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Deadly Deception
6 reviewsBrendon's lost control; he's finally cracked. Read, review, rate and feel my love! :P
1Exciting
Deadly Deception
Brendon's POV
Ryan. Ry. Ryro. Rybbit. Ryhawk.
The boy with bright eyes and skin that reminds me of rich cream toppling over a batch of my Grandma’s legendary cherry-turnovers; the boy with hair the colour of charred caramel and lips that demand the attention of everyone around; the boy who used to be my best friend.
No. He used to be more than that. He was, for lack of a better adjective, an experiment.
When I wanted to know how to kiss someone at age thirteen, it was Ryan I ran to because Pete had told me that Ry’s good at it and that he wouldn’t teach me himself because he was trying this new thing where he doesn’t cheat on people. So it came to be that Ryan Ross gifted me with my first kiss, a soft pinprick of lips on lips that came with a sudden and not so shocking realisation; the truth about sexuality.
Ry was the first person I told when I came out. He was my best friend and so it was natural for him to be the first to know. Just like it felt natural when we started experimenting with things above and beyond simple kisses. Some that I can remember with such a vivid clarity that it makes me burn and itch; and wonder what it would be like with Mikes when he’s got up the confidence to go further than a little case of curious hands. Other things I was too drunk to be able to recall, but I do know that they left Ryan with several suspicious-looking limps.
And that makes me feel sick to the stomach. The fact that I a) can’t even remember my first time and b) that my first time wasn’t with my sweet little Mikey. I think that it’s fairly safe to say that I regret fucking George Ryan Ross.
Of course I do.
Or maybe I don’t.
Of course I don’t; regrets are pointless things to have and besides, from what I remember, it’s not like he was all that bad at making me scream. He was very good at it as I recall, knowing exactly what to do with himself, be he on top or bottom, he always knew how to make it last. How to make me swell and sweat with the way he whispered my name like a dirty little secret.
I didn’t love him though. Never did. And even if I may have once had feelings for my little toy, for that’s all he was to me in terms of physical lust, I certainly don’t have them anymore.
I hate the motherfucker for what he does to my boyfriend, the whirlwind of love that’s shaken up my world into one that’s actually worth living. Living through loving; kind of poetic, really. Ryan’s good at poetry, always used to stun me with the words that were blatantly meant to be winning him my sincere affection as opposed to drunken desire. I guess I always knew that Ry took what we had a lot more seriously than I ever did, even if we did both agree from the start that it was a strictly ‘no strings’ kind of deal. But me being me, a horny teenager too stupid to keep it in his pants, I ignored it; I just told him whatever he wanted to hear as long as it got me what I wanted to feel.
That’s not to say that I didn’t care about Ryro, he was my best friend in the whole world and even came before Pete for a time, just that I didn’t care for him in a romantic sense. Not really. Sure, I thought he was hot and I still do, but it never truly went deeper.
Not that much deeper, anyway.
But like I said, none of that matters now because I hate him. Mikey comes first and Ryan is appalling to my baby boy so therefore I cannot be friends with him. I refuse to be, in fact. I’ve loathed Ryan Ross since the night of the prom; the split second I saw the absolute agony he was inflicting into my most valuable treasure I reached the conclusion that, in actual fact, Ryan is not the angel he puts on the false pretence of being. And with that conclusion came the resounding hatred, our best-friendship of twelve years coming down in flames around me.
So why am I here? What am I doing in the boys’ restroom of Belleville High and listening to him spluttering out sobs from behind the door of his stall? And, more importantly, why is it killing me inside to hear him like this?
Because he’s my best friend; we share a bond that cannot be undone over the space of just a few months.
Meaning that I still care about him. A lot. So much so that I’m having to remind myself of the way Mikes looks whenever Ry snarls at him in order to prevent myself from breaking down the door and holding the twig of a kid in my arms until he can tell me what’s wrong. Hold him and feel him, just like old times.
The old times that I refuse to let myself remember because that’s over now, I ended it myself when I started with Mikey.
But damn, the memories are still there and even more igniting than usual now that I’m under a foot away from the lustful maker of those memories. The memories that still on occasion make me moan in my sleep and wake up with suspicious stains on my bed-sheets. I let myself get away with them though because, although slightly shameful, they make me happy. Especially when they morph into dreams rather than mere memories, infused with Mikey.
