(WIP/Editing) Lè Oneshots

Ryden: Broken Promises

Ship: Ryden

December 3, 2016

TW: Suicide/Self Harm

I looked down at my phone. Brendon stopped texting me earlier than usual last night. Probably fell asleep. He needs to hurry up and get the fuck up. I'm bored. As if on cue, my phone vibrated in my hand. I looked at it in, what some people would call, an embarrassingly fast time.

DATBOI Beebo: Who is this?

The fuck? I bet he reset his phone or something again... but didn't Brendon know my number by now? Probably not.

Ryan.

DATBOI Beebo: oh. That makes sense. You were the last person he texted.

What do you mean? Did he lose his phone again? Who is this?

DATBOI Beebo: This is Brendon's mom.

Oh... okay?... But what happened?

I jumped as my phone vibrated and the stupid picture of Brendon popped up on the screen. Normally I'd laugh, but I was too anxious. I answered the call. "H-Hello?" I cleared my throat and a thought came to me. Brendon's playing a prank on me again. Dick. We'll laugh about it later. About how scared I was... am?...

"Ryan..." A clearly female voice I recognised as his mom was speaking, and the noises I mistook for random shuffling got clearer and I realised it was his mom sniffling.

"What's wrong? Did he get hurt? I told him not to try and-..."

"He's not hurt."

"Oh." I knew what was coming, but I didn't want to accept it. Maybe... Maybe this was a joke. Some stupid joke Brendon put together.

"Brendon's..." The muffled sobs in the background got louder. "Brendon's dead!"

"Haha... hahaha... real funny... ha... ha..." I leaned on the wall, trying to keep my balance as hot tears streaked down my face. "Tell Brendon this j-joke isn't funny!"

"I think you should come here... He left something for you." She barely choked out the words.

I hung the phone up and grabbed a hoodie. I rushed out the door, not caring what was being yelled at me. I ran all the way to Brendon's house. I stupidly hoped that this was still a joke and Brendon was waiting for me in his room.

I raced into the open door, almost tripping over my own feet and ran up the stairs. "Brendon?"

His mom was standing in the middle of the room, holding a hoodie, his hoodie, close to her chest. The one he always wears. Her cheeks were tear streaked and she was still sobbing.

"B-Brendon. Please. Come on... come out! This isn't funny anymore!" I walked to the closet. It was empty other than a piece of rope that looked like it had been hacked at. The truth hit me like a train and it felt like somebody stabbed me. "Why?..." I whispered.

He broke our promise. I numbly walked back to where his mom was standing. "You said he left something?"

She nodded and gave me a piece of paper and the hoodie. I read it over briefly catching only two lines. "Please tell Ryan this is not his fault" and "The hoodie is for Ryan, it was his in the first place."

I wanted to laugh, but that just made everything hurt worse. Making references to the very end.

I walked out of the room, out of the house, and down the sidewalk. I held the hoodie up to my face breathing it in. It still smelled like him. I walked into my house with glazed over eyes and an emotionless expression.

I walked into my room, opening a drawer, grabbing something I hadn't grabbed in months. Something I promised I wouldn't grab. Because I didn't need it before. I sat on my bed, placing the hoodie next to me, taking the razor blade in one hand and held out my arm. The scars were healing nicely, too.

"You broke your promise, now it's time to break mine. I'm sorry..." I dragged the blade down my arm, just wanting to feel something, or nothing, whatever was the opposite of what I was feeling.

I watched as the warm fluid ran down my hand, dripping from my fingertips onto the floor. "I'm sorry." The silence around me felt tangible, like it was pushing down on me, filling my ears and nose. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I'm sorry! Why'd you do it? I was always here..." My screams turned to whispers as my eyes closed. Maybe this time would be the time I didn't have to wake up. Maybe I'd see Brendon in hell and we could hang out again.

The smell of antiseptic and cleaning supplies was overwhelming. I coughed and opened my eyes to see the too bright room.

Why? Why couldn't I have just died. It didn't seem too difficult for Brendon. Why couldn't I have just bled out and fucking died!? Why do I have to be the one left without a friend? Without someone that actually cares about me? Why me?

I looked down at my arms, one wrapped in a bandage and the other gripping the hoodie. I dropped it, backing away like it would give me some awful disease if I touched it.

A nurse walked in. "Mr. Ross? I see you're up. We're just going to-..."

"Get out! Don't touch me!" I backed further into the hospital bed. I felt new tears escape my eyes and fall down my face.

The nurse walked out slowly. "I'll be back later."

I cried. No. Sobbed. I sobbed harder than I ever have before. Why did I have to be the fuck up? Not only did I fuck up being a friend and letting the only person that actually mattered to me kill themselves, but I also fucked up killing my own self after that. Why am I the one that has to suffer through everything? Why can't I just be with Brendon?

A/N         I'm sorry. I blame this depression writing on Blink-182 and BladePeirce

How was the writing though? I wrote this is a few hours so?...

I'm writing Christmas Oneshots, too! You'll be getting lots of oneshots this month, yay!