Dearest~a Ryden

Letter #2

*trigger warning*

Dearest,

I know who you are. But only because I caught you reading my letter. And yes, I am in your Spanish class. You're pretty cute. But you probably won't like me saying that. Because you're a boy. And I'm a boy. And you're straight. Or, I'm assuming you are, since you're on the football team, and most of the football team is homophobic. But whatever.

You're eyes are a very nice color-brown like pools of chocolate. You're hair is nice too, and you have great style. I noticed you have a scar on your right eyebrow. Now it is quite small, but how'd you get it? Sorry, that's weird I noticed that. My mistake. I shouldn't have asked. I will now share another secret.

Secret #2- I purge. This is probably my worst habit, besides cutting. And I know I already told you this, but I want to go into depth this time. I wrote that letter to you a couple of days ago, now and I said I weighed-what like 94.3 pounds? Well, now I weigh 87.7! I'm so proud, well, in a way. I shouldn't be proud, but whatever. I surpassed my goal weight.

And, I found a new diet. Some people call it the cotton ball diet. And I only do it occasionally, because even that's hard to eat. But basically what you do it you get a cotton ball and dip it into a drink or smoothie, et cetera, and eat it. It makes you full without gaining weight. I do it about....say.... twice a week.

Anyways, my father hit me again, which is nothing new, really. He was drunk, so it's okay, right? Everyone's dads do that? Please. Rescue me. That's impossible though, you don't know me. But if you did, I wonder what would happen. I wonder what your personality is really like. What you do for fun, what types of stories and books you read. Sorry. I'm getting hung up on you and I don't even know you.

Just by your face, you look like a lovely person. But maybe I'm being too nice. And I do know that you're on the football team. You're not like the others though. You wouldn't hurt a fly. You do seem like a happy person. Not a broken, depressed freak like me. I'm writing this and it's very late.

I'm constantly thinking about life after death. I was raised to believe in God. But when my mother left me (about the same time I lost all my friends), I knew he wasn't real. I stopped going to church, I stopped looking for something to live and love for. That's when the self-harm started. My father began to drink more and more. And he can't help that he gets aggressive when he drinks.

I deserve the pain though. I made her leave. She's gone though, and I can't make her come back. I do not know if she'll come back, or even if she has a new family that's happy together.

Sorry I'm such a downer. Ah, yes another reason why my friends left me. Okay. I should probably attempt to sleep now.

With Love,

~~~~ ~~~~

School

~~~~ ~~~~

I woke up early this morning so I could get to school early (I walk, by the way). I don't get why most people refer to school as hell. Because it's worse. School is worse than burning in the flame-y pits of hell is what I'm saying.

Walking down the hall I trip and nearly fall but I catch myself. A few people see and they all laugh. Not surprised at all. I get to his locker 244. I go back to the gym, walking more careful than before so I don't embarrass myself in the same day twice.

"Ah," I sigh as I sit down on the hard bleacher. The sigh may have come out a bit loud because a few people look over at me with weird expressions. I ignored them.

Looking out across the gym I see him.

"Oh," I whisper quietly. The receiver of my letters was the one playing volleyball. Hmm. Interesting.

His brown hair flops on his head as he runs to go get the ball. As he walks back, he looks over at me, smiling. He probably sees the look on my face which is a hard stare with a hit of sadness. Was that a give a away that I write the letters?

"I'll be right back guys!" He yells as he starts jogging towards me. I start to panic looking around and probably blushing.

"Hey," he says. Fuck me.

"Hi," I say awkwardly, but making an effort. "Uh...what's your name?"

He pauses giving me a look. "Brendon Urie." He smiles a cute smile. "What about you, good sir?"

I chuckle at his adorable-ness and his cheesy joke. If you can even call that a joke.

"Ryan. Ryan Ross. But my birth name is George but I hate that because it's after my father a-. Sorry," I look at my feet. "I ramble."

"Aye, that's okay. I think we've all done it sometime or another. But don't get all awkward on me because you seem really nice and shit," he smiles. "I really like your hair by the way, it suits your face- as in you're cute." What. The hell. Please don't do this.

"Erm. Excuse me?" I said. "N-no I'm not really thank you I-I have to pee," I got up and ran to the restroom as fast as I could.

Running into the stall I start to hyperventilate. This isn't okay. At all. I shouldn't have stared.

"You fucking idiot, Ryan! Why are you like this?" I whisper-yell at myself.

"Ryan? I know you're in here. Come out please?" Brendon says.

"I-I would rather n-not."

I hear his footsteps slowly become more distant and I open the door.

As soon as I do I feel something.