The Five Times I've Seen Ryan Ross Cry

The Time He Didn't Say It Back

"--and I just can't fucking stand you. We are not exclusive. I can fuck who ever I want to fuck and that's final," he yelled. His voice had gone down a few octaves. It did that when he was upset.

"You're so fucking clingy and you act as if we're a couple. God damnit, Brendon, I'm fucking tired of this! All the fans think we're together, youthink we're together. I'm sick of you." This time I was the one who was crying. Not him.

"Ry," I whispered.

"No!" he screamed. "None of your bullshit. You listen to me. You need to fuck off or something because we were never something. We were just two people who fucked around a lot! Okay?"

"Ryan," I tried again. He wouldn't listen to me. He was drunk. He was drunk. He was drunk. Right?

"No, you shut the fuck up. I'm so--"

"Seattle," I replied. We were supposed to move to Seattle. And live a happy life. We were supposed to love each other.

"Fuck Seattle! That didn't mean anything to me and it shouldn't have to you. It was a quick fuck, nothing more. Holy shit, Brendon, can't you get it through your dense brain that we. Were. Nothing."

I could see the anger flash through his eyes, the eyes I had so lovingly stared into. The neck I used to kiss. The cheeks I used to wipe his tears away with. He was about to leave me when I murmured, "I love you."

And he whipped around and looked me in the eyes. "Shut the fuck up, Bren--"

"I love you," I said louder this time. He acted as if I didn't say anything at all.

"--don. Don't make this more than it is. Don't make this harder for me. I need--"

"I love you," I practically screamed at him. Why couldn't he hear me? Why? Why why why?

"--space on my own and I need to figure some shit out and I need to do that--"

"I love you," I said, whilst grabbing his wrists and looking him straight in the eye.

He wrestled himself away and finally got sick of me. Finally. "Would you stop fucking saying that? Because I don't. " And I felt something break inside of me. His face was red from yelling too much, but I saw tears flow down his face too. That meant he was feeling something again. He wasn't indifferent. He felt something. And that was enough for me.

Actually, no. It wasn't enough for me. I wanted more. I didn't want him to just feel, I wanted him to feel something for me. "Say it back," I cried. "Say it back."

And then he just froze, a mix of terror and fear and sadness and guilt hinted in his eyes, until he said breathlessly, "I can't." And left me.