six feet under and one heart broken. 1/2
six feel under and one heart broken
ryan/brendon and ryan/pete // 743 // pg-13.
tues.
brendon ends ryan’s life on a tuesday.
and his weapons of choice are words.
there’s a right hook to the jaw containing something along the lines of “this isn’t working,” followed by a blocked punch resonating with “please don’t do this.”
a sock to the stomach sounds something like “i’m not happy anymore”, and ryan’s knees hit the floor with a “one more chance.”
kicks to a protruding ribcage sound like ryan being told he isn’t and wasn’t good enough, and reasons one through twenty are littering the ground around ryan’s broken form.
and as brendon turns away, he doesn’t bat so much as an eyelash while ryan’s choking and coughing through a severed aorta a strangled “i’m sorry.”
wed.
gram’s life ends on a wednesday.
at least, that’s how ryan documents it.
the paramedics found her dead in her sedentary nursing home cottage at 8:25 on wednesday morning, however estimating she probably passed away late tuesday.
But ryan says you’re not really dead until people recognize you as dead.
god’s weapon of choice was a faulted artery deep in the cerebellum. the aneurism ruptured during rem sleep. she didn’t feel a thing.
ryan flushes green with a wave of nausea as the news settles like debris over his already clichéd and broken heart, and it’s an alien kind of feeling having to hold his own hair back when he throws up over the side of the bed before falling back to sleep.
-
ryan takes a walk on an empty stomach after he can’t sleep any longer, when it hurts too much to lay awake in bed and think. it’s late april and in the upper sixties, but to him it feels subzero in early february. flannel pajama pants and a tight ninja turtles t-shirt act as flimsy shields defending against a cold wind that isn’t really there.
the leaves of the massive expanses of old-town trees are beginning to blossom as if they'd never been killed by november. ryan wishes he too could be so forgiving.
because ryan misses brendon already, friend or enemy. sixteen hours of being alone doesn’t settle well in his stomach.
he’s just mad at brendon for giving up, for meeting that jon guy, for starting fights that lead nowhere and breaking their plans to go nowhere.
and he’s mad at gram for dying, for not eating healthier, for smoking.
he’s mad at god for taking gram and brendon away at the same time, for not giving any recovery time, for being so harsh about it. because somehow ryan thinks god has something to do with everything that goes wrong in his life. he wants to cut the puppet strings god has tied around his arms almost as much as he wants to cut his hair after looking into the reflection of a storefront window makes him realize he really looks like a girl.
-
ryan’s sprawled out on his stomach under a maple tree in the park when spencer texts him from a school bathroom stall.
where are you?
ryan sighs out loud. gram died.
ryan hates how spencer’s replies are instant. i’m so sorry. and about brendon. i hope you’re okay.
leave me alone, spen.
passersby would assume ryan is crying after this, but ryan keeps trying to tell himself he’s watering the grass with tears.
-
when ryan comes home, his dad is gone, making hasty funeral plans so his dead mother isn’t above ground for long. there’s a lavender dress protected by plastic and draped over the kitchen table with a note placed gently on top written on a notepad advertising a prescription heart medication.
ryan.
i needed to go out for a few things. can you take this dress to your aunt’s house sometime this afternoon? the hem is pretty frayed and i want gram to be as beautiful when she leaves the earth as she did when she entered.
hope you’re holding up okay. i know it’s tough.
love,
dad.
ryan restricts himself to just one drink before he leaves, since alcohol tends to make him numb toward sadness and he hates crying in front of his family, much less anyone else.
but one drink doubles to two drinks and two drinks triple to six and ryan can barely see straight enough to navigate through the dark garage to find his car.
he passes out in the driver’s seat after he can’t unite keys to ignition, and doesn’t feel as bad about gram’s un-hemmed dress as he does about himself.
-
A/N: happy birthday, nidale! <3
ryan/brendon and ryan/pete // 743 // pg-13.
tues.
brendon ends ryan’s life on a tuesday.
and his weapons of choice are words.
there’s a right hook to the jaw containing something along the lines of “this isn’t working,” followed by a blocked punch resonating with “please don’t do this.”
a sock to the stomach sounds something like “i’m not happy anymore”, and ryan’s knees hit the floor with a “one more chance.”
kicks to a protruding ribcage sound like ryan being told he isn’t and wasn’t good enough, and reasons one through twenty are littering the ground around ryan’s broken form.
and as brendon turns away, he doesn’t bat so much as an eyelash while ryan’s choking and coughing through a severed aorta a strangled “i’m sorry.”
wed.
gram’s life ends on a wednesday.
at least, that’s how ryan documents it.
the paramedics found her dead in her sedentary nursing home cottage at 8:25 on wednesday morning, however estimating she probably passed away late tuesday.
But ryan says you’re not really dead until people recognize you as dead.
god’s weapon of choice was a faulted artery deep in the cerebellum. the aneurism ruptured during rem sleep. she didn’t feel a thing.
ryan flushes green with a wave of nausea as the news settles like debris over his already clichéd and broken heart, and it’s an alien kind of feeling having to hold his own hair back when he throws up over the side of the bed before falling back to sleep.
-
ryan takes a walk on an empty stomach after he can’t sleep any longer, when it hurts too much to lay awake in bed and think. it’s late april and in the upper sixties, but to him it feels subzero in early february. flannel pajama pants and a tight ninja turtles t-shirt act as flimsy shields defending against a cold wind that isn’t really there.
the leaves of the massive expanses of old-town trees are beginning to blossom as if they'd never been killed by november. ryan wishes he too could be so forgiving.
because ryan misses brendon already, friend or enemy. sixteen hours of being alone doesn’t settle well in his stomach.
he’s just mad at brendon for giving up, for meeting that jon guy, for starting fights that lead nowhere and breaking their plans to go nowhere.
and he’s mad at gram for dying, for not eating healthier, for smoking.
he’s mad at god for taking gram and brendon away at the same time, for not giving any recovery time, for being so harsh about it. because somehow ryan thinks god has something to do with everything that goes wrong in his life. he wants to cut the puppet strings god has tied around his arms almost as much as he wants to cut his hair after looking into the reflection of a storefront window makes him realize he really looks like a girl.
-
ryan’s sprawled out on his stomach under a maple tree in the park when spencer texts him from a school bathroom stall.
where are you?
ryan sighs out loud. gram died.
ryan hates how spencer’s replies are instant. i’m so sorry. and about brendon. i hope you’re okay.
leave me alone, spen.
passersby would assume ryan is crying after this, but ryan keeps trying to tell himself he’s watering the grass with tears.
-
when ryan comes home, his dad is gone, making hasty funeral plans so his dead mother isn’t above ground for long. there’s a lavender dress protected by plastic and draped over the kitchen table with a note placed gently on top written on a notepad advertising a prescription heart medication.
ryan.
i needed to go out for a few things. can you take this dress to your aunt’s house sometime this afternoon? the hem is pretty frayed and i want gram to be as beautiful when she leaves the earth as she did when she entered.
hope you’re holding up okay. i know it’s tough.
love,
dad.
ryan restricts himself to just one drink before he leaves, since alcohol tends to make him numb toward sadness and he hates crying in front of his family, much less anyone else.
but one drink doubles to two drinks and two drinks triple to six and ryan can barely see straight enough to navigate through the dark garage to find his car.
he passes out in the driver’s seat after he can’t unite keys to ignition, and doesn’t feel as bad about gram’s un-hemmed dress as he does about himself.
-
A/N: happy birthday, nidale! <3