Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist ~ Chapter Twenty-Eight
Title: Love Is Spelt Like Your Fist
Author: repulsive_x
Rating: I'm just gonna keep it at R for general sexual content, swearing, alcohol and maybe some drug use, abuse.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon Urie is what some would call 'privileged'. He was born into money, and was graced with good looks. He has good friends, and an amazing boyfriend that most people only dream of. Then Ryan Ross came along, and made that all change.
Disclaimer: fake like bdens denial of being a flaming homosexual (and for once in a fic, i would also like it to stay this way)
Beta: BEC, bilvy_lover
Author's Notes: This is a fic about an abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, DO NOT READ!
Previous Chapters
C H A P T E R ` T W E N T Y - E I G H T
When Brendon wakes up, he’s in a white room. If it wasn’t for the flowers and the colorful balloons with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ scrawled across, covering every last inch of the room, he’d think he was in heaven.
“Brendon, sweetheart,” a voice gushes. “Are you awake?”
Brendon shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, his mother is standing above him with an overjoyed expression on her face. Brendon hasn’t seen an expression like that - one that hasn’t been completely fake, anyway - on her since he was a child. “Hi mom,” he croaks, voice sounding raw and foreign. His chest hurts, so fucking much, so he doesn’t attempt to say anything more.
“Sweetie, how are you feeling?” she asks, and then shakes her head, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth. “No,” she says, “never mind. Don’t answer that.” She bends down, and presses a quick, but firm kiss to the top of his head. “Oh god, Brendon, you don’t know how happy I am that you’re okay.”
Brendon frowns, confused, because this isn’t like his mother at all. Maybe he’s just imagining this all; he does feel a little groggy.
“You’ve already went through two surgeries, and you have another one in a few hours,” she explains, fingers stroking through her sons hair. “You were conscious for awhile, but the doctors said you probably wouldn’t remember because you were on so many drugs. Do you remember, honey?”
Brendon thinks this over for a moment, and then shakes his head. He doesn’t get it. How did he not die? He felt the bullet inside his chest, ricocheting off his lungs. It hit his heart, it had to have. How did it not hit his heart? He aimed right fucking for it!
“Oh, Brendon,” she says, and he’s not sure, but is that a tear he sees in the corner of his mother’s eye? “You were so lucky, sweetheart. It was just a few centimeters from hitting-” she pauses, looks up at the ceiling in thought, then sticks with, “a very important vessel.”
He leans back into the flat, hospital pillow, and shuts his eyes. God, he can’t even kill himself right. How pathetic is he?
“Where’s - ” he starts, and takes a deep breath, feeling the sharp, stinging pain inside his lungs, “where’s Ryan?” he finishes softly, and immediately wants to take it back. He’d probably be better off not knowing where Ryan is ever, ever again.
Mrs. Urie looks down at him, concern thick in her eyes. “Brendon,” she says, and pauses, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, “you don’t have to worry about Ryan anymore. He turned himself in.”
For a moment, Brendon just freezes, because what? Ryan turned himself in? No. He wouldn’t have. What did he even say? That the reason Brendon put a gun to his chest was because he smacked him around? No. Ryan - he wouldn’t.
“But - what? Where is he?” he rasps.
She threads her fingers though his hair, soothingly, and Brendon almost feels like he’s a kid again. “Let’s not talk about that right now, sweetheart,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Let’s focus on you getting better.” She smiles, sadly, and says, “It’s going to be alright now, honey.”
Brendon concentrates on the dull, steady ache in his chest, and can’t help but notice as something in the back of his mind says, no, it really won’t.
- x -
“Hey,” a soft voice says, bringing Brendon out from his trance where he stares out the window, out into the clear, blue Vegas sky.
He turns to look towards the door to where the voice came from, and thinks, if he were standing up, he surely would have fallen down in shock. “Um,” he starts, momentarily forgetting how to form words as he stares up at the visitor, “hi.”