Ryan and Mikey; now that’s something that truly appeals to me.
Only because of the Mikey part of it, of course. Nothing to do with Ry. Never. Just Mikey; my adorable little bass-playing beauty. The very same one who still won’t tell me who it is that causes the bruises on his torn-up chest, nor what things terrify him so much in sleep that he always ends up crawling into bed with Gerard whenever I’m not around to make him feel safe. That’s fairly recent actually, the nightmare thing. But that doesn’t stop it from making my soul fragment in sorrowful worry for my little boyfriend.
I think I’ll ask Mikey again later, blackmail him into it using my hands and lips, finally get to the bottom of his two most heart-breaking traits; the bruise-bought fear of people and his relentless nightmares.
First though, I’ve got to make sure Ryan’s alright. I know nobody else will.
“Ry, you okay in there?” The way his name and the automatically caring tone that accompanies it roll off my tongue sends a twinge of heartache through my body; despite all that has happened, I really do miss looking after him. Protecting him from the bullies that he’s now in league with for what he says to Mikey. “It’s me, Brenny. I just…”
“I know it’s fucking you, Urie!” He snaps back, typical tone of exasperated sarcasm forcing a fond grin to my plump lips. “Now just leave me alone.”
And that’s how I know it’s serious; he’s normally gasping for my attention, not yelling at me to leave him all alone.
Sighing in profuse concern, I lean myself against the door and ready myself for a long wait. I’m not going to leave the restroom until I know that he’s alright or have made him be so, for old time’s sake if not for my own moral compass. Not so long ago he would’ve let me in immediately, would have told me about all the names that he’d been called and then allowed me to comfort him like I would have done if I was in his place. But this time it’s different, he’s different, and I’ve got to work for it, for his trust.
Hang on; why the fuck should I?
He’s arrogant, nasty, spiteful and, above all else, he’s absolutely vile to my completely innocent little boyfriend. The one who is currently in detention for being framed by two jocks who thought it’d be hilarious to set off the fire-alarm and blame the boy too startled to defend himself from the justice-hungry teachers. It makes me absolutely livid, gnaws away at me like a rat on a rotten apple core, that they think they can make Mikes feel so small; treat him like he’s just here for their entertainment.
Which is why they are currently in the nurses room with ice-packs pressed to their cheeks.
Revenge might not be the same as making everything perfect for my little baby, but it sure doesn’t make things any worse. Not to mention the slight glimmer of joy I get out of my own form of righteousness. I’m only following by Pete’s example and Pete is someone I trust explicitly. Almost as much as I trust that my heart only beats for Mikey Way.
Not for Ryan Ross.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t help him out.
“No, Ry, I won’t leave you alone. You’re upset.”
“No shit, Sherlock!” I would laugh at his reply, if it wasn’t packed with enough venom to make me flinch away from the stall door. “What do you want, a fucking Mensa membership?”
In all of my years of knowing Ryan this is the first time that he’s been properly angry with me. Sure, we’ve had the odd little tiff as most kids do, but he’s never been like this with me. Never has he used his dovelike voice to pierce me like a cobra’s deadly fang, only ever used it to charm me and make me smile.
I can’t stop myself from wandering if this is what he feels like whenever I have a go at him for making my Mikey cry. Because if it is, I might think twice about it next time.
Yeah; that’s how shitty it feels to be me right now.
“What I want, Ryan, is for you to come out here or let me go in there.” My voice is firm and calm, just like Pete’s is whenever he’s trying to unravel one of Frankie’s endless barrages of pranks. “And then I want you to tell me what’s making you cry.”
There’s a tense silence, the kind that isn’t so much soundless as screaming with anxious anticipation, my mouth drying up like a desert in suspension to see if I really have lost my old best friend.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I have.
Click.
Creak.
Cry.
“Oh, Rybbit.” The old pet name escapes my lips before I can stop it and I can’t help but be glad that it did because it’s making him smile. Only slightly, but it’s still a smile. “Shush now, c’mon, c’mere.”
The skinny boy flings himself into my open arms, wrapping his own around my waist in the process and letting his hands rest a little lower than is entirely necessary. I don’t say anything though; he’s upset and if this makes him feel better, then who am I to deprive him? Besides, the feeling of his quietly confident hands resting atop my back pockets isn’t exactly one that I mind receiving.
