FicWad

Ryan’s P.O.V.


What the hell was I doing here, anyways? I paced outside her hotel, just staring up at the third floor. I knew that is where her room is. I know it is.
“Damn!” I yelled. Just go in there, I told myself. I did a few more paces. “Screw this,” I mumbled. I just entered her building. I wanted to see her. I had to see her. I needed to see her. There was that little aching pain inside of me, yearning, begging, groveling to see her.
I walked past a sleepy looking hotel clerk. “Sir,” he called. I stopped and looked at him. “Sir, are you here to see someone?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m here to see Alena Miller.”
“Does she know of your arrival?”
“Well, no but…”
“Then I shall call her and make sure she is awake.”
“Well…”
He just picked up the phone and began to dial. He stood there a moment, waiting. Then a moment longer. He hung up the phone. “There is no answer, sir.”
“She’s here. My friend Brendon was just here only a little while ago. Trust me, she’s here.”
“Then she chooses not to answer her phone.”
“She’s up there, I know she is…” I said as I began walking toward the elevator.
“Sir, I don’t think she’s…”
I ignored him. I just got in the elevator, pressed the little number 3, watched it light up and waited. The elevator started with a swift jerk and sent me upward. Ding! The elevator sounded and the metallic doors slid open. I stepped out onto the blue carpeted hallway and looked to my right. The hallway was empty of any life. The only sound that could be heard was that of the ice machine, humming consistently. “Alena?” I whispered as I started down the hallway. I was looking for her room, 21C. I scanned every number on every doorway until I came to the very last room at the end of the hallway. The door was slightly cracked.
“Alena…” I said again. The phone inside was ringing, so I knew it was the clerk downstairs calling up for her to tell her I was on my way, but I couldn’t see her.
Her room was dark, like the night outside. There was a lamp on, beside her bed. But that too was empty. The blankets had been pulled back, most if it lying on the floor. Her laptop sat open. I walked over to it and took a seat on the bed. There were pictures of me, Brendon and the rest of the band on a really artsy background. It looked so beautiful; I’m still not sure why she was hiding it from us. It was even better than our first album’s art.
I called out her name again, louder this time. Again, only the midnight answered with a whisper. Then, I saw it; a small crack of light from under her bathroom doorway. There it was, I knew I wasn’t crazy. I began to walk toward it. “Alena?” I asked the air softly. “Are you in there?”
No answer. I knocked on the bathroom door, causing it fell open just a tad. I felt the wood burning beneath my knuckles. “Alena…” I pushed the door open further. I allowed myself to step inside. I looked down and my heart began to race. Blood was everywhere, everywhere; all over the floor, the sink, the bathtub… all over her. She was lying on there, on the once starch white linoleum. Her wrists were covered in blood, and she held in her right hand a razor.
“Oh my God!” I screamed suddenly. “Fuck! Alena!” I reached down and picked her up. Her head lolled over my forearm. “Hang in there, baby,” I cried desperately. I carried her out of the bathroom, past her hotel room and out in the hall. Blood was falling from her body and onto the carpet, leaving evidence of her pain embedded into the floor. “Anyone, someone!” I called. “Call an ambulance! Please!”
A lady looking about middle age poked her head from out behind her door about three rooms down. “Young man, what in the…” she stopped talking and stood there, mouth hanging open. “I’ll call 911!” she said, running back into her room.
I carried her, crying down the stairs. “Please, God!” I wailed. “Please, don’t let her go! Make her stay,” I whispered. “Please, God….please!” I couldn’t let her die, not her. Never her. Please, dear God, listen to me. Listen to me! Keep her with me! The dark red life source drained from her body, seeped into my clothes, covered my skin. The only thing that ran through my mind as I ran down the stairs was dear God, take me instead. Take me instead. Take me. Take. Me. Not her. Not. Her.
“Help!” I cried as I entered the lobby. The hotel clerk ran toward me, his face panic stricken.
Panic stricken. Ha, the irony of it.
“An ambulance is on its way,” I informed him.
“What happened?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, through tears. “She just needs help.”
“Where is the girl?” asked a man from behind me. “Found her,” he answered himself.
“Laura,” he said, calling the female EMT at his side, pushing the gurney. “Hurry!”
The small blond girl pushed the stretcher up next to me. “Place her on here,” she directed. I placed her bloody body on the white sheet. Something else she would stain tonight. Not that it would really matter. Not anymore.
“We have a suicide attempt,” the male EMT said into a small, yellow walkie talkie. “We will have to take her into immediate blood transfusion. She is a young girl, about 5’8”, about 19 years of age.”
Someone answered back on the other line. “Coming in ambulance number 15, through west doors.” He clipped the device back on his pants. “You, sir,” he said to me. “Are you family?” he asked.
“No, but I’m the only…”
“Then you can’t leave with the ambulance sir.”
I ran after him, out into the warm night. “Sir, I’m the only thing she has!”
“I’m sorry,” he said, climbing into the back of the ambulance. “It’s against policy.”
“I have to go! Please!”
“Sir,” he said, trying to shut the door, but I had my body there. “She is going to die if you don’t move!”
“Let me on this fucking ambulance!”
He swiftly moved aside. “You’re only coming because I don’t have time for your messing around!” He pointed to a seat next to the stretcher. “Sit there and shut up!”
I did as I was told. I just sat there, useless. I didn’t breath, afraid I would take the precious oxygen she needed. I didn’t move, so I wouldn’t take up the space she needed. I didn’t speak, afraid to say the wrong words. I sat there, quietly, while the world around me spun. I felt it crashing down, hurtling toward some sheer, inevitable fate. Like there was no one to save her, save the world, save time. I wanted to go back to just only a few hours ago. I didn’t care anymore if she wanted Brendon more than she wanted me. As long as she was alive, as long as she breathe, as long as she was here. If she was with Brendon, at least she was here. At least she was here. And as I stared down at the soul on the edge, lying before me, I took my own life into consideration. Oh, how I had been so close to this, with my life held on some very thin wire, about to break. And here, God was holding the string, and satin holding the scissors.
Don’t cut, I thought. But here, I guess she didn’t need to listen to me. She had gone ahead and cut.


