Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco

Ryans Secret

by Wicked_Lovely 5 reviews

Ryan wakes up from a nightmare about the past in the middle of the night.

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: R - Genres: Angst - Warnings: [V] - Published: 2011-06-09 - Updated: 2012-02-08 - 2122 words - Complete

I watched as he came at me, bottle in hand. I was hiding behind a door, trying to ignore his heavy footsteps as I hid in the closet. I didn't hear him come home, and was terrified when I heard him break a bottle in the kitchen. So I did the only rational thing and hid in the closet. He knew I was home though, and I could see him coming closer. I could hear his footsteps. The sound of his breathing. The liquid in the bottle sloshing from side to side as he hunted for me. I closed my eyes, holding my breath.
I was too young for this.
I didn't deserve a father who wanted to scream at me every time he saw me.
At least, maybe a few years ago I would have thought that.
But it had been years since he had first started, and as he raised that bottle up, the last of the liquid falling out of it, I knew that I had it coming.
That I deserved it.
He slammed the bottle against the door before pulling it open, and I looked up at him. He towered over me. But I guess that would be expected considering the fact that I was only ten. He grabbed me by my hair, pulling me out of the closet. I bit my bottom lip, knowing better than to make a sound. He threw me across the room, and I hit the back of the couch at an odd angle, a stinging pain started rising in my right arm. I bit my lip harder, my canine teeth cutting into the soft flesh. He stormed over to me, staring down at me with peircing eyes. I hated those eyes. Even if mine were exact replicas. He picked me up again, this time by my left wrist and he looked at me for a moment, just staring me down. I held still, trying to not to cry. That was the last thing I wanted to do. Finally, he spoke. The words echoing in the quite house, sending shivers up and down my spine.
"You know, you're just like your fucking mother." He smirked at me, his eyes showing more abhorrence for me than my mind could comprehend. I looked away, a strangled sob escaping from my throat. He just laughed. "And you know what, I'm going to kill you." My gaze shot back up to him, and he grabbed me by my hair once more, still clutching tightly onto my left wrist. He drug me into the kitchen, and his face got close to me as he pushed me up against a wall. "Or maybe, I should just drag your life out. Make you suffer for what you did." His breath wreaked of stale whiskey. I held still and he held onto my wrist as he pulled a knife out of the drawer. I just stared at him, a look of horror apparent on my face.
I couldn't do anything.
I was absolutely helpless.
He pressed the cold metal against my flesh, simply letting it rest as I shook my head, uttering what -at the time- I assumed to be my last sentence.
"Please don't father." I begged, and he pressed the knife into my skin. Not enough to puncture anything, but enough to make me bleed and squirm in his grip. I bit my lip once more, and it started to bleed.
"Screw you." He muttered, giving me another cut. "If you tell anyone, I swear to god, I will not hesitate to kill you. You hear me?" I nodded and he smirked. "Of course you do."

