The last Rydon that I will write, except for the one i've already started. i'll finish that.
Brendon held the tattered piece of notebook paper in shaking hands, not willing to believe the letters penned on it in Ryan’s hand. Brendon might have been able to cope with the breaking up of the band, had it not been for this. If he had had Ryan to help him through it, he might have been okay. But Ryan wouldn’t be there, Ryan apparently wanted no part of him anymore. He dropped the thin paper, watching it flutter to the ground where the blue ink still blazed like a beacon of heartbreak. Even from the distance put between his watery eyes and the damned note, he could still read the last line.
I never want to see you again.
Brendon hated this note with the core of his being, though at the same time he cherished every word written. He bent down and carefully picked up the paper, as though it was an antique to be forever treasured. He couldn’t help but read the hastily written words again.
I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the anguish I’ve caused you over the years, the things I’ve done, things I’ve said. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry that you had to get dragged into our band of misfits that was never meant to be anything more than a Summer hobby. I’m sorry that I led you to believe that I loved you. I’m sorry for every kiss, every touch we shared, because it was all a lie. A stage show. I thought that if you thought it was real, you’d be able to deal better with the inevitable breakup of our band. I thought I would always be there for you, your best friend and assumed boyfriend, to help you through whatever obstacle you came across.
I now see that all I did was hurt you. I should have never led you on like that, I should have never told you that I loved you. I do love you, but not in that way. You were my best friend, Brendon, nothing more. And though I imagine you’re sick of hearing it by now, I am truly sorry.
It is for this purpose that I must say these words, though I fear the reaction they may bring from you. I was never good for you, Brendon. I was a terrible influence on you, which ultimately led to the demise of our band. I corrupted you, which in turn corrupted our music, led to fake lyrics and fake feelings. I only want what’s best for you. Which is why I’m moving. I won’t say where. I don’t want you to find me. Please, if you loved me at all, move on with your life. Find someone who loves you, who accepts you. Spend the rest of your life with them. Be happy.
You would never have been happy with me, Brendon. I’m sorry.
I never want to see you again.
It was all a lie, every kiss, every promise Ryan had made about their life together, it was all fake. A stage show, Ryan had said.
Brendon slumped against the wall of his apartment previously shared with Ryan, the one now empty of anything of Ryan’s. The bed had still smelled faintly of Ryan’s cologne, he had noticed, the first night he had been gone. He’d stayed there for days until the smell was no more than a faint memory.
Brendon knew without thinking the words that there was no life without Ryan. Even if Ryan hadn’t loved him, Ryan was his angel, his life, his only love. Ryan was the very oxygen he breathed, the addicting drug he needed for day to day activity. If Ryan was gone, there was no longer purpose in his life. If there was no Ryan, then there was sure as hell no Brendon.
He stood and walked over to the cabinet in the front room, one of the only pieces of furniture Brendon had owned prior to meeting Ryan. He dug through a box of crap he’d never use again until he found what he was searching for. A small metal handgun. He smiled at it like a long lost friend, brushing his thumb over the cool metal. Still clutching Ryan’s note in his free hand, he pressed the barrel of the gun to his temple.
He pulled the trigger without hesitation.
By the time Spencer found him that night, Brendon was pale and cold, unmoving. His skin was tinted blue. In horror, Spencer pulled the now blood-soaked paper from Brendon’s grip. Most of the words were blurred and unreadable, save for the last line. The one that had broken Brendon’s heart.
A week later, a distraught looking Ryan appeared at the door of the now-empty apartment previously owned by one Brendon Urie. He knocked at the door in desperation, to hear no response. Brendon’s neighbor, a young woman maybe in her twenties, appeared at the doorway next to Brendon’s.
“He’s not there,” she told him quietly.
“Where is he? Do you know?” He asked desperately.
She nodded, but didn’t say anything. She pulled a small black card from her pocket, handed it to Ryan, then retreated into her apartment. The words he read on the card tore him apart.
You have been invited to attend the viewing of Mister Brendon Urie.
The viewing will take place at Black Pines Memorial at noon on July 24.
May he rest in peace.
Ryan looked frantically at his watch. 11:40. July 24.
He turned and sprinted down the hall, down the stairs and out to his car. He jammed the keys into the ignition and sped down the street, taking turns at 30 miles over the speed limit. When he finally screeched to a halt outside the memorial, he saw Spencer walking from the building, teary eyed. He jumped from the car and sprinted over to him.
“Spencer, please, tell me its not true.”
Spencer only glared at him. He raised a hand and slapped him across the face.
“What was that for?”
Spencer shoved a piece of paper at him. “You killed him,” he growled before storming off.
Ryan looked down at the paper, instantly recognizing it as the letter he had written Brendon. It was stained with blood. Terror wound through him. It was his fault.
He went inside, seeing a simple black casket in the center of the room. He walked over, hesitating before peering into the coffin. There was Brendon, dressed neatly in a black suit, hands crossed over his stomach, eyes closed. Tears escaped his eyes. How could he have been so stupid?! Why did he write the goddamned letter?! It wasn’t true, none of it, he loved Brendon, he really did, he just knew that Brendon could do better, he hoped he would move on.
He stumbled back from the coffin, seeking out a pad of paper and pen on one of the small tables there. He picked it up and scribbled Brendon a last goodbye.
Brendon, my angel, my love.
You are gone, and it’s my fault.
I’m so sorry. I should have never written you that letter, I do love you, I really do. You could have done so much better than me and I hoped you would take my advice and find someone who could treat you better. I’m so, so sorry.
Know that I love you, and I will see you soon.
All my love,
He folded it up and walked back to the casket. He slipped the letter into Brendon’s coat pocket, the letter that Brendon would never read.
Ryan Ross walked out of the memorial, thinking about the fastest way to do away with himself.