Jon smiles, a little shyly, and moves forward until he’s standing at the end of the bed. He gives a small shrug, and says, “Um, I just wanted to come and um, say hi, but if you want me to go it’s totally okay. I understand.”
“No,” Brendon says quickly, and motions to the chair next to him. “Sit down.”
Jon nods, and takes a seat, hesitantly, likes he’s scared Brendon might bite. Brendon’s mother had vaguely mentioned something about Jon hanging around the hospital the whole three days he had been unconscious, but he had found it a little hard to believe - until now, apparently.
Jon eyes his bandaged chest, and looks as if he might start crying. “I, uh - um, how are you?” he bites onto his lip, shakes his head, interrupting Brendon before he can speak, “never mind. Stupid question.”
“No,” Brendon says softly, “I’m fine, I guess. Considering.”
Jon rubs at his forehead with his palm, and lets out a slow, nervous breath. “I -” he starts, then stops, and shakes his head again, “shit, I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” Brendon whispers, feeling a faint burn creeping up the back of his neck.
Jon presses his face into both his hands. “God,” he curses, voice muffled. He lowers his hands, shifts his eyes away from Brendon’s, and says, “I - God. I feel terrible. If only -”
Brendon gives him a look, and cuts him off before he can go any further with a pointed, “don’t.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh, leaving a sharp pain to ring out deep in his chest.
Jon meets his eyes, a helpless look on his face, and its enough to break what’s left of Brendon’s heart. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just can’t believe something like this happened. I just feel like maybe I could have done something about it.”
Brendon shrugs, morose, and picks at the cotton on his blanket. “You wouldn’t have been able to. Plus, I mean. Like. I cheated on you with him and really hurt you, so. I mean, I kind of deserved it.”
Jon stares at him, mouth open in shock. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he demands, face turning a nice shade of splotchy red. “You didn’t deserve that at all.” He puts his face back in his hands, and for a second there, Brendon thinks he might actually start crying.
“Jon…” he starts.
He takes a moment before pulling his head up to look at Brendon, eyes wet. The sight makes Brendon’s damaged heart stop beating for a second or two. “God,” he says again, “I don’t know what I’d do if -” He stops short, swallows, but Brendon can pretty well guess where he was going with that.
Before he can second guess it, Brendon reaches out, and takes a hold of Jon’s hand that was resting on the side of his bed, into his. Jon looks up, a little startled, but after a second, slowly, he squeezes back.
- x -
When Jon comes the next day, after school, Brendon doesn’t waste much time before he reaches over to the bedside table, and takes the small box into his hands. “Here,” he says, a little warily as he hands the box over to Jon, “I want you to have these.”
Earlier that morning, Mrs. Urie accompanied by two cops, went over to Ryan’s condo to collect his stuff. Brendon had made sure to specifically tell her where the box of Jon’s letters were hidden, because even though Ryan was gone now, he couldn’t risk him ever finding them. Plus, it was about time Jon finally saw all the hundreds of letters that had been addressed to him but never sent.
“What is it?”
“They’re, um,” Brendon starts, then shrugs, skin prickling with shame, “they’re letters I wrote you while I was living with Ryan. They’re, um, a bit emo.” He lets out a forced laugh.
“I think you had a good enough reason to be,” he replies stiffly, not returning the laugh.
Brendon shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well. You know, I could have left but I didn’t. Instead, I felt sorry for myself and wrote you letters I knew I was never going to send.” He lets out another forced, slightly shaky laugh, and he can even sense the sadness to it.
Jon stares up at him, a sullen look on his face. “It wasn’t your fault, Brendon.”
“What wasn’t it?” Brendon asks half-heartedly.
“What Ryan did to you.”
Brendon shrugs and looks away. “I know,” he mumbles.
“No, I don’t think you do know,” he says grimly, not moving his gaze off Brendon.
“Jon,” Brendon sighs, wearisome, and moves some hair out of his eyes before looking up to briefly meet his eyes, “really, it’s okay. Whatever you’re about to tell me they’re going to tell me everyday in rehab.”
