Tripping Down 12 Steps Into Malibu

Two Types Of Scars

Brendon came to life the same way they did in all the movies. With an inhale hard enough to jostle his entire frame. A wretched sound slipped from his lips when he realized how painful it was to breathe. It wasn't that his throat was sore. It was just so impossibly dry. He needed something to drink. A glass of water would feel like heaven right now.

When his body had a sufficient amount of air drawn into his lungs, he opened his eyes. He realized that maybe he hadn't died after all. He wouldn't be able to feel if he was dead. And he was definitely feeling. He felt cold. He felt aches. He felt afraid. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that he was in the hospital. The room was bright. The bed was stiff. It smelled distinctly of antibacterial hand sanitizer. It smelled awful. It smelled better than death.

Then he realized he wasn't alone. Someone else was in the room with him. Sitting close enough that he could hear their heavy, even breathing. The memory of the last moments his brain would let him remember flooded him. The memory of dancing. Red dancing. The memory of flying. The memory of his angel managing to get a hold of him even as he floated through the air. Ryan. Ryan saved him. That was Ryan's breathing.

Brendon ripped his eyes from the ceiling and let them circle the room. The small space allowed no room for hidden figures. He locked in on the shoes first. The black tips peeking from under an uncomfortably white blanket. He let his eyes travel up the fabric until he reached the chair. Even higher to the exposed arms. Straight shoulders. Hard jaw. Leading to the intense  gaze of Dallon Weekes.

Brendon let his eyelids shield him from the sight. That wasn't right. That's not how he remembered it. That wasn't Dallon's scream. Or Dallon's voice. Dallon hadn't come to save him. Dallon didn't even want to answer his phone. But when he reopened his eyes, that was still the man who was sitting in the chair beside his bed. Watching him. Waiting.

Brendon tried to smile. It didn't feel like it worked. Dallon grimaced.

"Are you in pain?"

He head shook once. "I'm-" Ew, was that his voice? "I have aches but I can't feel them." It made no sense. Yet the man beside him nodded.

"It's the sedatives you're on."

"Sedatives? Why not just give me painkillers?" His words sounded as dry as his throat.

Dallon's eyebrows shot up. "You tried to kill yourself, Brendon. And when the ambulance arrived, you tried to fight them off. Every time you woke up, you tried to fight."

He winced. "Oh yeah." But something still wasn't making sense. "Ryan?"

Dallon straightened in the seat. "He found you i-in the bathroom. But he wasn't allowed to leave the facility. And even so, they told me that he made it very clear he didn't want to ride with you to the hospital."

Of course he didn't. They'd broken up just before that. Ryan didn't care about making sure he was alive. Ryan didn't want him. How could he let himself forget the reason for his breakdown? No one wanted him. Ryan left. Dallon didn't pick up. But... But Dallon was here."

"You're here."

"They called me." He looked away. "Apparently I'm still your one and only emergency contact."

"You still didn't have to come."

His eyed darted back to his. Holding. "Of course I had to come, Brendon. What, was I supposed to let you wake up in the hospital alone after you tried to kill yourself?" Ryan did. Dallon's voice lowered. He leaned closer to the man in the bed. "Where you high?"

"No." He said quickly.

"Brendon."

"Yes."

"How? Where did you get drugs."

He cleared his face of any giveaways. "I don't know."

"Brendon."

"I-I stole them from Ryan. A-Around the start. He had them and I found them and took one and th-then I told Jesse and they took the rest."

"That was so stupid, Brendon."

"Does Jesse know?" He tried to bolt into a sitting position. He couldn't. "Am I back at step one?"

"They didn't do a drug test. They just assumed you tried to kill yourself sober."

"So how did you know?"

"You've only ever tried to commit suicide when you were high." His eyes watered.

Brendon couldn't look at him anymore. "I'm so sorry, Dallon."

"You don't have to apologize for wanting to-"

"I'm sorry for everything." He continued. "I just let you leave. I left you. I-I was so wrapped up in what I thought was real that I forgot what real really felt like. And I'm sorry for that. I'm sorry for what I said and how I hurt you. I'm sorry.

Dallon blinked. The moisture in his left eye escaped through one perfect tear. "I don't know if I can just forgive you because you're sorry. You broke me for an infatuation. I-It's like you were trying to force me to forget we were ever in love."

"I'm sorry." He repeated because what the hell else could he say?

"You said that already."

"I need you." He needs someone to keep him going.

Another tear from the opposite eye. "I don't know if I believe that anymore"

Brendon's heart burst through his ribs. At least it felt like it did. "I'm going to make it up to you. I promise I'm going to get clean. I had a slip up. A weak moment. But it won't happen again. I'm going to get out of that place and I'm going to earn your trust. Sober.

Dallon was shaking his head before Brendon even finished. "Coke was bad for you. But Ryan was way worse."

The words rung with a truth Brendon didn't want to acknowledge. A truth Brendon wasn't going to acknowledge. At least not today.

"Can we start over?"

"We can try."