Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > A Story of Complications

Chapter 2.

by Wicked_Lovely 0 Reviews

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: R - Genres: Drama,Romance - Characters:  - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2010/11/16 - Updated: 2010/12/03 - 2901 words - Complete

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I woke up to screaming, and the sound of fists pounding on the door. I opened my eyes and picked up my small watch. It was cheap sure, but I made it last as long as possible. 4 in the morning. Dad was home. Yayyy... I got up, knowing if I didn't deal with it now, I would just have to deal with it twice as bad later. Besides, it seemed to get less and less painful every time he did it. So it's not like it hurt that bad. I unlocked and opened the door to see my drunken dad, an almost empty bottle of Vodka in his hands. He bashed it over my head before shoving me into my almost empty bookshelf. I felt a nail go into my back and winced at the pain. He went on a rant about how it was all my fault that my mom left him, and how I was a screwed up gay child, and that I was disgusting and worthless. And I believed every word that he said, I always did. Because I knew it was the truth. But how do you know the truth when you're always told lies?
He punched me, kicked me, slapped me, did whatever it was that made him feel better. I let him, not wanting to bother to try to stand up for myself. I did that once. I ended up begging to go to the hospital, but he wouldn't take me. No matter how bad it got, he would never take care of me. In his eyes, the only good thing that I could do to be useful, was to be his punching bag. He eventually stopped, getting tired he stormed off breaking a lamp in the hall on the way to his room. I cried silently for a few minutes before standing up and locking the door to my room. I went into the bathroom and started pulling glass out of my hair, and off of my face. I pulled the half inch long nail out of my back, it hurt like hell. I got some disinfectant putting it on the wounds that I could. Of course, it wouldn't do anything for the bruises. I pulled my small razor off the counter of the sink, tears running down my face, I looked at my arm, the words were all ready written into it, 'Worthless' I looked at my other arm and gave it a few deep cuts. I watched the blood seep to the surface, allowing it to drip onto the tile floor. It was already stained with blood from previous times when I had done this. I wiped the blood off, making sure it wouldn't scab over to terribly. I fell back asleep on the bathroom floor, still bleeding slightly.
I woke up and it was six, just about the time I should be getting up. I quickly got dressed and slightly combed my hair with a broken brush. I grabbed my old tattered bag and started to leave, walking into the living room I saw my dad passed out on the couch, with the TV still on. This is why the bills cost so fucking much. I turned off the TV and put a blanket on him. I refused to treat him the same way he treated me. Just because he treated me like a piece of trash didn't mean I had to do the same thing, I liked to treat people like humans. I walked out of the door closing it and locking it before starting down the familiar broken road. It was a lonely thing, but I was soon accompanied by Spencer and Jon. I tugged my sleeves down as far as they would go, curling my fingers around the edges.
"So how was your night Ryan?" Spencer asked with a goofy grin.
"Fine." I lied. "Probably not as good as yours." I gestured to Jon and Spencer's matching grins and they couldn't help but laugh.
"So you decided to be on time today?" Jon asked. I nodded.
"I was woken up early." They would never get that hint. I knew Spencer could figure it out if he tried, but he was to busy loving Jon. We walked down the rest of the street up until we made it to school, Spencer and Jon talking the whole time. We were early, so we sat under the tree we normally sat down at. And I watched as Brendon walk over to us.
"Can I hang with you guys?" He smiled at me.
"Of course, Ryan's probably feeling left out of our conversation anyway." Spencer said. Brendon sat down next to me. He put his hand to my forehead where some broken glass had resided just hours before. I flinched backwards.
"Sorry." he whispered. "How did you get this?" I bit my lip. Should I tell a gorgeous, fun, amazing boy I just met when I haven't even told my best friend? "You don't have to tell me." he said smiling sympathetically. I loved the sound of his voice.
"How was your first day?" I asked him, I wanted to hear that amazing voice that made me melt.
"It wasn't all that grand. I did meet a beautiful...never mind." I looked at him curiously, and the bell rang.
"Boy or girl?" I asked him my heart started pounding, I wanted him to tell me it was me, and I wanted him to hold me, to love me, to make all the pain and badness in the world to go away.