I woke in a cold sweat panting lightly. I hated that nightmare. Yet, it haunted all of my dreams. No matter how hard I tried to run away from the past, it always followed me. I sighed, looking over at the sleeping beauty next to me. He was sound sleep, and I secretly thanked him for that as I got out of bed.
It was a short walk over to the washroom, and I still manged to trip over varies items that littered the bedroom floor. I closed and locked the door to the small washroom that he and I shared, and looked at myself in the mirror. I knew why that memory kept chasing me while I slept. But I couldn't tell him. I had deep bags under my eyes from lack of sleep, and my hair was disheveled from tossing and turning all night for the past week. I closed my eyes for a moment before turning on the water, splashing the cooling liquid on my face in some attempt to wash the thin layer of sweat off of me. I hated this. I hated it so much.
I needed a smoke. I slowly crept out of the bedroom, walking as silently as I could down the hall to my-our, to our study. The door was opened, like always. And yet, I had the need to close and lock it behind me. If he woke up, he wouldn't be happy about it. He'd ask me so many questions if he knew. He would want to know everything. I sighed, going over to my desk. I unlocked the top drawer -the only one I kept locked- and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a box of matches. My fingers brushed the cold metal that I hid from him and I couldn't help but feel guilty as I pulled it out.
He deserved better than me.
No, he needed better than me.
I walked over to the window, opening it as I sat down on a chair hugging my legs to my chest. I lit a cigarette, bringing it to my lips as I looked out at the starry night. It was gorgeous out. I gave a small sigh of frustration. It was too pretty out. The half moon hung in the sky, smiling down on the happy world that seemed to bask in it's light. The stars all mocked me, the clouds laughing at their snide comments dripping with disdain. I closed my eyes, taking another drag of my cancer stick as the reason to my sleepless nights floated through my mind.
If only he knew what a terrible person I was.
If only he knew I was the one who killed my father.
What can I say? I was young. Only fourteen when I decided that enough was enough. I had put up with being talked down to for ten years, and I had been beaten for over four years. I wasn't a rational person, all I could think of was revenge. And it wouldn't have been as bad if I had just done it properly. But I slipped up. I put too much in his drink. It was just supposed to fuck him up a little for the night, knock him out so I could have some time to relax.
I always fuck up though. And I put too much in his fucking drink. He didn't even notice until he was on the ground. I watched as his body moved in deadly positions. As he stopped breathing. As his heart stopped beating. I was terrified. Hell, I was just a kid. I didn't know what to do.
That night I went to Spencer's house in shambles. I was a crying wreck, and doing the only thing to keep me out of trouble, I told him that my father was drinking and that he stopped breathing. Spencer's mother was there, and I couldn't help but feel a slight amount of resentment for his semi-normal family. She called the cops, telling me that it would be okay and that he died of alcohol poisoning. No one knew the truth. They didn't even bother to search for it. A part of me wished that I got caught. That I got some kind of punishment for what I had done. Maybe it was because I was used to getting punishment for things I hadn't done.
But I never told a soul. I kept it to myself. Like I do with just about everything.
I finished off the last of my cigarette as a tear streamed down my cheek. I quickly wiped it away.
Guilt built up in me and I stood, walking back over to the drawer. I tossed the pack of cancer sticks and the box of matches back in it, and grabbed the cold piece of metal. It was heavy in my hand, yet it felt so perfect there as I placed the barrel of it against my temple.
He really did need better than me.
I was the black spot in his life. The area that no one would want to mention. And he only knew half of the reasons why. I checked the metal, checking to see how many bullets were in it. I always left it full, so I can't really say why I bothered. I sighed, thinking of the boy sleeping in the room down the hall. I dumped the bullets into the palm of my hand, going back over to the window. I stared out at the mocking sky and threw one of the shiny pieces of metal out of the window.
"One for treating me like dirt." I tossed another out. "One for beating me." Another one of the small pieces of silver flew out of the window. "Another for hating me." I watched as the third one fell to the ground. "One for chasing away my mother." I held onto the last two, warming them in my hand. I sat there for a moment, debating my next move. "One more for trying to kill me." I put the last one back in the gun, and got it ready to shoot. I put the now warm metal against my temple once more, and got ready to pull the trigger.
A single knock on the door stopped me.
"Ry? Are you in there?" I put the gun down, staring at the closed door for a moment before I pulled out the last bullet, tossing it out with the rest. I put the gun back in the drawer, locking it and putting the key where I normally placed it.
"Yeah." I said pathetically. I sounded like I was on the verge of tears, but I tried to trick myself into thinking I was fine as I walked over to the door, unlocking it. Brendon opened it and gave me a sad small smile as he hugged me.
"Are you okay?" He asked in his amazingly sweet voice that dripped with concern.
"I'm fine, just had a bad dream and needed to think a little." He hugged me tighter, holding me close to him as I buried my face in his chest, inhaling his fruity scent.
"Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?" I shook my head, wrapping my arms around him tightly.
To think he was moments away from losing me. I couldn't help but think it would probably be better if he had lost me.
"Then do you want to go back to bed darling?" I shook me head, holding him tightly as I started to cry. "Ryan, what's wrong?" I shook my head again, crying into his chest. Why did I get such a kind boy when I was such a terrible person? He rubbed my back, holding me tightly in a sad attempt to calm me down. Eventually I manged to calm down enough to speak.
"Brenny?" He looked at me giving me a heartbreaking smile as I looked in his deep chocolate eyes.
"What is it Ryro?" I leaned into his chest again, listening to his heartbeat as I talked.
"Can we watch a movie?" He laughed a little, kissing the top of my head.
"Of course we can." He lead me down the stairs, not letting go of my hand for a moment as we walked into the living room. He let me chose the movie as he made some hot-coco for us. He came back in the room with a large smile on his face as he handed me a red mug filled with the sweet liquid. I curled up into him as he put a blanket around us both. And even though I felt undeserving of him, a small voice in the back of my head told me that this was where I belonged. In my lovers arms, curled on a couch with a bad movie playing.
I eventually fell asleep to the mix of our rhythmic breathing and the sound of his heart beating. Only I didn't dream of the past.
But rather the future.
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