No.
No, Bren. Don’t start thinking like that.
Think of Mikey.
Mikey. That stunning diamond of pale magnificence shining out in world made of coal and waiting to be worn in my crown. Apart from Mikey Way makes even diamonds feel worthless in comparison to holding his platinum heart, to seeing his forget-me-not smile blossom into a breath-taking rose at my touch or voice; to being his boyfriend. Not only does Mikes look good, but he is good too. The kindest, sweetest and most vulnerable person that I’ve ever met. Wouldn’t hurt a fly if it were threatening his life and most certainly would never stoop as low as I know Ry can.
Which is how I know which one of the two I love. Without question, it’s Mikey. Yet there’s still something there with Ryan. Something that I can’t just forget like a poorly-knitted Christmas sweater.
Ry threads his hands into my pockets, sending electric shocks up to my brain and making me jolt away from him as his fingers started to weave over the top of my jeans. There may have been a time when I would have let Ryan Ross suck me off in the boys’ restroom, I know there was because we were caught several times, but that time isn’t now. Even if a miniscule, evil little part of me wishes it was.
I take a step back, placing my hands on my best friend’s shuddering shoulders and force him to look at me. When he does, it’s with brokenly confused eyes. And that really fucking hurts.
Because I really fucking care about him. I shouldn’t, I know that, but I do.
“I’m sorry, Ry. I can’t do that. Not anymore.” I sigh, running a hand through my mess of ebony silk, wishing my life could just decide to be easy for once.
“Why not?” It comes as a seductive purr, the kind that makes me squirm in both disgust and pleasure, no sign of tears in his tone. “We both know you want it and that the little mute’s too pathetic to give it to you.”
“He has a goddamn name, Ryan.” I growl back, all sympathy lost because Mikey always comes first. Always. “And I love him. We’re dating and everything, Ry.” His eyes widen as though he’s just been stabbed through the heart and the accompanying whimper forces me to drape an arm around his shoulders to pull him close once more. “Is that what you were crying about?”
He sniffles and looks up at me, eyes two huge moons of overflowing emotion shining straight into the heart that I’m desperately trying to occupy with thoughts of Mikey.
“You weren’t just my best friend, Brenny. You were my only fucking friend!” I can tell that he’s trying to sound angry with me, but that fails when his voice crackles and he fists the fabric of my t-shirt. Just like Mikey when he’s upset, apart from without the speech. “And then he came along and you left me. All alone. Do you know how shitty that feels?”
Oh. Oh, Ry. That’s why he…
I let him think that I was swapping Mikey for him, making a choice between the two. He’s not like he is to be mean, he’s like it because he’s scared. Scared and oh-so-alone. All because I was stupid enough to forget about him when I started hanging out with Mikey. Meaning that it’s more my fault that Mikey has another bully on his list of feared people than it is Ryan’s.
I’m so fucking retarded.
Everything flushes out of my brain as I feel something warm, soft and excruciatingly familiar on my lips; Ryan’s kissing me.
And I’m kissing back with everything I have because, well, I’ve missed the near-violence of his lust, the way he bites down hard enough to draw blood. The way he tastes of cinnamon and daydreams, the way he’s just so definitely Ryan; my old best friend. Before I know it I have him against the wall, hands lower than his were on me and his own pianist fingers trawling through my hair.
No. This is wrong. This isn’t love, it’s blind lust.
But that doesn’t stop my hips from bucking when he grinds down on them, making me gasp breathlessly into his open mouth.
Nor does it stop me from hearing it; the wheezing.
Wheezing.
Shit.
Wheezing.
Shit motherfucking fuck!
“See? I told you he doesn’t love you, Waytard.”
A/N: Sorry for this being so dragged-out/boring, but I hope you liked it! For the next chapter, I don’t know who’s point of view to do it in; Pete’s, Patrick’s or Gerard’s. Thoughts anyone?
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Song of The Chapter: "Pretty Handsome Awkward" by The Used http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1ErwVOBrF0&ob=av3e or "Bang the Doldrums" by Fall Out Boy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ut7OhgoI0KU or "Misery Business" by Paramore http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCyGvGEtOwc&ob=av2e
Survey about series: http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/WEB22FS4LGF7BE
Brendon's POV
Ryan. Ry. Ryro. Rybbit. Ryhawk.
