I'm Not Complaining That It's Raining (sequel to Aventures)

16- Mama, We All Go To Hell

(A.N.: can't seem to stop making references in my titles. Well.)

The hangover wasn't that bad, really. By some miracle, when I woke up, my head was just slightly pounding, and I was barely even nauseous.

I got out of bed, in which Brendon wasn't anymore, and walked to the kitchen. Smell of eggs and bacon got to my nose and my stomach rumbled at the scent. When I reached the table, Brendon turned to face me, in his naked glory. I grinned and asked, "sweet dreams?"

"Dreamt you killed me in my sleep. I swear, alcohol is over for me. No more of that shit for Bden. Plus I'm horribly hungover."

He turned around to face the stove on which I guessed crispy bacon was cooking, and I told him, "well, I'm doing just fine. Yesterday was wild, man. And I think we both know what happens when you promise to quit drinking," I smiled.

"Well, what I do know is that today is Christmas. Merry Christmas," he said, turning to face me again. This time, he walked to me and pecked my lips. "Where's Jon?"

He laughed, "I kicked him out. He woke up right after me and I told him to go make love to his wife before we leave for tour."

"He must have been horribly hungover."

"Not that bad. We all know Jon can handle alcohol better than all of us. Really, he looked pretty good."

I nodded, "cool. Well, is breakfast ready?"

"Almost," he said, pecking my lips once again. "You still seeing your mom today?"

I sighed, "yeah. Called her yesterday morning.She said Juliette was there yesterday but left late last night. She didn't sound all too glad I was visiting her, but whatever."

"Your sister was there?"

"Yeah. At George's funerals, Juliette told me her and mom were still somewhat close. I haven't heard of her since then either."

Brendon nodded slowly, putting food in both plates. "When are you going?"

"After breakfast, I guess. She doesn't live too far from here."

He looked at me and smiled sadly. "It'll be fine. Christmas spirit, right? Forgiving one's faults, and all that bullshit?"

"I guess. whatever," I said, taking a bite of bacon. "That's really good, B. Thanks. Oh, and merry Christmas," I said, with a mouthful of bacon.

He smiled, "merry Christmas, babe."

...

I knocked nervously on the door I knew all too well and waited patiently on the slowly deteriorating porch. I heard footsteps in the house, and the first door cracking open. I saw her tiny figure appearing behind the screen door, and let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"Hi, George."

"Hey mom. Merry Christmas."

She half faked a smile, and opened her arms. I hugged her awkwardly, and patted her back. She was so thin and short, I was a little afraid to hurt her. This thought reminded me of how of an horrible father I would be for Brendon's child, but I pushed that thought away. "Come on in."

I followed her in the small house me and my sisters grew up in, walking by a few portraits of my father, and a few of theirs. (A.N.: Ryan has one or two sisters from his mom's second marriage.) I saw pictures of Juliette and her husband, but none of me. I didn't even bother being upset about it, and followed my mom to the living room. She sat on the couch, and I sat on the armchair. I shivered at the touch of the fabric; George used to sit on this chair when he came back from work.