“You’re going to rehab?” Jon questions, a shocked but pleased expression making its way across his face.
”Well, I don’t know.” He shrugs, eyes still not meeting Jon’s. “Something like that.”
Jon runs his fingers over the cool, metal of the box, and says, “Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, my parents seem to think so too.”
“And you don’t?”
Brendon picks at his fingernails, doesn’t look up, and says, “I don’t know, I guess so.” Honestly, Brendon doesn’t really mind, but he just doesn’t get how it’s going to change anything. He doesn’t even know where Ryan is. Every time he tries to ask, they just look at him with pity, and say, ‘that’s not important right now’.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, eyes shifting around the room, avoiding each other’s gaze. Jon pulls the box close to him, gently as if it’s gold, and says, “I’ll - um, I’ll definitely be reading these.”
Brendon nods, and his heart skips a few beats from nerves. The thought of Jon reading over those words, the ones he never meant for anyone to read - while he was still alive at least - was enough to leave him feeling sick to his stomach.
“You know,” Jon starts, fingers dangerously close to Brendon’s as he smoothes out the bed sheets He looks up, meets Brendon’s eyes with his big, brown, warm ones, and says, voice rough, “it’s going to be okay now.”
Brendon inhales, sharply, and searches Jon eyes, feeling the pain in his chest slowly subside. “I know,” he whispers, letting the warmth of Jon’s hand melt into his.
Jon smiles, teeth showing, as he runs his thumb against Brendon’s. And for the first time in months, Brendon, he actually believes it.
A/N: Technically, this was the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue, and that’s when everything will be wrapped up. I just felt that it would fit better as the epilogue, instead of the last chapter. Hopefully, it wont be too long for that to be posted, but seeing as I wont even be home till Thursday night, it might not be until next weekend. I’ll try my hardest to get it posted ASAP though.
Author: repulsive_x
Rating: I'm just gonna keep it at R for general sexual content, swearing, alcohol and maybe some drug use, abuse.
Pairing: Brendon Urie/Ryan Ross, Brendon Urie/Jon Walker
POV: Third
Summary: Brendon Urie is what some would call 'privileged'. He was born into money, and was graced with good looks. He has good friends, and an amazing boyfriend that most people only dream of. Then Ryan Ross came along, and made that all change.
Disclaimer: fake like bdens denial of being a flaming homosexual (and for once in a fic, i would also like it to stay this way)
Beta: BEC, bilvy_lover
Author's Notes: This is a fic about an abusive relationship, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing, DO NOT READ!
Previous Chapters
C H A P T E R ` T W E N T Y - E I G H T
When Brendon wakes up, he’s in a white room. If it wasn’t for the flowers and the colorful balloons with the words ‘Get Well Soon’ scrawled across, covering every last inch of the room, he’d think he was in heaven.
“Brendon, sweetheart,” a voice gushes. “Are you awake?”
Brendon shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, his mother is standing above him with an overjoyed expression on her face. Brendon hasn’t seen an expression like that - one that hasn’t been completely fake, anyway - on her since he was a child. “Hi mom,” he croaks, voice sounding raw and foreign. His chest hurts, so fucking much, so he doesn’t attempt to say anything more.
“Sweetie, how are you feeling?” she asks, and then shakes her head, cutting him off before he can even open his mouth. “No,” she says, “never mind. Don’t answer that.” She bends down, and presses a quick, but firm kiss to the top of his head. “Oh god, Brendon, you don’t know how happy I am that you’re okay.”
Brendon frowns, confused, because this isn’t like his mother at all. Maybe he’s just imagining this all; he does feel a little groggy.
“You’ve already went through two surgeries, and you have another one in a few hours,” she explains, fingers stroking through her sons hair. “You were conscious for awhile, but the doctors said you probably wouldn’t remember because you were on so many drugs. Do you remember, honey?”
Brendon thinks this over for a moment, and then shakes his head. He doesn’t get it. How did he not die? He felt the bullet inside his chest, ricocheting off his lungs. It hit his heart, it had to have. How did it not hit his heart? He aimed right fucking for it!
