last resort | ryden

5

Brendon POV

4:38 am.
and here i am, staring at the whitewashed ceiling in this cramped flat. i still haven't unpacked, emailed my producer back, or chosen a set list for the concert in three days.  instead i haven't moved from the position i was in 5 hours ago, hadn't eaten or slept.
i ignored every worried email he sent me and squeezed my eyes shut, trying to focus.
every little sound seemed strange and alien. i wanted silence, and i wanted answers.
so.
i stopped.

listening.

something was going on with that house next door.
the one ryan lived in.
supposedly.
strange thumps and breaking glass, creaking floorboards from the heavy footsteps, muffled angry words and faint sobbing.

either ryan had decided to turn the soap opera on tv on extremely loudly or had moved out, something was seriously wrong.

it sounded like ryan and his father, when the latter was drunk, i realised.
i checked the time, again. 
5:01 am.
i sighed and pressed a hand against my ear, trying to block out the muffled cries that had gone on for far too long.
guilt curled in my stomach; i had a problem with overthinking.
ryan used to listen to every single thing that made me upset, help me stop overanalysing every-

no.
stop.
i listened.
a slamming door, a vacuum.
running water.
sobs.

i just hoped it wasn't want i thought it was.