Boarding School~Ryden

Seven

This is a mini chapter that's Brendon's POV. It'll give you a little background on him as a person. I post a lot on my Instagram (@proofofryden) about my writing process, and I did a poll about the next chapter I was going to write: Did the people want a chapter that was short but explained Brendon as a person more, or a longer chapter that glossed over Bren? They chose the first. I was very happy, because I feel like he's been sort of ignored for most of the book, and he's a main character! There isn't much known about him, his motives, or his past, whereas we know a lot more about Ryan. Originally I wasn't gonna talk about him at all, and then I realized that he was a flat, boring gay boy who had no motives or even reasons for doing stuff. He talked about weed and Ryan, pretty much. That's just not who Brendon is, and that's not how people work. So, without further ado... The Brendon Chapter.
Also, Nora... I might be changing up the plot a little bit from what I originally showed you. Sorry, love you 💖

•••••••
*TW FOR BLOOD. NOT FROM ABUSE OR SELF HARM, A CHARACTER JUST BLEEDS IN THIS CHAPTER. STAY SAFE*

I sigh, balancing a paper cup of lukewarm coffee on my knee and glancing around the crowded terminal. Beside me, Lauren types on her computer, her red lipgloss smudged across her face from biting her lips. Her curly hair is frizzy and barely tired back with a scrunchie, and a pair of tortoiseshell glasses are precariously balanced on her nose.

"You keep staring at me." She mumbles, not looking away from her laptop, which is displaying a complicated looking essay.

"Sorry." I mumble, folding my hands and placing them in my lap. She looks up, arching an eyebrow. "Don't apologize, B... what's wrong?"

I open my mouth, wanting to speak. Nothing comes out. I watch Lauren's face change from confusion to understanding.

"It's less than a week, you know." She says sympathetically. "You haven't seen them since you started at school. They're going to be nice. They've missed you, B." She finishes, and I shake my head. "They want to take photos of our 'perfect family' and play pretend." I mumble, and Lauren frowns. "That's not true, Brendon."

I raise an eyebrow at her skeptically, and she hesitates. "You never know?" She says weakly. "They could... they could be different."

I snort. "Yeah. Right."

"You have me right down the street if anything goes wrong. Don't take any bullshit, B." She soothes, and I stare straight ahead. "I never do."

We both know I'm lying.

***
I turn the handle of the shower, and water pours out. I press shuffle on my phone and step in the shower.

Almost immediately, my breathing speeds up, and I blink back tears as the song continues to play. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This... this is hopeless. This visit is hopeless. My family accepting me is hopeless. Ryan... Ryan wanting me is hopeless.

I don't know why I thought this time would be different. I'm hopeless.

I lean against the shower wall, keening noises leaving my mouth as water patters down my body, my arms wrapped around myself. I tilt my head back, eyes closed, and let water spray on me, cover me, swallow me. Maybe I'll drown.

Nothing has gone right for me. Nothing, in my short, scary life. And why should it now? Why should I ever get what I want? It hasn't happened before.

I open my eyes. Water is clinging to my lashes. I let out a frustrated growl, squeezing my eyes shut. Then I open them.

Open.
Shut.
Open.
Shut.

Maybe if I do it enough, something will change. Maybe if I keep my eyes closed for long enough, I'll open them and things will go right. Maybe if I keep them closed, I won't have to open them.

But nothing is changing. I'm standing here shivering, lukewarm water spraying into my face, my hair plastered to my face and sticking to my cheekbones. I'm vulnerable, and naked, and sad, but most importantly, I'm alone.

So alone.

And what if I'm always alone? I can't fathom a  time where I wouldn't want Ryan. I also can't fathom a time where I'll be with Ryan. The two don't work well together.

Obviously.

Anger courses through my veins, sudden and unexpected. What gives Ryan the right to scoff at me?! What gives my family the right to hate me?! What gives my mind the right to look on the bright side, when there IS no bright side?! I bite down on my lip, hard, tasting blood. I angrily swipe my tongue over the new cut, spitting on the shower floor. Red saliva coats the white porcelain, angry and jarring. Good. I'll fucking ruin everything in this stupid goddamn bathroom. Including myself.

Especially myself.

I angrily increase the temperature of the water, and involuntarily wince as it splatters my spin. Good. Good. I deserve the burn. I spread my arms slightly, letting the water flow down on me. It hurts: God, it hurts. But not as much as thinking, as feeling, in this moment does. My skin is turning an angry shade of red, and I feel my body protesting, and still, I stand here, crying as scalding water rains down on me.

I don't know how long I'm there for, letting water jet down from the shower head, before it turns cold. All I know is I'm finally getting used to the heat when it cools down, a normal temperature at first but rapidly turning icy.

I exit the shower, punching the wall. It's an involuntary action, a quick pounding of my fist to stone. Yeah, my parents are so fucking moronically rich that they refurbished their bathrooms with STONE. Unfortunately for me, that means that my knuckles split, blood spilling down my hand. Fucking Hell.

I sigh, wiping my hand across the mirror, red swirling along with condensation from the shower. I can hardly make out my form, blurry and just.. there. You wouldn't be able to tell who it was. I'm just a boy with dark hair in the mirror. No feelings, no individuality. I wish it was more like that in real life.

Maybe then I wouldn't have to live with the bullshit that I do.

But alas. I'm Brendon Urie. Broken Brendon. Faggot Brendon. Ruined Brendon. Unloved Brendon. Alone Brendon. I want to call Lauren, but every step feels like walking a mile, like jumping off a cliff into an unknown ocean. I can't reach my phone. I can't even move, can only stare at my stupid hazy form in the mirror.

There are a million things I could do right now to distract myself, to avoid thoughts of Ryan and of my hatred for myself. I could call Lauren. Find a party. Get high. Hell, I could probably get my hands on Heroin if I wanted, if I looked hard enough.

But I remember the look on Ryan's face the night I came back coked up, the fear and the sadness and the almost-loathing. I've never been that ashamed, that hateful of myself.

I'm scared, scared of the consequences of my actions for the first time in a long time.

Maybe that should be a good thing. But when I realize this, all that I feel is dread.