Brendon’s P.O.V.

Somehow, it doesn’t matter how little of sleep you’ve gotten or how much you need it, you can always rely on a good ‘ole three A.M. phone call. I reached over to my frantically buzzing phone, groping for it on the bedside table. Finding it, I opened the flip.
“Hello?” I whispered into the receiver.
“Brendon, you have to hurry!”
“Ryan?” I asked. Wasn’t he in bed…?
“Brendon, it’s about Alena. She’s in the hospital.”
I sat up in bed and tore the covers from my body. “What? Why?”
“Bren…” he said softly. “She tried killing herself.”
“I’ll be right there.”



---------

So, fate has landed me here, in this lonely waiting room with Ryan at my side. His blue tee shirt was covered in blood, her blood. His eyes were dark and lost, as if he had seen war. Tears were streaming down his face. I could tell he wanted to wipe them away, but didn’t have the strength.
“Ryan…” I whispered. He didn’t answer, just kept his eyes forward, on the white, blank wall before him. I said his name again, but there was still no answer.
“Ryan Ross?” asked a small nurse. She had long blond hair and looked to be about 35 or so years old. She had a tired face, but kind blue eyes.
“Yes?” Ryan asked, standing up.
“Mr. Ross, what do you know of Miss Miller’s medical problem?”
“What medical problem?” he asked. I was curious as well. Is this what she had been hiding?
“Mr. Ross, she had type 2 diabetes and suffers from tumor in the back of her brain.”
“What?” he whispered, trying to find something to take hold of before he fell down.
“Sir, you didn’t know that?”
He just dumbly shook his head.
“Well, I’m sorry. I can’t release any more information to you then,” she said before turning.
“Wait, ma’am!” I called, standing up. “I she all right?”
She turned back and stared at me. “Sir,” she said softly,” she needed a lot of help. I can’t tell you much else, but she is alive.”





Alena’s P.O.V.


Was I dead? Maybe. I can’t tell. All I can see is this white light. Like someone is shining a flashlight in my eye. Ouch! Maybe it’s because someone actually is.
“Alena Miller,” some guy said my name. “Can you hear me?” He was only shouting.
“Yes, I can hear you!” I shouted back.
“Good,” he said. “That means you’re alive.”
Fuck. I had lived. But who had found me? Why was alive? Didn’t God have any mercy to show? Why didn’t he allow me to go? Now the tumor could take me, my eyesight and everything else it damn well pleased. Fuck. I wanted to die, people! That’s the whole point of suicide!
But a vision of Ryan flashed before me… Ryan… where was he? I wondered. And why do I feel so obligated to find him?
“Ryan…” I whispered.
“You are very lucky that Ryan kid found you,” the man said to me. “Other wise you would be just another headline in the daily news. Not often we get something like you. Most kids actually succeed.”
I ignored him. Why hadn’t I succeeded? Now it knew it would win. Just like I knew it always would.
“You know,” the male nurse continued. “They are blaming your diabetes and lack of insulin on this whole little attempt thing. They aren’t going to put you in some crazy bin.”
“They aren’t?” I asked. I thought surely they would.
“Nope, again you are lucky,” he finished doing whatever he was doing and returned his focus to something on the table next to me. I could hear my heart monitor and the hum of whatever machines were keeping me alive. The room slowly came in focus, going from white fuzz to normal. I was definitely in a hospital. It smelled so gross in here. It made me want to barf.
“When can I see him?” I asked.
“Hell if I know,” the nurse answered, shrugging his shoulders. “Whenever Dr. Carr gets done with you.”
“How long do I have to wait for that?”
He just shook his head. I gave out a long sigh.
“You should go back to bed,” he said. “It’s still early morning.”
“Okay,” I said. “But I don’t know if I’ll get any sleep.”
“Who cares?” he answered. “As long as you’re quiet.”



Ryan’s P.O.V.

I kept seeing her flash before me; that image of her, broken, battered and bleeding on the floor. I can see her, in my arms, barely alive. She is on the brink, waiting, calling my name, screaming my name, begging me to come save her. And then I think I can’t. That I fall down before I can catch her.
“Ryan…” Brendon whispered, placing a soft hand on my shoulder. “Ryan, she will be okay.”
“How do you know?” I whispered back.
“You have to have faith.” I didn’t have faith anymore. “Please, Ryan,” he pleaded. “Put your trust in something.”
I just remained quiet until he eventually moved his hand. We sat there for what seemed like three days, when only it was two hours before the nurse, the same blond one from earlier, came out. “Mr. Ross. Mr. Urie. The patient will see you now.”


*Thanks so much for the reveiws. I love you all. I hope this will satisfy your hunger for more. I love you all. Again.