[Ryden] Ryan Ross wasn't himself when he drank, and Brendon hated it.
It wasn't much of a surprise to find Brendon on my heels, more than just a little shocked that I had realized he had been following my every step. Stuttering, he scrambled to find some explanation for his actions, embarrassment turning his cheeks a rosy pink. I, on the other hand, remained calm and cool and James Bond-esque, raising my left eyebrow just slightly so I looked a bit suspicious, nothing more.
As if I didn't know the exact reason why he wouldn't leave me alone; why our conversations quickly became more of a monologue for me than I would have liked. It was silly, and stupid, and more childish than anything I could imagine that Brendon was keeping something like that from me. Or, rather, he thought he was.
Bringing myself back to reality, I waited for Brendon to finally blurt out some cliche excuse; something about meaning to go to the kitchen, or that he must not have been watching where he was walking. Eventually, the words "I didn't realize you were there", or something to that effect, spilled past his lips.
Yeah, just like I didn't realize that he was bisexual, and that I had been the cause of that for the longest of times.
I didn't respond, and instead headed for my room. Journeying over and around the pillows and papers and piles of slowly decaying junk, I stopped at the small dresser that held all my shirts and hoodies. I opened the various drawers, trying to remember which one held my guilty pleasure. Underneath the black fabric of a My Chemical Romance tee, I finally found what I was looking for: an almost-full bottle of alcohol. The neck had been tilted upward, which had prevented any of that precious liquid from staining my clothes, and the glass was covered with little bits of cotton. The liquid inside most likely had tiny threads from my clothes floating around in it, but as I all but chugged down the wine I couldn't have cared less.
It was almost ironic that I had taken this from my dad's private stash, and that I had sworn since the age of nine that I'd never end up like him.
I'd never drink, and I'd never lie, and I'd never be ashamed of who I was.
I started to laugh as I took a seat on my queen-sized bed, clasping the bottle tightly in my hand. I could not understand why, but at the moment everything seemed so funny, like some great comedian had written the script of my life.
Kid grows up, kid faces father while he is drunk, kid realizes drinking is stupid and promises himself he'll never pick up the habit.
Fast forward about a decade-and-a-half: kid is now a 24-year-old loser who lives with his best friend. Kid used to be in a band, but he fucked it all up and now it's all gone. So kid wanders around his house and pretends he is happy with his life.
Kid drinks, and drinks, and drinks. And he drinks some more and finds out he is in love with his roommate. Kid finishes his fifth can of beer, and becomes enlightened to the fact that his friend is the only reason he is alive, and that he can never be with his friend because his friend is a guy, and kid is a guy.
I could not stop laughing, and even Brendon's presence in the room was not enough to kill the humor of the situation. Even when he shook his head at my pathetic form and said, "Ry, you really should stop drinking" I was still holding onto my stomach as it ached from all the laughter I was partaking in.
Only when he muttered sadly, "You're not yourself when you drink, and I hate that" did I sober up.
He was wrong, dead wrong. Being completely wasted put me in the only state of mind where I could be myself. Where I could think about my weird dreams and admit to myself that I enjoyed them; that if they ever came true I would obtain the ultimate happiness. When I was drunk, I didn't have to remind myself that I couldn't love Brendon because he wasn't a girl, and I did not have to be completely humiliated at the subconscious wish I had that I would rather be the girl, that I wanted him inside me like that.
And when I was drunk, I actually wanted Brendon to know all those things.
He looked at me, and even through the haze I could tell every second in this room with me was killing him. It was killing him because he wanted me and he didn't know I wanted him back just as badly. It was killing him because he knew I was being such a hypocrite, and that wasn't the Ryan he had become friends with. That wasn't the Ryan he lusted over and dreamt about.
"Brendon, I...." I struggled with what I was about to say, three words that would bring so much trouble with them...and that would take away so much pain. So much, so much, so much.
All I had wanted to say was, "I love you". That's all I really wanted to tell him, now that the alcohol was holding down my conscience and my morals and everything that was keeping me from Brendon.
So I don't really know why I stood up and dropped the bottle. And I don't know why I wrapped my arms around him, or why I pulled him onto the bed so that he was lying, confused, on top of my body as I began to suck his neck sloppily.
"Ryan, what the fuck are you doing?"
I wondered that, too, but I didn't stop my attempt at romance, and my hands had already wandered under his shirt as if they had always been there, touching and teasing. I didn't think he had any idea what I was trying to accomplish; that idea was squashed when he pulled my own t-shirt off and pushed me away just enough so he could connect with my mouth.
And then I moaned. I moaned, and I groaned, and I was saddened by what was happening because, already, the buzz was gone. And all that was left was the porno taking place in my bedroom, where a closeted homosexual finally lets his dirty-minded young friend have a go at him. Unfortunately, the director had left the production, and so we had both somehow stripped down to our boxers and were left unsure of ourselves.