The boy with bright eyes and skin that reminds me of rich cream toppling over a batch of my Grandma’s legendary cherry-turnovers; the boy with hair the colour of charred caramel and lips that demand the attention of everyone around; the boy who used to be my best friend.
No. He used to be more than that. He was, for lack of a better adjective, an experiment.
When I wanted to know how to kiss someone at age thirteen, it was Ryan I ran to because Pete had told me that Ry’s good at it and that he wouldn’t teach me himself because he was trying this new thing where he doesn’t cheat on people. So it came to be that Ryan Ross gifted me with my first kiss, a soft pinprick of lips on lips that came with a sudden and not so shocking realisation; the truth about sexuality.
Ry was the first person I told when I came out. He was my best friend and so it was natural for him to be the first to know. Just like it felt natural when we started experimenting with things above and beyond simple kisses. Some that I can remember with such a vivid clarity that it makes me burn and itch; and wonder what it would be like with Mikes when he’s got up the confidence to go further than a little case of curious hands. Other things I was too drunk to be able to recall, but I do know that they left Ryan with several suspicious-looking limps.
And that makes me feel sick to the stomach. The fact that I a) can’t even remember my first time and b) that my first time wasn’t with my sweet little Mikey. I think that it’s fairly safe to say that I regret fucking George Ryan Ross.
Of course I do.
Or maybe I don’t.
Of course I don’t; regrets are pointless things to have and besides, from what I remember, it’s not like he was all that bad at making me scream. He was very good at it as I recall, knowing exactly what to do with himself, be he on top or bottom, he always knew how to make it last. How to make me swell and sweat with the way he whispered my name like a dirty little secret.
I didn’t love him though. Never did. And even if I may have once had feelings for my little toy, for that’s all he was to me in terms of physical lust, I certainly don’t have them anymore.
I hate the motherfucker for what he does to my boyfriend, the whirlwind of love that’s shaken up my world into one that’s actually worth living. Living through loving; kind of poetic, really. Ryan’s good at poetry, always used to stun me with the words that were blatantly meant to be winning him my sincere affection as opposed to drunken desire. I guess I always knew that Ry took what we had a lot more seriously than I ever did, even if we did both agree from the start that it was a strictly ‘no strings’ kind of deal. But me being me, a horny teenager too stupid to keep it in his pants, I ignored it; I just told him whatever he wanted to hear as long as it got me what I wanted to feel.
That’s not to say that I didn’t care about Ryro, he was my best friend in the whole world and even came before Pete for a time, just that I didn’t care for him in a romantic sense. Not really. Sure, I thought he was hot and I still do, but it never truly went deeper.
Not that much deeper, anyway.
But like I said, none of that matters now because I hate him. Mikey comes first and Ryan is appalling to my baby boy so therefore I cannot be friends with him. I refuse to be, in fact. I’ve loathed Ryan Ross since the night of the prom; the split second I saw the absolute agony he was inflicting into my most valuable treasure I reached the conclusion that, in actual fact, Ryan is not the angel he puts on the false pretence of being. And with that conclusion came the resounding hatred, our best-friendship of twelve years coming down in flames around me.
So why am I here? What am I doing in the boys’ restroom of Belleville High and listening to him spluttering out sobs from behind the door of his stall? And, more importantly, why is it killing me inside to hear him like this?
Because he’s my best friend; we share a bond that cannot be undone over the space of just a few months.
Meaning that I still care about him. A lot. So much so that I’m having to remind myself of the way Mikes looks whenever Ry snarls at him in order to prevent myself from breaking down the door and holding the twig of a kid in my arms until he can tell me what’s wrong. Hold him and feel him, just like old times.
The old times that I refuse to let myself remember because that’s over now, I ended it myself when I started with Mikey.
But damn, the memories are still there and even more igniting than usual now that I’m under a foot away from the lustful maker of those memories. The memories that still on occasion make me moan in my sleep and wake up with suspicious stains on my bed-sheets. I let myself get away with them though because, although slightly shameful, they make me happy. Especially when they morph into dreams rather than mere memories, infused with Mikey.
Ryan and Mikey; now that’s something that truly appeals to me.
