DIE TONIGHT 》 Ryden

8:30am

RYAN'S POV

"Jesus-fucking-christ.. Oh shit.."

The smell of chlorine and alcohol hits me as soon as I wake up. My face is glued to the white pillow with sweat; in fact, my entire body is sweating under the thick blankets. My ass hurts like hell, but in a good way. Brendon's not in bed with me, however, I can feel someone sitting at the edge of the bed. And I know it's him.. I don't know if I should get up or not, unaware of what his reaction would be. Does he remember how we fucked last night? Or is he trying to remember how I got into his bed?

"Okay, okay, if I leave the room, and wake him up saying he felt sick and I let him crash in my room.. That's it. I'll give him an Advil, and he's gone.."

I listen closely to his plan. Did last night mean nothing to him? Who's the asshole here? Him for not admitting that we just had sex last night, and saying that he still might be in love with me, and clearly lying bout it? Or is it me for being the reason he broke the bed, dopped the wedding picture, and possibly hurt his marriage? It's 50/50 right now. Then again, he's the one who suggested a 'tour of the house'.

I hear him open the door to the master bathroom, once I hear that doorknob click, I jump up and start looking around for my boxers. Thankfully, all my clothes are sprawled across the floor, and I try to get dressed as fast as possible. As I pulled my David Bowie shirt over my head, Brendon opened the door. We make eye contact, and I can see the fire in his eyes.

"You're not going to admit it, are you?" I question him while sliding my socks on.

"Hey, whatever you think happened last night, didnt fucking happen!" He shouts pointing a finger at me.

"I'M NOT SAYING ANYTHING HAPPENED LAST NIGHT! And even if something did happen, why are you even saying that nothing happened, as if something happened?" Jesus Christ, too much 'happened'.

"My bed is fucking broken, there's shattered glass on the floor from my wedding picture, and.." He trails off, and I try to imagine what he's going to say, "You know what?.. Just get the fuck out of my house, get into that car of yours, and move on with your life!"

I finish tying only one of my shoes, "Why wont you just admit that we fucked last night!?" I yell at him, he comes closer to me, and for a second, I think that he's going to kiss me. But that hope fades away as he gives me a blow to my right eye with all his strength, and I stagger backwards.

"Because I'm not fucked up like you are!" Brendon fires at me.

I feel the skin around my right eye swell up, and I make my way past him, putting on my leather jacket and shoving my phone deep into my pocket. I walk down the stairs as quick as possible, afraid that he might hit me again. I miss a step and feel pain shoot through my right leg and ankle, but I don't have time to stop. I just want to get the fuck out of here.

Brendon follows behind me, and I prepare for the impact of his blows, but they never come.

He stops in the living room. Shit, this place is trashed.. Is my first thought, there's beer bottles everywhere, somebody pissed in the fake house plant, Brendon's custom 'VICTORIOUS' wine bottles are smashed. In which Dallon comes to mind, but he's not here. Jon and Spencer are passed out on the floor, both smell like pot. The glass table in the middle has faded white lines, and dollar bills. That Dan and Kenneth dude look trashed the fuck out with stain covered shirts. Pete Wentz is also here for some reason, asleep under a blanket fort. When the hell did he get here?

"EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUTTA MY HOUSE!!" Brendon screeches like a teenager waking up  learning his parents are coming home early after throwing a house party.