"I'm always here for you, William...Always..."
That's what he whispered into my ear. That's what he said with his fingers slowly tucking my hair behind my ear. I didn't want another night to add to the list of fucks with Shaant. I didn't want to lay in bed and cry over you. I wanted someone to talk to, someone who would listen to me. And that was Mike. That would always be Mike.
He had just gotten out of the shower when I arrived, so he smelled like a garden of wild flowers. He smelled like rain waiting to fall. He smelled good.
I nuzzle my nose in his dark brown hair, catching every scent. "Talk to me, William," he says quietly, still stroking my hair.
I lean into his shoulder comfortably. "He never loved me. That's all there is to it, Mike."
He pauses and turns his head so that his nose is brushing straight against my cheek. "Do you love him?"
I gulp and I can feel my eyebrows narrow nervously. "Yeah."
"Oh, William," Mike says almost resentfully, and then he kisses my cheek and hops off his couch, taking my hand in his. "You need some fun."
"I know, but-"
"Ryan?" he butts in automatically. "Was that the next word you were going to say?"
"No..." I lie.
Mike rolls his eyes with a smile and leaves the room. I hear him begin to talk in the kitchen, and I know he must be calling someone. I also hear the smooth opening of the refrigerator and then the clinking of beer bottles. I lay my head against the back of the couch and groan. This really, really wasn't what I wanted.
"Don't worry," Mike says when he comes back five minutes later. "I just called Sisky and Pete. I called Brendon too but he was busy."
I sigh as Mike hands me a bottle of alcohol. And oh, the night is young.
Somewhere in the middle of it all, I'm on Pete's lap and kissing him. He's loving every minute of it and I can tell. But oh, so am I. Pete knows exactly when to breathe out; Pete knows exactly when to circle his hand around my ear; Pete's got the whole choreography worked out, and he's only teaching. Suddenly he giggles his deep little giggle straight into my teeth and I look at him awkwardly, and I may have even blushed, thinking I may have done something wrong. Pete's intimidating like that. You and Pete...are probably the only ones that can intimidate me like that.
"What?" I ask coyly.
Pete's famous proud smile widens and he kisses my top lip. "Where is your boy tonight, Bill?"
I frown. "I'd rather not talk about it."
"Aw, is the baby crying too much at night?" Pete says, moving closer in his drunk manner. "Well, then I don't know what we're doing here." He grabs my sides and pushes me off him, pulling me up from there.
"Pete, you shouldn't go anywhere; you're drunk," Siska reminds him.
"Nah, we're fine," Pete says waving his hand, which he seems to have forgotten was laced with mine. "I've driven smashed with Billy before, haven't I?"
"Yeah..." I say quietly and truthfully. "You have."
"Then we must be off!" He points toward Mike's front door super-hero style and drags me with him. "The Rejects are in town tonight and I'm feeling a party at Tyson boy's place."
I groan and I really wish Mike or Siska would come with. But Mike just whispers in my ear with tragic longevity before I walk out, "Fucking learn from your mistakes, Beckett."
And I look at him with pleading eyes before Pete pulls me out the door, but the cold wind whistles straight through our laced fingers, and as Pete kisses me, one last night on the town doesn't seem so bad after all.
Brendon is sitting quietly at a table in the library, and he looks like the cutest little indie boy in the world, regardless of how he so isn't. He's wearing his rectangular, red glasses, and he's reading a thick book that seems to have put him in a trance, because I have to lower the book myself for him to notice me. He's confused at first, wondering how his text has left his vision. Then he sees me and smiles.
"Hey," he says softly through his smile, and he presses his lips to mine. I sit down next to him and he says, "Are you alright?"
I smile back. "I am now." And I kiss him again, slowly, my lips quietly sliding over his. He backs away just as slow, and his eyes are confused behind his glasses' lenses.
"Ryan, you smell like smoke."
I try to deny it, even knowing it won't work. "Well, you know, I live with William."
"I can taste it in your breath," he says worriedly, even knowing he has no reason to be.
"We do kiss."
"Don't lie, Ryan."
I suck my teeth and turn away resentfully, resting my elbows on the table. Then I feel Brendon put his hand on my knee. "Don't worry about it," he whispers and then pauses, looking at me sideways. "Can I take you to dinner?"
I look at him and feel my cheeks burn. Brendon always was such a gentlemen. He cared about me like no one else in the world. I nod, and he smiles again, pulling me to my feet gracefully.
In the dim, quiet restaurant, Brendon is telling me about how Amy knew he was gay all along. "Another girl that just wanted me to say she had me," he says sadly, stirring the food on his plate that wasn't actually meant to be stirred. "That's why I can't stand girls."
I nod. "Did you break up?"
"Ages ago."
"Good. I didn't like her."
Brendon smiles widely. "Good to hear you're not judgemental, Ry. Considering you talked to her for a whole two minutes."
I grin. "Sorry. It's just you...with a girl... It's weird."
Brendon laughs in his usual deep, eye-thinning way. I'm sitting there admiring those eyes when I hear my cell phone ring. Brendon stops laughing because we both know it's you. I hesitate, but I know not answering would make you even more suspicious, if that's possible, so I pull my phone out of my pocket. My eyebrows furrow when I don't see your name but instead, a number I don't recognize. I awkwardly put the phone to my ear. "Hello?"
"Is this George Ryan Ross?" a stern, female voice asks. I'm taken aback, and it takes me much longer to answer then it should've.
"Um...Yeah. Yeah, this is him."
"You share residence with William Beckett, correct?"
"Yes..." I answer nervously. I glance at Brendon, who I don't think quite notices the fear in my voice.
"William Beckett was in a car crash this evening with another man named Peter Wentz. They were both intoxicated and William is currently unconscious and being removed from the vehicle as quickly as-"
"Where?" I choke out loudly, my breathing flawed and uneven. I stand up quickly and dig for some cash from my back pocket as the woman tells me a location, and I slam the money down on the table, causing the clear glasses to clink and jump. I forget that Brendon was paying for dinner. I forget that Brendon is barely even there. I forget everything.
Because the images in my head are enough. Brendon trying to console me and drive at the same time is enough. The metal station I put on the radio is enough. The streetlights reflecting against the candy apple red fire truck and the snow white ambulance is enough. Snow White bit the apple this time.
But what hurts the most, is driving up to see the rescue team circling a head of wavy brown hair that's restrained inside the car. And having my Brendon right beside me, I know that my William, as hurt and broken as you ever were...you were never enough.
Slow motion, see me let go.
=]]
rate. talk.
