I'm A Scar Away From Falling Apart (13)
Title: I’m A Scar Away From Falling Apart (13)
Author: longerthanwedo
Beta: melody_so_sweet <3
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Rydon
POV: 1st, Brendon’s
Summary: I can’t live with being the reason for his tears, and it kills me when he won’t let me dry them.
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: I’m posting this pretty fast, so if you haven’t read chapter 12 yet, you should read that before you read this. Feedback is awesome; it keeps me wanting to write. :)
Prologue I Chapter 1 I Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6 I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9 I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11 I Chapter 12
I thought I helped.
I thought Ryan was getting over his depression, I thought he would be back to normal, back to smiling and laughing and acting like the Ryan I knew weeks ago. I thought he believed me when I said he would get better, when I promised he would.
But it’s been a week since I made that promise. He spent a few more days on the couch, watched the ladies, pairs, and dance competitions. Then he retreated to his room. He locked the door, and slept more than he had in a month, and I was glad he was sleeping well, finally, but he didn’t come out. He hasn’t come out of his room, out of his bed, in seven days. He doesn’t even come out to get food, so I bring it to him. And I think he only eats when I tell him to so that I’ll go away and let him sleep again.
I’m so worried about him. Nothing I say makes any difference anymore. I try to make more promises, say encouraging things, and he’ll nod his head, but nothing changes in his eyes, in the set of his frowning lips. He never cries when I’m there, but a few times I’ve walked in and his eyes are red, his nose sniffling, and he’ll turn his face away and pretend to be asleep.
I try to help him in any way I can, but he won’t let me.
He won’t let me stay in his room for more than ten minutes at a time. He never tells me to leave but he’ll turn over and close his eyes and I know that’s my cue to go. I try to talk to him, but all I get are grunts and sighs in return. I don’t even think I’ve heard his voice in days, not really. He’ll only listen to me when I tell him to eat. I think he knows that if he stopped eating altogether I’d resort to more drastic measures.
His moods are bringing me down, and I desperately want him to be happy. I need him to be happy. Because every day he spends shut up in his room, sleeping or sulking, is another day that I’m left alone with the knowledge that I did this to him.
I took away his dreams, unintentionally but still. It’s all my fault. And no matter how hard he shakes his head when I tell him this, when I apologize, I know it’s all my fault. I’m the reason he never eats, I’m the reason he cries. He should never, ever have to cry.
I can’t live with being the reason for his tears, and it kills me when he won’t let me dry them.
But the worst part is that I can’t see any other ways I can help him. I’ve tried everything, everything I can think of and nothing works. Half of my ideas can’t even work because he refuses to leave his bed.
I keep trying, though. I have to keep trying.
The button on the toaster pops up and pulls me from my thoughts. I never know what Ryan wants to eat since he won’t talk to me, so he gets toast. Every day. Toast is always a safe option. I butter the bread and get a bottle of water from the fridge before trudging somewhat reluctantly up the stairs to his new home.
But I have hope. I always have that little bit of hope.
I open his door, not bothering to knock, and he rolls over, eyes half shut, and greets me with a sigh. Hello to you, too, Ryan.
“Hey,” I speak, the same words and the same tone, always. “Here.” I hand him the plate. He takes it, takes a bite, and sets it down again.
I decide to try talking to him again.
“Ryan…” I start, and there’s a businesslike tone in my voice. One he knows only too well.
He sighs again, flopping his head down onto the pillow.
“Hey, no.” I stare at him until he looks at me. “You have to talk to me, Ryan.”
He looks at me with a “yeah, right” expression.
“I don’t. I want. I-I don’t know what to do anymore. You have to stop this. Just. You need to get out of this bed, Ryan. Just go…go downstairs, or something. Get yourself something to eat, take a shower, read a book. Just, anything other than this.” I look at him pleadingly.
He shakes his head once, firmly, and starts to roll over, a clear “end of conversation” gesture, but this time I won’t have that.
I grab his shoulder and stop his movement.
“It’s not healthy, Ryan.” I keep my hold on him so he can’t shut me out. “And it’s not helping anything. You’re not going to recover just laying here. In fact, it’ll make your recovery slower.” I actually have no idea if that’s true, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Please, just. Just try. I can’t. I don’t.” I sigh, trying to find the right words. “I hate this. I miss you.”
Maybe, just maybe, something changes in his eyes. It’s enough of a something that I know this is my chance.
“Please.”
Ryan puts his stubborn face on, and I know that he’s not listening anymore. He’s closed himself off. Again.
But I won’t let him.
“For me?” I try, and he looks at me with a disbelieving expression. I can see behind that look, though, and I see his mind battling itself, trying to figure out what to do.
Too bad I’ve already prepared myself to fight.
“Please?” This time it comes out as a whisper, and Ryan opens his mouth, but I can see the decision in his eyes. He’s not going to go with me. He’s going to refuse, just like before.
And I just can’t let him do that.
So I lean forward and press my lips firmly to his.
He freezes, and I stay there for a second, solidifying the kiss, before pulling back.
His eyes are huge, surprised, disbelieving.
Oh shit.
My eyes and hands drop, and heat in my face rises. My mouth opens and closes, but I don’t know what to say. I can hear the beating of my heart. Fast, so fast.
“Um. I. Uh.” I have no words, nothing. Should I apologize? I can’t think, really.
But I don’t have to. Because Ryan speaks.
“Um. We can. We can go watch TV, or something. If you want?” His voice is quiet, but it’s not angry, and I look up to meet his eyes. They’re soft, and not closed off. Not anymore.
“Okay,” I say, and my voice is just as low, and maybe even shaky.
I stand up, and stick out my hand to help him off the bed.
We walk out into the hallway, out of Ryan’s room, finally, and I can’t believe I actually won. He’s going to get better now, and I’m going to help him. He’ll be happy, soon.
I lead the way down the stairs.
Ryan keeps his hand tight in mine.