But all that hope went away when he said the one word I was hoping it wouldn't be. "Girl." I sighed. Of course, I was being foolish, it would be too good if it had been me. It would have made me want more in life. It was better this way. We walked to class in an awkward silence that lasted the rest of the day.
The rest of the week was the same, my father coming home at erratic times in the morning, and beating me, telling me I was worthless. Me covering it up so no one knows. And I got to know Brendon. I let him know me a little, not much about my life per-say, but about me. And the more I got to know him, the farther I would fall for him.
The next week in English we were assigned a project, and Brendon told me to go to his house after school. And I felt butterflys flutter in my stomach. I meet up with him after school, and he lead the way to his house. I walked next to him as we walked to his house, he was talking about the project, and I listened as he offered ideas of what to do. I looked around as I noticed the houses getting bigger. "Do you live in this neighborhood?" I asked amazed. I knew some kids at our school did, but I didn't know any personally.
"Yup. My parents go out on business three weeks out of most months. I rarely get to see them. So most of the time I just live on my own." I vaguely wondered if it was better to have a parent that ran away and one that beats you than having practically no parents at all. Brendon pulled me out of my thoughts. "What about your parents?" I bit my bottom lip and he walked up to a nice sized house and opened the door. I followed him inside and took my shoes off before taking in the surroundings.
"I live with my dad." He walked into the living room and I followed behind.
"If you don't mind me asking, did your parents get a divorce?" He sat down on the floor and gestured for me to sit in front of him.
"They were never married." I sat down in the spot he had gestured to moments before.
"What's it like living with a parent?" He asked it as if he had never known what it was like. But neither had I. Oh you know, it's okay, you have a drunk ass dad who beats you almost every night when he gets home from drinking. And yeah it's great. I get to take care of all of the bills by going to my crappy job almost every night and work till twelve only to get paid minim wage. And that's why I'm always tired, because I don't get any sleep, and I don't have any money for food. I think you'd love it.
"It's not as great as you would think." He laughed a little.
"I doubt that, it's not like your dad beats you or anything." I looked down. "Ohmygod, he dose, doesn't he?" Might as well tell him, it's not like I have to tell him everything.
"About when I was seven, my mom decided that she couldn't take another day with my dad. I mean, she loved me, but she couldn't stand him. So one day, while he was work, and I was at school, she left. Just gathered all of her things and left. At first, my dad thought it was his fault. But a few months without her, and it was my fault. He started drinking. And he's not the normal, happy go-lucky drunk. He's a mean drunk. And thinking that it was my fault, he started to beat me. At first it was just a few punches, not that bad. But it's gotten pretty bad." I stayed looking at my hands, fidgeting with the edges of my sleeves. I felt a few tears slip out from my eyes. "I've been trying to move out. But I don't have any money, and I don't have anywhere to go."
"Prove it." I looked up at him, his face emotionless.
"What?"
"Prove it. Show me that your dad beats you." I shook my head and he jumped on me, pinning me to the ground. "Why not?" he asked pulling my shirt off over my house. I fought to get off of him trying to cover my arms. But he was stronger then me. He looked at my arms, tracing his finger over the cuts. He then looked at my bruises, the ones on my wrists, stomach, neck. He pushed my hair from my face to see the bruises and cuts. "So you were telling the truth yeah?" He asked running his hand over one of my arms again. I whimpered, pulling myself into a tuck, letting the tears fall. "These don't look like they were made from him though." He said holding one of my arms. I shook my head. "Dose Spencer know? Or Jon?"
"No." I squeaked. He hugged me, and I held still staring off into the far wall, where there were pictures of his family. All smiling at the photographer with fake smiles. I then looked over at the bookshelf, wondering if Brendon would mind if I borrowed a few of his books. I heard Brendon talking to me, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I caught 'called', 'Spencer', and 'over', but that's it. I figured he must have told Spencer, but my mind just wasn't processing things as fast as it normally dose. I just continued to stare off, thinking about when I wouldn't have to deal with them. I could make if tonight. I could leave this town. Leave this world. I could die tonight, and only three people in the world would notice. Maybe my dad, but most likely not. I blinked slowly. I could hang myself with a belt on a ceiling fan. I could use the tiny razor I use to put cuts on my arms to bleed to death. I could slit my wrists with it. Hit the vein, let it be sliced in half. I could poison myself, mix a bunch of random pills and some antifreeze to drink it all down with. Or I could starve myself. I already hadn't eaten in about three days. I could piss my dad off, and he could beat me to death. "I have to go..." I said slowly, standing up on shaky legs, I looked to see Spencer and Jon sitting across from where I had stood, staring at me, with Brendon in a chair next to them.
