The Golden Days Where I Belong

Chapter 1 - I Found A Pile Of Polaroids

Brendon's POV

I sank down into the sofa, head in my hands. Why do the memories keep coming back? I keep burying them, and still they find their way to the surface. I sighed deeply as I pulled out my old Pretty. Odd. CD and the old recorded interviews. I guess if you can't repress your past, might as well come to terms with it. I promise myself just one listen, for old time's sake. Then I'll get rid of it. I'll finally part with it, once and for all. As I slid the CD out of its case, the memories flooded back. I pressed play and heard the opening guitar strums. I remember when we were in the studio recording that song. I wish things were still the same. When did it all go downhill?

When the song got into full swing, I heard Ryan's smooth, calming voice. Suddenly, I remembered all the days we spent together in that beaten up van, touring America, making music together and just having fun. When did it all change? A strange sense of loneliness hit me like a truck as I sat in the dark, alone, sipping my red wine. And Ryan, God Ryan. I really do miss him. He was my moon; I was his sun. I miss the way his eyes sparkled when he was happy, I miss the little crinkles in the corner of his eyes as he laughed, I miss the smell of his vanilla shampoo. I really just miss everything about him. He was the light of my life. Without him, I have nothing, not even my wife, Sarah, can fill that void.

I heaved myself out of my seat, there's no time for reminiscing. I run out of the room; I have to get away from the music. Whilst getting up, I stumble over a box. What's inside? I swear this wasn't here before. I hesitantly open the lid. I let out a gasp. Glitter poured out of the box all over my black skinny jeans, what the hell? I picked up a small box and opened it up. It had a black eyeliner pencil inside with the words Ryan Ross written on it in golden letters. It's the one I got him for his birthday way back in 2005. As I sift through the box, I come across a polaroid picture. I turn it over and I'm confronted by a picture of me and Ryan, sat together. Our foreheads touching, gazing into each other's eyes. I can't do this, not now. I have a wife and a successful career. Ryan has probably moved on too, there's no use thinking about it now. I need to move on.