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd, Ryan's
Summary: Ryan visits a bridge in the middle of the night, planning to leave the world for good...
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened. I own nothing and nobody. Title stolen from Foxy Shazam.
I have a very high amount of respect for the people that i based these characters on (without their permission). This was not meant to offend, you boys just inspire me.
Beta: pl_fancyflowers
Author's Notes: I think this story shows that the ability to really read the ones you love could save a life, because there may not always be a Brendon to do it for you. This story is really close to my heart and I hope you guys enjoy it. Please read and comment, it'd be much appreciated.
It's funny how, the one time Ryan doesn't want to be saved, he is.
He's spent nights praying -- for someone to just see him, to get it. He hoped for understanding. He wanted someone to notice, to stop him and say, "Hey, you're better than that. You have so much to live for. You can be strong, I know you can." Thats all he really wanted to hear. That or something like it. But nobody really pays attention to anyone but themselves. They spend their whole life thinking the world revolves around them. Everyone lives in their own head and has no time to pick someone else's brain for secrets or, in Ryan's case, deep-rooted insecurities that wouldn't let him be.
So he doesn't see the point. If no one is willing to keep him here, them why should he put forth all the effort. If they don't care, then why?
And it's that exact way of thinking that drives him to that old bridge in the middle of his town, in the middle of the night. It's chilly out and the occasional sudden gusts of irrational wind only help to make it feel a whole ten degrees colder. He has his arms folded around his middle, keeping his jacket held tight around his small, fragile frame. His head is bowed, and for once, he doesn't want to be noticed. He's only here to do what needs to be done. He just wants peace. He just wants out of his head. And then he starts thinking himself selfish. He holds everyone accountable for his misery, but maybe there's someone else out there now -- someone who feels the same as him, someone he didn't take the time to notice because he was too wrapped up in himself.
But Ryan shakes the thought loose, not wanting to discourage himself. He has the right to feel cold and alone -- betrayed like this, by his loved ones who were supposed to keep him safe and away from his own scarily running mind.
But it's too late now. They can't help. And he doesn't want them to. He pushes himself to approach the railing on the side of the small bridge. It's nothing spectacular, just a small expanse of stone, or whatever the hell they make these things with. What matters is the height, though. He leans over, and yes, this'll do. It's at least a good enough drop to have him a hideously tangled mess and an unapologetic splatter of guts across the pavement below. And if that's not enough, then sure enough, there will be a car or something to finish him off.
But the drop alone should do it, Ryan thinks. He's pretty sure really.
He stands there for a moment, just watching. The only sounds are his shaky breathing and the loud woosh sounds that each car gives off when they pass on the bridge behind him, and on the separate road below him.
He takes a deep breath and grips the railing harder. And then he's lifting his leg and bringing it over the railing, soon followed by the other one. And then he's just sitting on the thick metal bar, legs swinging -- secretly hoping that he'll just slip so he doesn't have to do it himself and jump.
By the time he's got him feet firmly planted on the scarce space of stone on the other side of the railing, his eyes are leaking like mad. Pretty sure his whole face is wet. There's even some snot, and he sniffle, coughs. He tries to ignore it, but it's kind of hard when he's choking on air, each breath coming out as a small, broken sob.
And this is the moment when he thought he'd turn back. But he doesn't. He stands there, hanging over the edge, feet on the stone and arms behind him, gripping the railing tight.
He shakes his head and mumbles, "I'm pathetic," another sob breaking out, rattling through him and causing him to shake a little.
And then he's freaking out. He refuses to turn back, though. He won't face anyone again. He won't face the world again.
He's starting to sweat, his palms growing slightly slick, and then he's slipping a little. He feels the moment his body free-falls forward, and he gets a second of oh-holy-shit-no panic, before strong arms catch him from behind and pull him back to safety.
He wants to say thank you, he really does. But all he can think is why. And then for some insane reason, all his brain comes up with is that he had his chance at peace taken away from him. So, before he even knows what he's doing, he's screaming. He's hitting and shoving his savior, head down and tears flowing freely. He's breaking down in front of this complete stranger. And he's thankful for this person. He really is. But all he can do right now is lash out.
And his last thought is God, I couldn't even do this right, before he's falling into the stranger's arms. The man doesn't object, though, and surprisingly wraps his arms around Ryan, keeping him close and warm.
"What's your name?" Ryan asks, words mumbled tiredly into the stranger's neck, his cheek resting against the man's shoulder.
"Brendon," the man answers softly. And Ryan knows in that very moment, that if there was ever any voice that could save him from himself, it would be Brendon's.
Author: morbid_rae
Rating: PG, I guess.
