Raised by Ronnie.

"Don't mess with Ouija boards."

†Ronnie†

 knew Ryan had walked in on me touching myself, but I didn't give a shit. I was fantasising about him anyway, so it was only fitting that he saw what he still did to me. Every time I saw him, my palms got sweaty, my head spun, my stomach fluttered, just like before a gig. But the only difference was, gigs don't make me get hard when I think of them. I knew I shouldn't have said those things to him, but it was only because i was scared. I don't like getting too close to people, because that's when they hurt you, so I'd tried to push him away. It didn't work, and I knew he didn't want to talk to me, so I got Derek to speak to him for me, and I stood right outside the door. At first, the conversation went exactly as I'd expected, and I coulnd't blame him. But then he said all those horrible things about me, and I'd punched a wall and stormed into my bedroom. I had some pills hidden, just in case. I knew the band and my fans would be pissed if they found out, not to mention my father, so i never told anyone. I don't remember how many I took. All I remember before waking up in hospital was being cradled in Ryan's arms. I was happy then. I wanted to talk to him, like I'd promised, and I knew I was being an asshole, but I didn't know what to say or what to do. He probably hated me now anyway. Every time I saw him or tried to catch his eye, he shot me daggers and looked away. If looks could kill, I'd be a dead man. It was a couple nights before we went on the bus when I realised it. Ryan and I were going to be on the bus where we'd shared so many memories for months on end. That could either work for us or hurt us, depending on me. I didn't give a shit about myself, but I didn't want Ryan to hurt. So I had an idea.