And So We Fall

Those Little Gifts

*Brendon's POV*

I look out the window at the towering skyscrapers around me. It's high up - almost too high. I feel as if I gaze too close to the glass it'll vanish and I'll fall right through. I take a step back.

It's all paid for by the record company. We each get a luxury apartment - at least until the album is released and the cash starts flowing in. Right now, the label wants us here, so they're making sure we stay here. I guess I should take that as a compliment, but it's hard knowing that you're sound is being controlled by some big tough guy at a desk. Kind of infuriating, actually. I can't argue, though, not yet. I should be "thankful" and "grateful that the label is taking such special interest in you". I already let William know of my complaints, but he shut me down with guilt mixed in with threats of getting dropped. William is not a particularly threatening person, so I opted to take him seriously.

I focus on the single building I've been watching for weeks now. Maybe I hope it'll implode. Maybe I watch it to make sure it doesn't. 417 South Hill Street. A collection of four little buildings, nearly lost in the sea of tall and taller skyscrapers. The lights come on each night, letting me know that it's still there. Nagging me that it's still there.

But these past few nights, if I look close enough, I can see a light turn on in the second window at the very top of the far right building. I always check the time and it's always the same. 1:19am. I don't know why. Part of me wishes that he knows I'm watching and he's sending me a sign, but I try not to listen to that part. The only place it's gotten me is Glasgow, Kentucky, and I don't exactly wish to return. I'm back here, so that's got to count for something.

Suddenly three hard, quick knocks hit my door, followed by a familiar, "Brendon? Open up, man. It's me." Dallon sounds on-edge and almost...scared? The curious part of me tears my eyes from the window to walk over and open up the door. It reveals an obviously distraught Dallon, wearing his favorite blue pajamas, staring down at me with wide eyes.

"What?" I ask, the obliviousness of my tone painfully obvious.

He pauses, opening his mouth but saying nothing. He focuses on the floor and the doorframe and my kitchen and anything but me. Just as I'm about to tell him to spit it out, he looks directly at me, unblinking.

"Janis Joplin is dead."

There's fear in his tone, obvious fear, mixed with grief and surprise and confusion - a dangerous combination. I can't understand why Dallon is so worked up over this rock star - then I realize I know her. I know her. Give it time, she had told me.

I didn't realize she would run out of it so soon.

But then I remember her friend. I remember the cold look in his eyes when he saw me. She had told me he was mad at the world, like we all were. Was she mad enough to end it all? Or was the world mad at her?

"Heroin overdose. Early Sunday morning. I was listening to the radio and..." Dallon's voice has become a whisper, and only then does the reality sink in. She's dead. Ryan's friend died three days ago. And where am I? Watching him through my living room window, selfishly dreaming about the future we never had. His friend just died, and he needs someone. Maybe not me, probably not me, but someone. He'll shove me out the door and curse my name, but I can't care anymore. My instincts are running full power, and I can't care anymore that he won't want to see me. I just know he needs someone, and if I have any say in it, it will be me. I'll always be there, no matter what, no matter how angry he is with me, I'll be there. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, pushing me out of the door and past Dallon, who is a statue.

The world is a blur. I focus on the ground ahead of me, the only thought racing through my head being left, right, left, right. My feet pound against the ground but my heart pounds harder, knowing full well what I am getting myself into.