Warnings: suicide attempt
Pairing: Ryan/Brendon
POV: 3rd, Ryan's
Summary: Ryan visits a bridge in the middle of the night, planning to leave the world for good...
Disclaimer: Not real. Never happened. I own nothing and nobody. Title stolen from Foxy Shazam.
I have a very high amount of respect for the people that i based these characters on (without their permission). This was not meant to offend, you boys just inspire me.
Beta: pl_fancyflowers
Author's Notes: I think this story shows that the ability to really read the ones you love could save a life, because there may not always be a Brendon to do it for you. This story is really close to my heart and I hope you guys enjoy it. Please read and comment, it'd be much appreciated.
It's funny how, the one time Ryan doesn't want to be saved, he is.
He's spent nights praying -- for someone to just see him, to get it. He hoped for understanding. He wanted someone to notice, to stop him and say, "Hey, you're better than that. You have so much to live for. You can be strong, I know you can." Thats all he really wanted to hear. That or something like it. But nobody really pays attention to anyone but themselves. They spend their whole life thinking the world revolves around them. Everyone lives in their own head and has no time to pick someone else's brain for secrets or, in Ryan's case, deep-rooted insecurities that wouldn't let him be.
So he doesn't see the point. If no one is willing to keep him here, them why should he put forth all the effort. If they don't care, then why?
And it's that exact way of thinking that drives him to that old bridge in the middle of his town, in the middle of the night. It's chilly out and the occasional sudden gusts of irrational wind only help to make it feel a whole ten degrees colder. He has his arms folded around his middle, keeping his jacket held tight around his small, fragile frame. His head is bowed, and for once, he doesn't want to be noticed. He's only here to do what needs to be done. He just wants peace. He just wants out of his head. And then he starts thinking himself selfish. He holds everyone accountable for his misery, but maybe there's someone else out there now -- someone who feels the same as him, someone he didn't take the time to notice because he was too wrapped up in himself.
But Ryan shakes the thought loose, not wanting to discourage himself. He has the right to feel cold and alone -- betrayed like this, by his loved ones who were supposed to keep him safe and away from his own scarily running mind.
But it's too late now. They can't help. And he doesn't want them to. He pushes himself to approach the railing on the side of the small bridge. It's nothing spectacular, just a small expanse of stone, or whatever the hell they make these things with. What matters is the height, though. He leans over, and yes, this'll do. It's at least a good enough drop to have him a hideously tangled mess and an unapologetic splatter of guts across the pavement below. And if that's not enough, then sure enough, there will be a car or something to finish him off.
But the drop alone should do it, Ryan thinks. He's pretty sure really.
He stands there for a moment, just watching. The only sounds are his shaky breathing and the loud woosh sounds that each car gives off when they pass on the bridge behind him, and on the separate road below him.
He takes a deep breath and grips the railing harder. And then he's lifting his leg and bringing it over the railing, soon followed by the other one. And then he's just sitting on the thick metal bar, legs swinging -- secretly hoping that he'll just slip so he doesn't have to do it himself and jump.
By the time he's got him feet firmly planted on the scarce space of stone on the other side of the railing, his eyes are leaking like mad. Pretty sure his whole face is wet. There's even some snot, and he sniffle, coughs. He tries to ignore it, but it's kind of hard when he's choking on air, each breath coming out as a small, broken sob.
And this is the moment when he thought he'd turn back. But he doesn't. He stands there, hanging over the edge, feet on the stone and arms behind him, gripping the railing tight.
He shakes his head and mumbles, "I'm pathetic," another sob breaking out, rattling through him and causing him to shake a little.
And then he's freaking out. He refuses to turn back, though. He won't face anyone again. He won't face the world again.
He's starting to sweat, his palms growing slightly slick, and then he's slipping a little. He feels the moment his body free-falls forward, and he gets a second of oh-holy-shit-no panic, before strong arms catch him from behind and pull him back to safety.
He wants to say thank you, he really does. But all he can think is why. And then for some insane reason, all his brain comes up with is that he had his chance at peace taken away from him. So, before he even knows what he's doing, he's screaming. He's hitting and shoving his savior, head down and tears flowing freely. He's breaking down in front of this complete stranger. And he's thankful for this person. He really is. But all he can do right now is lash out.
And his last thought is God, I couldn't even do this right, before he's falling into the stranger's arms. The man doesn't object, though, and surprisingly wraps his arms around Ryan, keeping him close and warm.
"What's your name?" Ryan asks, words mumbled tiredly into the stranger's neck, his cheek resting against the man's shoulder.
"Brendon," the man answers softly. And Ryan knows in that very moment, that if there was ever any voice that could save him from himself, it would be Brendon's.