Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco
They Made My Baby Ugly
5 reviewsA lie told too often can easily appear to be true. Short RYDON one-shot. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
2Moving
They Made My Baby Ugly
There it was, sliced into his pristine skin like a horrific rash of pure, vile hate. Hate for himself, for what he thinks he is; for what they all tell him he is.
Ugly.
Four letters, all angular and jagged, carved into that precious forearm as though giving himself the label would stop it from being true. Apart from it never was true in the first place. Not to me anyway. My Rybbit, so named after his favourite animal, could never be that to me. Maybe to the others, with his girly figure and sensitive little head, but never to me. And I thought that would be enough for him. Apparently not. Because he still did it. Did that.
Ugly.
I think what hurt the most was the fact that he was afraid to tell me that he’d done it; that he’d taken the shattered diamond of a razor blade and used it to paint rubies across his satin skin. That hurt more than knowing he’d hurt himself, knowing that he was scared of me judging him for it. For doing something so desperate that it made my soul bleed for him. For doing something so… So…
Ugly.
It was hard for me not to freak out over it, when he came over to mine before school with blood still seeping from his arm. So much so that I very nearly forced him to go to the hospital for stitches, for some sort of shot to prevent infection. But then he begged me, in that glass-like voice of his and using the pet name of “Brenbear”, begged me in such a way that it made me physically unable to take him to the place that made him so frightened. After I cleaned him up, I asked him why he’d done it. Why he couldn’t just talk to me instead. He just mumbled incoherent words of panic. The same word, over and over until I had to silence him with my lips corking over his. But I could still feel him thinking it. That damn word that will forever be scarred into his arm.
Ugly.
I refused to give him a lift to school that day, very nearly slapping him when he said he’d drive himself then because he had an important chemistry test that day. He told me he had to go and get good marks, make his dad proud for once. At which point any desire I may have had to slap my sweet little Ryan Ross for his sheer stupidity dissolved, just like he dissolved into my arms at the first meek tug. Far too perfect and sweet and fragile to be what they told him he is. What something so pure and wonderful inside never can be.
Ugly.
We stayed home at my house that day; it was a Friday so my mom said Ry could sleep over too. Not that I would have let him go home even if she hadn’t given consent. Ryan needed his boyfriend to make him feel alright again, to reapply the dressings every time they leaked through. Someone to make him feel like a dazzling moon in a world full of sharp stars. It took a good few hours, most of which were full of me singing whimsical little songs to him as he curled into the mattress of my chest, but eventually he answered me when I asked him why. Answered me with the one thing I never want to hear coming from his pink lips ever again.
Ugly.
Unnoticed, too. Invisible. He said he wanted to feel important, like he was alive and doing something with an obvious consequence for once instead of just fading away into the background noise. But above all else, he just wanted to feel the one thing that he’d been taught he never can be. That he will always be to me no matter what he does to himself or what they tell him.
Beautiful.
A/N: I don’t really like this, it seems a little too dull/depressing/short for it to be halfway decent, but I hope that you liked it! Pleases let me know what you think. :)
There it was, sliced into his pristine skin like a horrific rash of pure, vile hate. Hate for himself, for what he thinks he is; for what they all tell him he is.
Ugly.
Four letters, all angular and jagged, carved into that precious forearm as though giving himself the label would stop it from being true. Apart from it never was true in the first place. Not to me anyway. My Rybbit, so named after his favourite animal, could never be that to me. Maybe to the others, with his girly figure and sensitive little head, but never to me. And I thought that would be enough for him. Apparently not. Because he still did it. Did that.
Ugly.
I think what hurt the most was the fact that he was afraid to tell me that he’d done it; that he’d taken the shattered diamond of a razor blade and used it to paint rubies across his satin skin. That hurt more than knowing he’d hurt himself, knowing that he was scared of me judging him for it. For doing something so desperate that it made my soul bleed for him. For doing something so… So…
Ugly.
It was hard for me not to freak out over it, when he came over to mine before school with blood still seeping from his arm. So much so that I very nearly forced him to go to the hospital for stitches, for some sort of shot to prevent infection. But then he begged me, in that glass-like voice of his and using the pet name of “Brenbear”, begged me in such a way that it made me physically unable to take him to the place that made him so frightened. After I cleaned him up, I asked him why he’d done it. Why he couldn’t just talk to me instead. He just mumbled incoherent words of panic. The same word, over and over until I had to silence him with my lips corking over his. But I could still feel him thinking it. That damn word that will forever be scarred into his arm.
Ugly.
I refused to give him a lift to school that day, very nearly slapping him when he said he’d drive himself then because he had an important chemistry test that day. He told me he had to go and get good marks, make his dad proud for once. At which point any desire I may have had to slap my sweet little Ryan Ross for his sheer stupidity dissolved, just like he dissolved into my arms at the first meek tug. Far too perfect and sweet and fragile to be what they told him he is. What something so pure and wonderful inside never can be.
Ugly.
We stayed home at my house that day; it was a Friday so my mom said Ry could sleep over too. Not that I would have let him go home even if she hadn’t given consent. Ryan needed his boyfriend to make him feel alright again, to reapply the dressings every time they leaked through. Someone to make him feel like a dazzling moon in a world full of sharp stars. It took a good few hours, most of which were full of me singing whimsical little songs to him as he curled into the mattress of my chest, but eventually he answered me when I asked him why. Answered me with the one thing I never want to hear coming from his pink lips ever again.
Ugly.
Unnoticed, too. Invisible. He said he wanted to feel important, like he was alive and doing something with an obvious consequence for once instead of just fading away into the background noise. But above all else, he just wanted to feel the one thing that he’d been taught he never can be. That he will always be to me no matter what he does to himself or what they tell him.
Beautiful.
A/N: I don’t really like this, it seems a little too dull/depressing/short for it to be halfway decent, but I hope that you liked it! Pleases let me know what you think. :)
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