“Oh, Brendon,” she says, and he’s not sure, but is that a tear he sees in the corner of his mother’s eye? “You were so lucky, sweetheart. It was just a few centimeters from hitting-” she pauses, looks up at the ceiling in thought, then sticks with, “a very important vessel.”
He leans back into the flat, hospital pillow, and shuts his eyes. God, he can’t even kill himself right. How pathetic is he?
“Where’s - ” he starts, and takes a deep breath, feeling the sharp, stinging pain inside his lungs, “where’s Ryan?” he finishes softly, and immediately wants to take it back. He’d probably be better off not knowing where Ryan is ever, ever again.
Mrs. Urie looks down at him, concern thick in her eyes. “Brendon,” she says, and pauses, taking her bottom lip between her teeth, “you don’t have to worry about Ryan anymore. He turned himself in.”
For a moment, Brendon just freezes, because what? Ryan turned himself in? No. He wouldn’t have. What did he even say? That the reason Brendon put a gun to his chest was because he smacked him around? No. Ryan - he wouldn’t.
“But - what? Where is he?” he rasps.
She threads her fingers though his hair, soothingly, and Brendon almost feels like he’s a kid again. “Let’s not talk about that right now, sweetheart,” she whispers, voice breaking. “Let’s focus on you getting better.” She smiles, sadly, and says, “It’s going to be alright now, honey.”
Brendon concentrates on the dull, steady ache in his chest, and can’t help but notice as something in the back of his mind says, no, it really won’t.
- x -
“Hey,” a soft voice says, bringing Brendon out from his trance where he stares out the window, out into the clear, blue Vegas sky.
He turns to look towards the door to where the voice came from, and thinks, if he were standing up, he surely would have fallen down in shock. “Um,” he starts, momentarily forgetting how to form words as he stares up at the visitor, “hi.”
Jon smiles, a little shyly, and moves forward until he’s standing at the end of the bed. He gives a small shrug, and says, “Um, I just wanted to come and um, say hi, but if you want me to go it’s totally okay. I understand.”
“No,” Brendon says quickly, and motions to the chair next to him. “Sit down.”
Jon nods, and takes a seat, hesitantly, likes he’s scared Brendon might bite. Brendon’s mother had vaguely mentioned something about Jon hanging around the hospital the whole three days he had been unconscious, but he had found it a little hard to believe - until now, apparently.
Jon eyes his bandaged chest, and looks as if he might start crying. “I, uh - um, how are you?” he bites onto his lip, shakes his head, interrupting Brendon before he can speak, “never mind. Stupid question.”
“No,” Brendon says softly, “I’m fine, I guess. Considering.”
Jon rubs at his forehead with his palm, and lets out a slow, nervous breath. “I -” he starts, then stops, and shakes his head again, “shit, I don’t even know what to say.”
“It’s okay,” Brendon whispers, feeling a faint burn creeping up the back of his neck.
Jon presses his face into both his hands. “God,” he curses, voice muffled. He lowers his hands, shifts his eyes away from Brendon’s, and says, “I - God. I feel terrible. If only -”
Brendon gives him a look, and cuts him off before he can go any further with a pointed, “don’t.” He lets out a short, bitter laugh, leaving a sharp pain to ring out deep in his chest.
Jon meets his eyes, a helpless look on his face, and its enough to break what’s left of Brendon’s heart. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I just can’t believe something like this happened. I just feel like maybe I could have done something about it.”
Brendon shrugs, morose, and picks at the cotton on his blanket. “You wouldn’t have been able to. Plus, I mean. Like. I cheated on you with him and really hurt you, so. I mean, I kind of deserved it.”
Jon stares at him, mouth open in shock. “Don’t you ever say that again,” he demands, face turning a nice shade of splotchy red. “You didn’t deserve that at all.” He puts his face back in his hands, and for a second there, Brendon thinks he might actually start crying.
“Jon…” he starts.
