Heartbreak or Death //Ryden

Chapter One : Camisado

Hiiiii !!! Well its been 6 days since the prolouge and I've got 16 reads!! Promising start I hope.

Anyway in this chappie we're gonna explore a bit about Ryan, his relationships etc. Don't worry this is a Ryden fic and Bren will be here to blow Ryan('s socks off) soon!!!!

Well continue dear reader..... enjoy xx

Ryan P.O.V

George Ryan Ross the Third. Stupid fucking name.It's the only thing that binds me to him.

He stumbles into the room,obviously hungover, and I roll my eyes. He reeks of sweat, cigarettes and alcohol,all mixed together, an unpleasant stench. Disgusting bastard probably hasn't showered for days. My head's throbbing,my brain pulsing against my skull, and the smell's just making it worse.  I make myself a sandwich , grab a soda from the fridge and climb up the stairs towards my room.

He jeers and calls me names. I ignore him, used to his drunken behaviour, and continue walking.

" I never expected my son to be a fucking fag ." That's when I lose it. I've gotten enough shit about my sexuality at school. I'm so fucking done. I'm NOT his ' son". I can't control myself.

"Well at least I'm not a fucking coward like you. So fuck off you fucking cunt!!!!" I instantly regret it.He makes me. He staggers towards me, huffing, his eyes filled with rage. Fuck, I'm so screwed. I don't even try defending myself as he lands blow after blow to my stomach and face. I vaguely register the blood trickling down my nose and chin. I crumble to the ground,and he continues to kick me. My ribs are screaming in blinding pain,protesting against the kicks. I start to ignore the pain,and drift into the part of my mind that hasn't been inhabited with pain . I've been through this since I was little , I should be used to this by now. But I'm not. I take every blow personally, pushing this man, my father ,further off into the list of people I detest and hate. He aims another hard kick to my torso and I roll over in pain. It's too much. Hold on Ryan.

But I do not cower, I am NOT my father's son. I'm the exact opposite of him. Gandhi once said, "If an enemy strikes your left cheek, offer him your right."    I've been following that principle since forever, mostly because I'm a skinny,bony twig and cannot match up to my father's strength,even if he is a drunken mess most of the times he beats me up. I  barely feel his blows now, and I  close my eyes,drifting to my happy place. A place he hasn't ruined . Yet. My body will be completely covered in dark purple bruises tomorrow. My left arm has swollen slightly, not very noticeable,but extremely painful. When I was younger, I used to hate my mom,hate her for leaving me with him. I still do,but I understand why she needed to leave. He probably abused her too. But she could've taken me along.  He finally stops, and I let out a sigh of relief. He storms into his room and slams the door.

I lie on the floor,pressing my cheek against the cool tiles. I'm sweating profusely,my entire body shaking. I clench my fists and let it pass. It feels like forever ,but the shaking finally stops. I'm reduced to a small ,crumpled up ball on the ground. I  breathe in deeply,bringing my heartbeat down to a stable pulse.  I slowly sit up. My entire body is aching,pain making its way through each and every one of my nerves. Pull yourself together Ryan.Don't break down. Don't break down.

But  I do. I feel worthless. As I get to my feet,picking up the soda can and the now crumbled sandwich. I just want to feel numb,painless. I blink back tears as I stagger towards my room and slam the door shut,locking it. I enter the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. My nose and chin  is covered with a layer of dried blood. I take off my shirt and pants,leaving me in my boxers. I splash water on my face and scrub at the bloody mess. My nose is tingling,but it's not hurt seriously. I decide to just take a shower. The cold water rinses him off,all of his disgusting self that he left on me in the form of bruises ,and leaves me refreshed. I stare at myself in the mirror again. My entire torso is decorated with purplish bruises. I put on boxers and a thin t-shirt, not wanting to worsen the bruises. I silently creep into the kitchen and grab a bag of frozen peas. Why there is a packet of frozen peas in the refrigerator is a complete mystery , but I usually use them for occasions like these. I take a couple of Advil for the pain and climb up the stairs,and go into my room. I lock the door and take off my shirt. I sit on my bed and place the makeshift ice bag on the bruises on my ribs. It soothes it slowly and I alternate between my stomach and ribs. I open my diary and the lyrics pour out effortlessly.

" The bruises & contusions will remind me what you did when you wake." I scribble that down, in my nearly illegible scrawl.

He truly deserves a place atop the I.C.U's hall of fame. The number of times he's been hospitalized for  drinking is absurd. He's a fucking decorated emergency. Fuck him. He can go fucking die for all I care. Knowing him he'd probably cause a commotion even on his death bed. Over dramatic fucker.

I close my diary,shove it into a drawer and remove the ice bag from my chest. I get up and throw it into the bath tub. I'll just get a new bag of frozen veggies.

I suddenly remember that I have school tomorrow. I set my alarm for early tomorrow morning. I'll need time to cover up the bruises on my arms and face. Thank God for makeup.

I get  into my bed and crawl under the covers and exhaustion and fatigue overtakes me. My thoughts blur and jumble and my mind shuts down. I eventually fall asleep.

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Whoop whoop the first chappieee... ik its kinda short only 1080 or so words but I was exhausted as my exams just got over.... Ily guys... comment and check out my tumblr/insta pages for more info

- Sanaia

P.S : WOULD ANYONE BE KIND ENOUGH TO MAKE A COVER FOR ME.... PWEASE