Mad As Rabbits~ a Ryden Fanfiction

0~ Prelogue

Brendon's PoV

I wake up to a pounding in my head, creating a groan of pain. As I push my hands against the bed, I hear a commotion from the kitchen area. I try to get out of the small room of the tour bus, but my belongings scatter the floor. I listen to the voices- Ryan being one of them, defensive and pleading, and Spencer's much more assertive and- I dare say- violent.
"You could have told us if you wanted to leave so badly," I hear.
As I finally get out, I see Ryan pushed up against a wall, Spencer's hand pressing against his clearly strained chest and shoulder. Jon stands to the left, trying to reach Spencer but failing quite miserably. I chase the scene, into the small "kitchen", where I continue to hear the argument, growing more intense with every sentence.
"I didn't think you'd react so badly, Spence! Come on, you can't say it's not true!"
Ryan stops, eyes now focused on my shocked expression
"What do you mean?"  I say, almost only a whisper.
"Listen, Brendon," Ryan starts,
"You know what Brendon?" Spencer interrupts, "He wants to take Jon and leave. After the tour ends,  just pack up their bags and ditch us," He yelled, still crushing Ryan against the wall.
"This is true?" I ask Ryan, who can't seem to bring himself to look at me, knowing the expression on my face.
"I'm sorry," he says, eyes moving from the floor to Spencer's face. His expression turns from thoughtful and saddened to repulsed and , honestly, borderline demonic.
"Get your filthy palms off me," he growls, eyes traveling to Spencer's hands. He then directs his attention to me.
"I'll miss you Brendon, honestly. Please, just be civil," he pleads.
"Okay," I whisper, head down low.
I'm glad we don't have any more shows this week. Ryan's chest is relieved of the former pressure, and he walks off, out of the van. We're parked in some Motel lot in the middle of nowhere, so I'm not worried about fan sightings.
"I'll be in the bedroom," I say, glaring at Spence.
I don't see anyone the rest of the day.
--- 2010---
I recall the memory, hardly able to think straight. The nights have been longer lately, and, thus, more drunken. My hangover seems inconspicuous, seeing as it's lasted months now. It blends in with the rest of all feeling.

"I'll miss you, Brendon..."

The words bounce around in my head like balloons, pressing against the walls of my brain and punching back out to another side, creating this pain in my head I can't seem to rid myself of. Regret blurs my vision, and pain mutes my throat. My ears are covered by grief, blocking everyone out and keeping everything in.
Or maybe it's just the whiskey.