Only because of the Mikey part of it, of course. Nothing to do with Ry. Never. Just Mikey; my adorable little bass-playing beauty. The very same one who still won’t tell me who it is that causes the bruises on his torn-up chest, nor what things terrify him so much in sleep that he always ends up crawling into bed with Gerard whenever I’m not around to make him feel safe. That’s fairly recent actually, the nightmare thing. But that doesn’t stop it from making my soul fragment in sorrowful worry for my little boyfriend.
I think I’ll ask Mikey again later, blackmail him into it using my hands and lips, finally get to the bottom of his two most heart-breaking traits; the bruise-bought fear of people and his relentless nightmares.
First though, I’ve got to make sure Ryan’s alright. I know nobody else will.
“Ry, you okay in there?” The way his name and the automatically caring tone that accompanies it roll off my tongue sends a twinge of heartache through my body; despite all that has happened, I really do miss looking after him. Protecting him from the bullies that he’s now in league with for what he says to Mikey. “It’s me, Brenny. I just…”
“I know it’s fucking you, Urie!” He snaps back, typical tone of exasperated sarcasm forcing a fond grin to my plump lips. “Now just leave me alone.”
And that’s how I know it’s serious; he’s normally gasping for my attention, not yelling at me to leave him all alone.
Sighing in profuse concern, I lean myself against the door and ready myself for a long wait. I’m not going to leave the restroom until I know that he’s alright or have made him be so, for old time’s sake if not for my own moral compass. Not so long ago he would’ve let me in immediately, would have told me about all the names that he’d been called and then allowed me to comfort him like I would have done if I was in his place. But this time it’s different, he’s different, and I’ve got to work for it, for his trust.
Hang on; why the fuck should I?
He’s arrogant, nasty, spiteful and, above all else, he’s absolutely vile to my completely innocent little boyfriend. The one who is currently in detention for being framed by two jocks who thought it’d be hilarious to set off the fire-alarm and blame the boy too startled to defend himself from the justice-hungry teachers. It makes me absolutely livid, gnaws away at me like a rat on a rotten apple core, that they think they can make Mikes feel so small; treat him like he’s just here for their entertainment.
Which is why they are currently in the nurses room with ice-packs pressed to their cheeks.
Revenge might not be the same as making everything perfect for my little baby, but it sure doesn’t make things any worse. Not to mention the slight glimmer of joy I get out of my own form of righteousness. I’m only following by Pete’s example and Pete is someone I trust explicitly. Almost as much as I trust that my heart only beats for Mikey Way.
Not for Ryan Ross.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t help him out.
“No, Ry, I won’t leave you alone. You’re upset.”
“No shit, Sherlock!” I would laugh at his reply, if it wasn’t packed with enough venom to make me flinch away from the stall door. “What do you want, a fucking Mensa membership?”
In all of my years of knowing Ryan this is the first time that he’s been properly angry with me. Sure, we’ve had the odd little tiff as most kids do, but he’s never been like this with me. Never has he used his dovelike voice to pierce me like a cobra’s deadly fang, only ever used it to charm me and make me smile.
I can’t stop myself from wandering if this is what he feels like whenever I have a go at him for making my Mikey cry. Because if it is, I might think twice about it next time.
Yeah; that’s how shitty it feels to be me right now.
“What I want, Ryan, is for you to come out here or let me go in there.” My voice is firm and calm, just like Pete’s is whenever he’s trying to unravel one of Frankie’s endless barrages of pranks. “And then I want you to tell me what’s making you cry.”
There’s a tense silence, the kind that isn’t so much soundless as screaming with anxious anticipation, my mouth drying up like a desert in suspension to see if I really have lost my old best friend.
I don’t know what I’ll do if I have.
Click.
Creak.
Cry.
“Oh, Rybbit.” The old pet name escapes my lips before I can stop it and I can’t help but be glad that it did because it’s making him smile. Only slightly, but it’s still a smile. “Shush now, c’mon, c’mere.”
The skinny boy flings himself into my open arms, wrapping his own around my waist in the process and letting his hands rest a little lower than is entirely necessary. I don’t say anything though; he’s upset and if this makes him feel better, then who am I to deprive him? Besides, the feeling of his quietly confident hands resting atop my back pockets isn’t exactly one that I mind receiving.
No.