He takes a moment before pulling his head up to look at Brendon, eyes wet. The sight makes Brendon’s damaged heart stop beating for a second or two. “God,” he says again, “I don’t know what I’d do if -” He stops short, swallows, but Brendon can pretty well guess where he was going with that.
Before he can second guess it, Brendon reaches out, and takes a hold of Jon’s hand that was resting on the side of his bed, into his. Jon looks up, a little startled, but after a second, slowly, he squeezes back.
- x -
When Jon comes the next day, after school, Brendon doesn’t waste much time before he reaches over to the bedside table, and takes the small box into his hands. “Here,” he says, a little warily as he hands the box over to Jon, “I want you to have these.”
Earlier that morning, Mrs. Urie accompanied by two cops, went over to Ryan’s condo to collect his stuff. Brendon had made sure to specifically tell her where the box of Jon’s letters were hidden, because even though Ryan was gone now, he couldn’t risk him ever finding them. Plus, it was about time Jon finally saw all the hundreds of letters that had been addressed to him but never sent.
“What is it?”
“They’re, um,” Brendon starts, then shrugs, skin prickling with shame, “they’re letters I wrote you while I was living with Ryan. They’re, um, a bit emo.” He lets out a forced laugh.
“I think you had a good enough reason to be,” he replies stiffly, not returning the laugh.
Brendon shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable. “Yeah, well. You know, I could have left but I didn’t. Instead, I felt sorry for myself and wrote you letters I knew I was never going to send.” He lets out another forced, slightly shaky laugh, and he can even sense the sadness to it.
Jon stares up at him, a sullen look on his face. “It wasn’t your fault, Brendon.”
“What wasn’t it?” Brendon asks half-heartedly.
“What Ryan did to you.”
Brendon shrugs and looks away. “I know,” he mumbles.
“No, I don’t think you do know,” he says grimly, not moving his gaze off Brendon.
“Jon,” Brendon sighs, wearisome, and moves some hair out of his eyes before looking up to briefly meet his eyes, “really, it’s okay. Whatever you’re about to tell me they’re going to tell me everyday in rehab.”
“You’re going to rehab?” Jon questions, a shocked but pleased expression making its way across his face.
”Well, I don’t know.” He shrugs, eyes still not meeting Jon’s. “Something like that.”
Jon runs his fingers over the cool, metal of the box, and says, “Well, that’s good.”
“Yeah, my parents seem to think so too.”
“And you don’t?”
Brendon picks at his fingernails, doesn’t look up, and says, “I don’t know, I guess so.” Honestly, Brendon doesn’t really mind, but he just doesn’t get how it’s going to change anything. He doesn’t even know where Ryan is. Every time he tries to ask, they just look at him with pity, and say, ‘that’s not important right now’.
They sit in silence for a minute or two, eyes shifting around the room, avoiding each other’s gaze. Jon pulls the box close to him, gently as if it’s gold, and says, “I’ll - um, I’ll definitely be reading these.”
Brendon nods, and his heart skips a few beats from nerves. The thought of Jon reading over those words, the ones he never meant for anyone to read - while he was still alive at least - was enough to leave him feeling sick to his stomach.
“You know,” Jon starts, fingers dangerously close to Brendon’s as he smoothes out the bed sheets He looks up, meets Brendon’s eyes with his big, brown, warm ones, and says, voice rough, “it’s going to be okay now.”
Brendon inhales, sharply, and searches Jon eyes, feeling the pain in his chest slowly subside. “I know,” he whispers, letting the warmth of Jon’s hand melt into his.
Jon smiles, teeth showing, as he runs his thumb against Brendon’s. And for the first time in months, Brendon, he actually believes it.
A/N: Technically, this was the last chapter, but there will be an epilogue, and that’s when everything will be wrapped up. I just felt that it would fit better as the epilogue, instead of the last chapter. Hopefully, it wont be too long for that to be posted, but seeing as I wont even be home till Thursday night, it might not be until next weekend. I’ll try my hardest to get it posted ASAP though.