Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Now I'm of Consenting Age, To Be Forgetting You
Now I'm of Consenting Age, To Be Forgetting You
0 reviewsRyan's life is hell, with the exception of his longtime boyfriend Spencer. But when Spencer hurts Ryan in a way he never imagined, he finds comfort in an unexpected place.
0Unrated
His body lay against the red stained counter, evidence of the night’s struggle and revilement. The floor was dirty, splattered with tiny droplets of blood, but it made no difference as he slumped down further in the concave corner that enclosed him. After all, a few more ounces of soap, and the residue could be easily washed out. It felt like he was dying. His body was aching, his mind a swarm of vicious wasps. And, yet his heart beat on, pumping warmth throughout his numb, bruised body. Hugging his knees tightly to his chest, dark brown locks grazed his knee as he shut his eyes tightly; a tear escaped nonetheless. And soon enough, those nasty recent memories started engulfing him like a scalding fire.
“Where’s the fucking dinner?”
Ryan could smell the alcohol thick on his father’s breath. “I got home late, I’m sorry Dad I-“
“Off with your little faggot friends weren’t you?”
“No, Dad-"
“You’re fucking worthless, can’t even make a goddam dinner!” Ryan’s father raged on in spite of his son’s desperate protesting.
The first punch hit Ryan hard in the eye. Falling to the floor in agony, Ryan braced himself for the next strike. The real reason he had not been home on time was because Ryan’s boyfriend, Spencer had begged him to stay just a few more minutes. Ryan knew he had to get home but Spencer had insisted, and really, what was a few more minutes? Now Ryan lay on the floor, unmoving as blow after blow fell upon his blood streaked back. But this wasn't Spencer’s fault. Ryan loved Spencer, and Spencer loved him.
Slurred mutterings penetrated Ryan’s ears, going to his mind, dreary and ever so slowly absorbing his conscious. It wasn’t so different from the times before. All the clues were there. Slurred speech? Check. Rancid breath? Check. Crazed voice? Check. But, no matter how many times he was screeched at, no matter how many times he was pounded in, he could never grow a thick enough skin. All he could do was wait until the numbness settled within. Finally it did. Now Ryan only had to wait for it all to be over. Without Ryan even noticing when it ended, the shower of beatings stopped. His father had retreated from his venting bag.
Ryan awoke to a blissful amnesia of last night’s events. However, as soon as he moved to get out of bed, the pain and memories hit him like a sledgehammer. Creeping into the bathroom, Ryan assessed the damage. A deep purple bruise was blooming above his right eye, complimented by a split and swelling lip. Ryan touched his bare stomach, gasping in pain as he lightly brushed his bruised side. Averting his gaze from the pitiful boy in the mirror, Ryan pulled on jeans and a t shirt and began the long arduous task of disguising his bruises with makeup. It was something that Ryan had become quite good at over the years, having to avoid the questions of friends, teachers, and others who might be concerned by his many injuries after one of his dads “hard days at work”.
Trudging back into the kitchen, Ryan quickly glanced around. All clear, well, it mostly always was. George made sure to come home late,and also to wake up early. Why, Ryan could never exactly pinpoint, but came up with the vague assumption that George would do anything to keep away from the result of his first marriage, including getting drunk, sleeping mornings at work, and staying out late with the occasional hooker or two. Ryan knew he was just an excess stress bag latched on to the mishaps of his father’s life.
Ryan set off out the door, resigning himself to yet another day. Arriving at the school, Ryan was greeted with a shout of "Ryan!"
Spencer’s call was more of a demand than a greeting. Ryan walked over to the group and obediently planted a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. "Hi RyRo!" Brendon chirped happily, straightening himself from rail he was leaning on and flouncing in front of Ryan.
Ryan smiled; Brendon's unshakeable enthusiasm never failed to amuse him. "You look depressed Ry; what’s up?” Lines of concern creased Brendon's usually cheerful face.
Thinking back to yesterday, Ryan sighed. They would never know what a disgrace he was to his father, how George could barely look at his own son. “Nothin’, I'm fine Bren."
Spencer placed his arm possessively around Ryan’s waist. "Come on, we'll be late for first period," he warned with a slight tug.
XxXxXxXxX
A/N: It'll get better, I promise! :]
“Where’s the fucking dinner?”
Ryan could smell the alcohol thick on his father’s breath. “I got home late, I’m sorry Dad I-“
“Off with your little faggot friends weren’t you?”
“No, Dad-"
“You’re fucking worthless, can’t even make a goddam dinner!” Ryan’s father raged on in spite of his son’s desperate protesting.
The first punch hit Ryan hard in the eye. Falling to the floor in agony, Ryan braced himself for the next strike. The real reason he had not been home on time was because Ryan’s boyfriend, Spencer had begged him to stay just a few more minutes. Ryan knew he had to get home but Spencer had insisted, and really, what was a few more minutes? Now Ryan lay on the floor, unmoving as blow after blow fell upon his blood streaked back. But this wasn't Spencer’s fault. Ryan loved Spencer, and Spencer loved him.
Slurred mutterings penetrated Ryan’s ears, going to his mind, dreary and ever so slowly absorbing his conscious. It wasn’t so different from the times before. All the clues were there. Slurred speech? Check. Rancid breath? Check. Crazed voice? Check. But, no matter how many times he was screeched at, no matter how many times he was pounded in, he could never grow a thick enough skin. All he could do was wait until the numbness settled within. Finally it did. Now Ryan only had to wait for it all to be over. Without Ryan even noticing when it ended, the shower of beatings stopped. His father had retreated from his venting bag.
Ryan awoke to a blissful amnesia of last night’s events. However, as soon as he moved to get out of bed, the pain and memories hit him like a sledgehammer. Creeping into the bathroom, Ryan assessed the damage. A deep purple bruise was blooming above his right eye, complimented by a split and swelling lip. Ryan touched his bare stomach, gasping in pain as he lightly brushed his bruised side. Averting his gaze from the pitiful boy in the mirror, Ryan pulled on jeans and a t shirt and began the long arduous task of disguising his bruises with makeup. It was something that Ryan had become quite good at over the years, having to avoid the questions of friends, teachers, and others who might be concerned by his many injuries after one of his dads “hard days at work”.
Trudging back into the kitchen, Ryan quickly glanced around. All clear, well, it mostly always was. George made sure to come home late,and also to wake up early. Why, Ryan could never exactly pinpoint, but came up with the vague assumption that George would do anything to keep away from the result of his first marriage, including getting drunk, sleeping mornings at work, and staying out late with the occasional hooker or two. Ryan knew he was just an excess stress bag latched on to the mishaps of his father’s life.
Ryan set off out the door, resigning himself to yet another day. Arriving at the school, Ryan was greeted with a shout of "Ryan!"
Spencer’s call was more of a demand than a greeting. Ryan walked over to the group and obediently planted a kiss on his boyfriend’s lips. "Hi RyRo!" Brendon chirped happily, straightening himself from rail he was leaning on and flouncing in front of Ryan.
Ryan smiled; Brendon's unshakeable enthusiasm never failed to amuse him. "You look depressed Ry; what’s up?” Lines of concern creased Brendon's usually cheerful face.
Thinking back to yesterday, Ryan sighed. They would never know what a disgrace he was to his father, how George could barely look at his own son. “Nothin’, I'm fine Bren."
Spencer placed his arm possessively around Ryan’s waist. "Come on, we'll be late for first period," he warned with a slight tug.
XxXxXxXxX
A/N: It'll get better, I promise! :]
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