Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > A Heavy Heart to Hold Me Down
Two More Miracles to Be a Saint
2 reviews(Brendon's POV) He didn’t understand. How could he? He’d never had someone so dear to him leave like that.
0Unrated
Sorry for not updating as much as I planned. School is finally out so hopefully I'll be updating more in the next few weeks. R&R pretty please?
Ryan turned to leave. No, no, no. Why was he leaving? One foot out the door. No, no, NO! How could he leave me? Closing the door behind him. NO, NO, NO! Wait, Ryan! Don’t leave! Ryan! I’m sorry! Ryan! Please! Ryan!
“RYAN!” I sat upright immediately. My heart pounded in my chest almost as loud as Spencer’s drum set. A soothing hand rubbed my back gently; that hand most probably belonged to said drummer.
"You alright, B?"
I gave him a small nod. I knew that if I opened my mouth I would lose it.
"I'm going to bed. If you need anything just call me, okay?"
I nodded again. Spencer stared at me intently like I was an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, and maybe, if he looked hard enough, he could find the last piece. After a long silence, Spencer turned around slowly and shuffled out of the room.
He didn’t understand. How could he? He’d never had someone so dear to him leave like that. Leave and say that it was for the best. But was it really for the best? Was having my best friend drag me home every night “the best”?
I suddenly felt guilty. I shouldn't have been angry at Spencer. He was doing all that he could to keep me breathing. But was it enough?
"If I wake in the morning I only need two more miracles to be a saint." I sang bitterly to myself.
How true those words were.
Sooner or later all the alcohol would kick in and I would die just like Ryan's dad. Except for the fact that he wouldn't be as heartbroken over my death. In fact, he wouldn't even care.
I knew that I had to call it quits. I just couldn't bare to stop. Every minute that I was sober I would think of Ryan and die a little bit. In order to keep myself occupied I would drink. And drink. And drink. I would drink until Spencer pried the glass from my shaking hands and dragged my drunken ass home.
The cutting had also relieved some of the dreadful memories. Why did Spencer have to find out about that too? Why couldn't I just be left to rot until I was nothing but an empty, battered shell of a man? Stupid Spencer.
"No, he's not stupid. He just cares about you." I muttered quietly.
Great. Now I'm talking to myself.
I just needed some fresh air.
Ryan turned to leave. No, no, no. Why was he leaving? One foot out the door. No, no, NO! How could he leave me? Closing the door behind him. NO, NO, NO! Wait, Ryan! Don’t leave! Ryan! I’m sorry! Ryan! Please! Ryan!
“RYAN!” I sat upright immediately. My heart pounded in my chest almost as loud as Spencer’s drum set. A soothing hand rubbed my back gently; that hand most probably belonged to said drummer.
"You alright, B?"
I gave him a small nod. I knew that if I opened my mouth I would lose it.
"I'm going to bed. If you need anything just call me, okay?"
I nodded again. Spencer stared at me intently like I was an unfinished jigsaw puzzle, and maybe, if he looked hard enough, he could find the last piece. After a long silence, Spencer turned around slowly and shuffled out of the room.
He didn’t understand. How could he? He’d never had someone so dear to him leave like that. Leave and say that it was for the best. But was it really for the best? Was having my best friend drag me home every night “the best”?
I suddenly felt guilty. I shouldn't have been angry at Spencer. He was doing all that he could to keep me breathing. But was it enough?
"If I wake in the morning I only need two more miracles to be a saint." I sang bitterly to myself.
How true those words were.
Sooner or later all the alcohol would kick in and I would die just like Ryan's dad. Except for the fact that he wouldn't be as heartbroken over my death. In fact, he wouldn't even care.
I knew that I had to call it quits. I just couldn't bare to stop. Every minute that I was sober I would think of Ryan and die a little bit. In order to keep myself occupied I would drink. And drink. And drink. I would drink until Spencer pried the glass from my shaking hands and dragged my drunken ass home.
The cutting had also relieved some of the dreadful memories. Why did Spencer have to find out about that too? Why couldn't I just be left to rot until I was nothing but an empty, battered shell of a man? Stupid Spencer.
"No, he's not stupid. He just cares about you." I muttered quietly.
Great. Now I'm talking to myself.
I just needed some fresh air.
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