"I'm really sorry Brenny, I don't want to. But you made me do it. Can you forgive me?"
He took a deep breath, walking over to the sleeping form. With shaking hands he brushed the hair out of Ryan's face, letting his lips fall to the cold ones that belonged to the only boy who could always make him happy. He took in his sleeping face, his pale skin that was losing it's warmth, his plump lips that were starting to go blue, his eyes sinking in, his pulse stopped, his breathing gone. Brendon started to cry, his tears falling onto his boys sleeping face.
"I'm so so so sorry I let this happen." He sobbed into Ryan's neck, his body growing numb. Brendon pulled himself together, forcing himself to stand. He noticed the wound in Ryan's chest, knowing that he couldn't have possibly done it to himself. Every ounce of sadness he felt quickly turned into rage.
He stormed out of the room, looking around wildly. He noticed the bathroom light on, the door ajar, and knew exactly who had done it. He walked down the hall, trying to hold all of the anger he had in him. He kicked the door open the rest of the way, seeing a blood covered Spencer sitting on the floor crying. Brendon couldn't help it. He tackled Spencer, screaming and crying and punching and wailing. He continued to hit and scream at Spencer, his wails being matched with the other boys, until he finally wore himself out, just staring at the black and blue face beneath him.
"Why?" He screamed the word, his voice hoarse as he continued to cry, his tears falling onto Spencer's face. Spencer stayed silent, tars falling down his own face as he wondered the same thing. "Why did you kill him you fucker?" Spencer sobbed back his response.
"I didn't mean to Bren, I swear." His voice was shaky, the exact opposite of Brendon's demanding screams.
"Bullshit! You killed him! He was your best friend and you-you fucking killed him!" Brendon balled his hand into a fist once more, slamming it into the side of Spencer's face, watching as he spit blood out. "I loved him and you killed him! You're a fucking monster!" A voice went off in the back of Spencer's mind, telling him to fight back, to ignore the words of his friend, to kill once more.
Brendon forced himself to calm down. "Spencer, what the bloody hell happened in that goddamned house that made you the way you are?" Spencer closed his eyes. Dusty floors, dead bodies in jars, blood on the walls, a stinging loneliness, a starving sensation, the feel of death's warming embrace. He shook his head.
"I-I ca-can't remember." He stuttered, forcing himself to lie.
"Oh course you don't! And yet, as soon as you get back you decided to kill Ryan!" Brendon gave a loud and frustrated groan, running one of his bloodied hands through his messy hair, staining it a vibrant red. "I'm calling the cops." He got up, walking out of the room to leave Spencer alone once more. The voice chimed in, and Spencer looked up to see Jon perched on the porcelain, looking down at him.
"You know, I think that kid had potential." He smirked. "But you can't let him ruin our fun." Spencer stared into his eyes, and nodded, forcing himself to stand. He picked the bloody knife off of the counter, and walked in the direction Brendon had wondered off in.
He was on the kitchen, tears still running down his face as he talked on the phone. Spencer clutched the knife, gripping it tightly as he moved swiftly and silently behind the younger boys back. He didn't want to, but the voice was screaming at him to do it, repeating that it was the only way. He forced himself to be emotionless as he clasped his hand around Brendon's mouth, the boy giving out a shrill scream against the flesh of Spencer's hand, dropping the phone which broke against the tile floor. He brought the knife up to Brendon's neck, he other boy squirming in his grip, clawing at the hand over his neck as he kicked and screamed.
"I'm really sorry Brenny, I don't want to. But you made me do it. Can you forgive me?" Brendon continued to scream against his hand, and Spencer gave in to the voice, allowing it to have the knife cut into the skin, tearing into the flesh and hitting a bone. He pulled the knife out of the skin, and blood poured out, the younger boy falling limp in his arms. Spencer dropped him, staring at the mess he made. Jon wrapped his arms around Spencer.
"He called the police darling, they want to catch us. We have to go now." Spencer nodded numbly, forcing himself to walk out of the apartment and to Ryan's car. He got in, and drove. There was nowhere for him to go, no one who wanted him. And there wasn't a place he could call home.
The TV was quietly humming the news, the room completely dark other than the soft blue glow it cast. The dirty hotel sheets had hardly been disturbed, only to have a single figure pulled into himself at the foot of the bed. The news reporter hummed the news, though, he wasn't listening at all. It wasn't until the screen went to a familiar apartment building, with unfamiliar police cars out front, two bodies covered in white sheets on stretchers being put in the back of a hearse, that he tuned into what she was saying.
"It was here, that at one in the morning, police received a phone call from Brendon Urie, 20, that was cut short. Police hurried to the scene to find that Urie, and his roommate George Ross, 21, were both dead. Forensic reports say that the murderer was a friend of theirs, a male named Spencer Smith, also 20, who was found declared dead two moths ago after a disappearance. If anyone has any information..." Spencer shut the TV off.
Jon wrapped his arms around him, resting his head on the younger boys shoulder, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Spencer turned to look at the corner of them, where four eyes watched his every movement.
Brendon and Ryan both sat on either armrest of the dusty hotel room chair, holding each others hands while staring at Spencer, tears in both of their eyes. Their wounds were open, yet they weren't bleeding, their eyes were flat, yet full of disdain, their skin a ghostly pallor, and Spencer could see right through it. He closed his eyes, fully aware of the fact that he would always have to live with what had happened. Well, maybe live isn't a good word.
There was a moment when he was driving away from the scene that he thought of it, though he tried to ignore it. Now that it had been said by someone other than him, it really did make him cringe. Because he knew it was the truth.
He was just one dead boy out of four.
I put a lot of work into this two shot, and I put the first half of it up like, two days ago? I don't know, but the point is, I'm disappointed with the response I got from it. It's close to seven thousand words, and I spent forever on it, just for you guys, and it just. I don't know. I feel like, the things that I write that I really REALLY love and put out there because I'm hoping you guys will love them too always end up just, being awful.
Oh well, I'm done griping about nothing.
This stories dead, and I'll be updating something else, whenever. Probably SMoF.
SyraStrange:I was hoping you wouldn't. But I'm glad you liked it.
xxPanicFanxx:I suppose it is kind of sad, isn't it? I didn't really think of it that way while writing it.
Oh well, happy to make you happy.
AnotherKnifeInMyHand: True, it was pretty evil. But no one ever said I was good. Always happy to know you think it's good.
TheAnonymous:Yeah, life's a bitch. All good things must come to an end, just a fact.
Hope it makes ya smile.
PartyPoison:I like irrational things. Especially when no one else wants it to happen.
Knowing you like it makes my day.