Let Me Go (Ryden)

Chapter XXII

[Again, not sure about this, but just to be safe: TRIGGER WARNING
Also, just a quick note, I know this is a very unique chapter, and it might be confusing, so I'm going to explain it in the authors note at the end of the fic.]

Tears often found themselves in Ryan's eyes. He didn't mean to, but could anyone help it, lying on their deathbed at age twenty, in the most pain they'd ever felt, it wasn't easy. The pain medication no longer worked, it only eased some of his agony at best. Now he was counting down the days to go till the end of the month, knowing he wouldn't live that long. It really wasn't living, not at all. He was dying, he could feel his life fading away every day, growing harder to hold on to. The hardest part of this, however, was leaving Brendon. Now, Ryan opened his eyes to the usual blackness, and he would've sighed, but of course, there was a machine breathing for him. A soft rustle. Hands brushed against his face, removing the mask. Ryan sighed now, able to breathe on his own once again.
"Hey," Brendon's voice.
"What day is it?" Ryan asked.
"Um, the twenty-first. Why?" Brendon answered.
"I dunno," Ryan lied. Ten days. Less than ten days left to live. The backs of his eyes stung, but nothing came out. He shifted so that he was facing more towards the direction of Brendon's voice. A new bolt of white hot pain shot through him, and he cringed. A hand ran over his hair once, then took his, entwining their fingers.
"Will it hurt if I move you?" Brendon asked gingerly.
"Uh, probably, but that's okay," Ryan braced himself. Slowly, arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him upward and to the left, until he was pressed against his fiancé. Brendon kept his arms wrapped around Ryan's waist, so he just cuddled in close, burying his face in Brendon's shoulder in an attempt to hide the fact that he was in even more pain now. Brendon sighed, and shifted slightly. Brendon knew. Why couldn't Ryan hide it better? He didn't want Brendon to know. Ryan went limp against Brendon, or at least, he tried to. He'd been oddly tense lately, unable to completely relax his muscles. Only when he had what they assumed to be seizures was he completely limp and relaxed. Ryan's body was malfunctioning and shutting down on him and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Sometimes he wished that he could just die already, that his heart would give out, and his lungs would just quit. Sometimes he wished that someone would put him out of his misery, that somebody would give him too much of pain medication, or that he could be injected with whatever they use for the death sentence. And sometimes, he wished that he could take his own life. Ryan half wished he could've been smart enough to do it when he was still strong enough to move around somewhat. But no, he hadn't, and well... he couldn't do that to Brendon. It'd already been hard enough on them both the first time there was an attempt. Although, none of that really mattered now. Ryan still wouldn't welcome death, but maybe it would be a relief from what he was going through now. He wasn't sure what he believed in, he wasn't sure what would come after death. But frankly, at this point, he didn't care if he went to some sort of afterlife or "better place" or just faded from existence and became nothing. All he wanted was for his and Brendon's suffering to end. But would it end there? Well, surely it would end for him, but would it for Brendon? He'd be left all alone after Ryan died, and obviously he'd grieve, but for how long? And will he be able to carry on with life? Ryan didn't want to think about this. The very thought made him exhausted, but he knew he couldn't sleep, not yet, it hadn't been that long, had it? Was he already asleep? Was he dreaming? Ryan could never be sure. He knew Brendon still hardly slept, so he figured that if he was talking to Brendon, he wasn't asleep. He also knew Brendon still had nightmares. Which made Ryan feel guilty, because he was tired up to the point where if Brendon woke up screaming, he would sleep right through it. Ryan tried to speak, but found his lips to be incredibly heavy, it was too hard. He drifted into sleep against his own will. Ten days...

Nine days...
Seizure.

Eight days...
Seizure again.

Seven days...
A week. A week left of the month. Less than a week left to live.

Six days...
The worst seizure yet.

Five...
Ryan could almost see the light at the end of the tunnel now...