No, Bren. Don’t start thinking like that.
Think of Mikey.
Mikey. That stunning diamond of pale magnificence shining out in world made of coal and waiting to be worn in my crown. Apart from Mikey Way makes even diamonds feel worthless in comparison to holding his platinum heart, to seeing his forget-me-not smile blossom into a breath-taking rose at my touch or voice; to being his boyfriend. Not only does Mikes look good, but he is good too. The kindest, sweetest and most vulnerable person that I’ve ever met. Wouldn’t hurt a fly if it were threatening his life and most certainly would never stoop as low as I know Ry can.
Which is how I know which one of the two I love. Without question, it’s Mikey. Yet there’s still something there with Ryan. Something that I can’t just forget like a poorly-knitted Christmas sweater.
Ry threads his hands into my pockets, sending electric shocks up to my brain and making me jolt away from him as his fingers started to weave over the top of my jeans. There may have been a time when I would have let Ryan Ross suck me off in the boys’ restroom, I know there was because we were caught several times, but that time isn’t now. Even if a miniscule, evil little part of me wishes it was.
I take a step back, placing my hands on my best friend’s shuddering shoulders and force him to look at me. When he does, it’s with brokenly confused eyes. And that really fucking hurts.
Because I really fucking care about him. I shouldn’t, I know that, but I do.
“I’m sorry, Ry. I can’t do that. Not anymore.” I sigh, running a hand through my mess of ebony silk, wishing my life could just decide to be easy for once.
“Why not?” It comes as a seductive purr, the kind that makes me squirm in both disgust and pleasure, no sign of tears in his tone. “We both know you want it and that the little mute’s too pathetic to give it to you.”
“He has a goddamn name, Ryan.” I growl back, all sympathy lost because Mikey always comes first. Always. “And I love him. We’re dating and everything, Ry.” His eyes widen as though he’s just been stabbed through the heart and the accompanying whimper forces me to drape an arm around his shoulders to pull him close once more. “Is that what you were crying about?”
He sniffles and looks up at me, eyes two huge moons of overflowing emotion shining straight into the heart that I’m desperately trying to occupy with thoughts of Mikey.
“You weren’t just my best friend, Brenny. You were my only fucking friend!” I can tell that he’s trying to sound angry with me, but that fails when his voice crackles and he fists the fabric of my t-shirt. Just like Mikey when he’s upset, apart from without the speech. “And then he came along and you left me. All alone. Do you know how shitty that feels?”
Oh. Oh, Ry. That’s why he…
I let him think that I was swapping Mikey for him, making a choice between the two. He’s not like he is to be mean, he’s like it because he’s scared. Scared and oh-so-alone. All because I was stupid enough to forget about him when I started hanging out with Mikey. Meaning that it’s more my fault that Mikey has another bully on his list of feared people than it is Ryan’s.
I’m so fucking retarded.
Everything flushes out of my brain as I feel something warm, soft and excruciatingly familiar on my lips; Ryan’s kissing me.
And I’m kissing back with everything I have because, well, I’ve missed the near-violence of his lust, the way he bites down hard enough to draw blood. The way he tastes of cinnamon and daydreams, the way he’s just so definitely Ryan; my old best friend. Before I know it I have him against the wall, hands lower than his were on me and his own pianist fingers trawling through my hair.
No. This is wrong. This isn’t love, it’s blind lust.
But that doesn’t stop my hips from bucking when he grinds down on them, making me gasp breathlessly into his open mouth.
Nor does it stop me from hearing it; the wheezing.
Wheezing.
Shit.
Wheezing.
Shit motherfucking fuck!
“See? I told you he doesn’t love you, Waytard.”
A/N: Sorry for this being so dragged-out/boring, but I hope you liked it! For the next chapter, I don’t know who’s point of view to do it in; Pete’s, Patrick’s or Gerard’s. Thoughts anyone?
Thanks for reading and please let me know what you think! :)
Song of The Chapter: "Pretty Handsome Awkward" by The Used http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1ErwVOBrF0&ob=av3e or "Bang the Doldrums" by Fall Out Boy http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ut7OhgoI0KU or "Misery Business" by Paramore http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCyGvGEtOwc&ob=av2e
Survey about series: http://www.zoomerang.com/Survey/WEB22FS4LGF7BE
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