Misanthropy - [ryden]

21. Sardonicism (Alternate Ending)

**WARNINGS: TORTURE. PTSD. BLOOD.**

Brendon took a while to open his eyes even after his brain woke up. The room surrounding him was pitch black, so readjusting his eyes that were already having a hard time even opening was a difficult task. The man's head was pounding harshly and as he lifted his hand to press against his temple, he realized he couldn't. He started yanking at the restraints that were covering his wrists as he felt a small panic begin to rise in his chest.

He then started kicking his feet realizing that his ankles were bound, as well. After minutes of thrashing about, he realized there was no point. For some reason, his panic started to ease and his breath began to slow to its normal pace before a door opened, and his heart started hammering inside of his chest, slamming against rib cage.

A soft clicking sound was heard before lights encased the room and the man squeezed his eyes shut against the bright fluorescent lights. He took time letting them adjust, slowly opening them just a bit at a time before they were wide open and peering at a smiling man above him, causing him to jump back against the wooden table he was restrained to.

The dark haired and chocolate eyed man above him smiled wider, bringing his hand to stroke through his captive's soft, fluffy hair. "I'm glad you're awake, sweetheart," he spoke, voice low and sickly sweet. "I was afraid I'd have to start all of the fun without you."

Brendon lied completely still against the table, eyes boring into those of the man peering over him. His body was still in full panic mode, but his brain was just trying to process what was going on. How had he let this happen to him? He knew he made himself too vulnerable, and now it was coming back to bite him in the ass. Fuck, how had this happened..

When his eyes refocused after hearing some clanking and shuffling, he noticed the dark haired man holding up what appeared to be kukri before he walked back over to him with an even deeper and more sadistic smile.

"Let's have some fun, shall we?"

*  *  *

Ryan followed his mother up the concrete steps to the front door of her - their - home, allowing her to open the door for him and letting him filter inside first. Ryan kept his eyes on his mother until she made it inside and closed the door behind her before turning back to the open space of the living area and allowing himself to look around. He looked back and forth from the couches, the television, the fireplace and even the small desk in the corner of the room but nothing seemed to set in until he looked on the mantel above the fireplace.

The small picture frames the decorated the mantelpiece caused Ryan to tense up slightly as he walked over to them, admiring the golden, wooden and silver frames before daring to look up at the pictures. Some were of him and his dad when he was just a child - maybe no more than three or four years old, far before his father began drinking. Some were of Ryan and his mother after his father had passed and he was a teenager, and some were of him and Pete. He felt the tears pool in his eyes as he ran his fingers across the picture of him and Pete at his sixteenth birthday, one of the last days of summer vacation where they spent the weekend on the lake with some of Pete's friends.

Ryan absentmindedly ran his hand over his left cheek, feeling the scar that had been left there a few weeks prior and he finally let his tears spill over. He started to sob harshly as he slumped to the floor in front of the fire place, almost flinching as his mother rushed over to him and wrapped her son in her arms, allowing him to sob against her chest. The last time she had seen her boy this broken was when he lost his best friend, and now it was because he almost lost himself in the midst of his own sorrow.