I couldn't go on with this, but my body had other plans.
Brendon couldn't possibly take advantage of his best friend like this, but his cock heavily disagreed.
And so there we were, naked and fucking, and everything went on so perfectly that I was sure my bottles and his hormones had planned this all earlier.
Kid, the 24-year-old loser, realizes that maybe loving his friend was bad. But kid never gets a chance to tell his friend that he loves him because kid ends up having sex with the friend, and then the next day kid and the kid's friend never mention what happened. Kid's friend tries to start relationship with kid, but kid refuses. Kid's friend takes a few lines from a song and tells kid,
"This may sound bad, and don't take it the wrong way; I love you, however, you hold me down."
The words "you hold me down" echo in kid's head, for years and years. By the time kid is a twenty-seven-year-old loser, kid's friend has moved out and lives with one of kid's old friends. Kid thinks his name is Spencer, but kid is totally drunk again and so kid doesn't really remember. Kid also thinks he plays drums, and that he is now the love of kid's friend's life.
Kid is disgusted with himself, and goes back to his parents' house because living alone makes him sad. Kid gets in argument with his dad, and kid ends up killing his dad.
Sirens blare, and the police come, and for ten years, kid is known only as Prisoner #08759.
After a while, kid is sitting in his jail cell when a letter comes. The letter isn't from his mom or sister or even his lawyer.
The letter is from the kid's friend. It is not really a letter, it just a postcard with a picture of a beach. Kid thinks it is a beach, but he doesn't really remember what those look like so he is only guessing. In the picture, there is a man in a striped shirt with thick-rimmed glasses holding onto another man who has blackish hair and a hint of stubble. And they are both smiling.
Kid turns the postcard over. The back reads, "I'm sorry I haven't been able to talk to you, but Spencer and I haven't had time to pay a visit to your jail. I hope everything is going ok for you. Spencer and I got married in Canada and we're celebrating our honeymoon in Montreal. It is beautiful here, and not too hot either, so it's been nice." There is a large space here, filled only with faint red squiggly lines, and in a small font that kid has to squint to read, it says more.
"Ryan, I'm sorry things didn't work out. That we didn't work out. I loved you, and you loved me, and I don't know what went wrong. I know you thought it was wrong because we were both men. I just wanted to tell you that right now I am in love with a man, and we are together, and I am the happiest I have ever been."
There is another space here, and kid starts to cry when he sees what kid's friend had written next.
"This could have been us, Ryan. This could have been us, and if you had just given it a chance, you would have realized that it's perfectly fine to be in love with someone who's the same gender as you. This is probably the last time I will ever talk to you, and I just want to say that I still love you, and I hope that you're happy. --Brendon Urie-Smith".
The postcard falls to the floor as kid weeps, and the other prisoner in his cell thinks kid is even more of a pansy than he was yesterday. Prisoner snarls at kid to shut up or he would hurt kid like he did last night. Kid sniffs and keeps his misery to himself, and wonders what kid's friend was thinking when he penned that postcard.
"How will I break the news to you?"
Kid thinks maybe that is what kid's friend was thinking. Kid thinks about how stupid he was, and kid wonders why the guards keep screaming at him when he tries to cut his wrists. Kid knows they all want him dead, anyways, so why do they keep stopping him?
The postcard is still on the floor, and dirt is starting to get on it, and kid realizes there is one last thing that the kid's friend wanted to tell him. Kid picks up the postcards and blows off the dust, and kid focuses on the letter and the words after the "P.S."
"Please don't try to reply back." Kid can imagine kid's friend sighing as he was writing this down, and reads on. " I'm sorry...I really did love you, but you held me down."
Kid expects there to be more. Kid expects there to be a "I forgive you" or "If you ever get a chance, try swinging by my place". But there is nothing more except the blank whiteness and the typed words on the bottom that exclaim, "Postcard printed by Kodak Pictures www.kodakpictures.com for your own pictures on mugs, mouse pads, and more!"
Kid wonders when the show called "George Ryan Ross' Fucked Up Life" will be canceled, because he thinks it is stupid and that all the critics are right, no one wants to watch that shit.
Kid sighs, and wonders why he held kid's friend down, and why he held himself down.
Kid hasn't been allowed to drink, and so kid can't find the answers to any of his questions. Kid can only try to fight as he feels Prisoner's hands on his waist, and his breath on his neck. Kid can only scream as Prisoner enters him, and kid can't help but ask himself why it felt so much better when kid's friend did it.
Kid tries to find the happy place he goes to every time Prisoner does this to him, and kid realizes he doesn't have a happy place anymore, because kid's friend stopped regretting.
Kid's friend stopped wanting him, and kid's friend stopped letting kid hold him down.