"No you don't." I picked up my bag and slowly started to leave. They could stop me. I was weak, tired, hungry. My vision was slightly blurred from crying, and I couldn't hear anything but my own voice in my head. I slipped my old, almost beyond-wearable shoes on, and walked out of the house. I felt a hand on my wrist and turned around. I looked at Spencer who pulled me into a hug. "Want me to drive you home?" I nodded. "I will but only under one condition." I looked up at his face as he ruffled my hair like I was a little kid. "You move the fuck out of that hell hole you call a home." He pulled me into the passenger seat of his old beat up van and I think I heard the side door open and close. I guessed it was Brendon and Jon getting in the car. I looked out the window. It was such a normal day, I hated it. I like days most when there as abnormal as possible.
"How can I move out when I have nowhere to go?" I asked. Silence.
"Even though we've been talking about this for the past three minutes, we've decided that you'll stay with Brendon for the most part. When his parents get back, we'll see what they say. And if you can't stay, we'll see if you can live with me." Spencer said. I nodded. Looking back out of the window, this time listening to what they were saying.
"How did he hide this from you guys?" Brendon.
"We knew he had a rough home life, but we just, didn't think it was that bad." Jon.
"He's always been good at hiding things. The first two years I knew him I didn't think he could play the guitar, and then one day he comes over to John's house, he picked up a guitar that I think was his younger brothers, and he just started playing it. He's an amazing guitarist. He can also sing, and write music." Spencer.
"I have a guitar, and I sing some. I also can play the piano." Brendon. I zoned out, not wanting to listen anymore.
We pulled up to my small ratty duplex, and I opened the door sitting there for a minute. "I'm going to go in by myself, okay?"
"We'll come in if you don't come back out in five minutes." Spencer said.
"Or if we hear screaming." Jon said finishing Spencer's statement.
"Or that." Spencer said and I got up and out of the van. I walked into the house closing the door behind me, not bothering to lock it. I looked at the living room/kitchen to see it trashed. Broken glass and tipped over furniture littered the the floor, coated in blood. I freaked out and wondered if I should call an ambulance, I stepped over some of the broken glass into the stairwell to see my dad's body, bleeding heavily on the floor.
I walked closer, "Dad?" I whispered. I felt my body start to shake and he stirred, opening his eyes. He violently stood up, clasping his hands around my neck. He raised me upwards, and I struggled as much as I could. But I was weak, and tired. My whole body ached from crying, and my eyes were sore. I did mange to kick over a small table.
"If I die, I'm dragging you down with me you god damned faggot!" He screamed at me pushing me down to the ground, keeping his hands on my neck. About a minute later, he fell limp, his eyes closing. I watched in horror, unable to move, even with his dead hands still laying limply on my neck.
"Ryan?" Brendon asked opening the door, he walked in and looked over at me. When he saw me, he rushed over, helping me up. "Are you okay?" I hugged him, just crying, and he hugged back. "Let's get your stuff." He said walking into one of the two hallways which I guessed he figured was where the bedrooms were, surprisingly enough, he was right. I opened the door to my room and he looked at. Not like there was all that much to look at, there was basically nothing in it. But I guess there were plenty of bloodstains on the floor. I walked over and grabbed my messenger bag, putting my clothing, books, and notepads into it. "Is that really it?" Brendon asked looking at the somewhat small messenger bag filled with my little belongings.
"Almost." I said as I walked over to my bed, lifting the pillow and taking the picture frame and money that was hiding underneath. "That's it." I said walking out of the room. He followed and we got back into the van, this time I went in the back of the hippy-like van and relaxed, putting my head on Brendon's lap. He stroked my hair as I cried on his knee before falling asleep.
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