To my surprise, I have a fairly decent sleep that night. I figure it's because Dayna is finally out of my life for good - at least, oh dear God, I hope she is. Ryan, on the other hand, well I'm not sure, but I do wake up to his fingers dancing down my bare back and his soft voice murmuring, "wake up, sleepyhead," into my ear.

However, this does not make me happy, because like I had just previously stated, for the first time in the past week, I was having a pretty decent sleep and he just had to go and ruin it - just like my life. Okay, so maybe that was a bit dramatic, but still.

"Ugh, what?!" I whine, face buried in my pillow.

"It's two in the afternoon," he says, hot breath tickling my ear as his fingers dip lower down my back, hooking into the hem of my boxers.

I moan discontent, still a little pissed that he woke me up and turn over onto my back, scowl on my face.

He smiles down at me, it's small and forced and sad, but at least he tried. "Hi," he says.

"Hi." I am still not happy, but his sad smile made me sad, so I decide to ditch the scowl.

He bends down to press a quick peck to my mouth, then lingers for a moment, lips inches from mine, before just dropping his forehead against mine, and goes, "I'm sorry." He trails his finger along my arm, and closes his eyes as he continues, "So, so sorry. I should've listened. I brought you into this mess, and you shouldn't be. Spencer was right, I deserve everything that happened, but you definitely don't. I swear, if I could go back and - "

I put my finger to his lips, shushing him. "I know," I say, but really, I just don't want to hear about it anymore. It's Saturday, I want to enjoy my weekend without having to think about how my entire fucking school - and now probably the whole town too - thinks I'm a fucking hooker on heroin.

He smiles, still soft and with a tint of sadness, as he bends down to press another kiss to my lips. It's longer this time, and deeper, and this time, I kiss him back. "Thanks," he murmurs after. Then, he sighs, tucks some of his soft hair behind his ear as he rests his elbow beside my head, hoisting himself up. "Sometimes - " he starts, taking a deep breath, as he runs his eyes over my face with this half-adoring, half-guilty look on his face. I can't help but blush, hard, "Sometimes, I don't think I deserve you."

My eyes perk up, because didn't I used to think exactly that? And fine, okay, and maybe, even after the way he's been acting towards me and everyone, I still find myself wondering, why me? I don't tell him this though, because he doesn't deserve flattery at the moment, so instead, I just ask, "Why?"

"'Cause, Bren, I'm an asshole." He shakes his head, bites onto his bottom lip and uses his other hand that's not hoisting himself up to run through his hair. "I've been treating you like shit, and I don't even know why. I've been treating everyone like shit. Spencer hates me, Jon hates me, you... I mean, I know you're probably still pissed at me." I go to open my mouth to protest, cause yeah, sure, maybe I am, deep down, but I'm a big pile of mush for Ryan right now (when am I not?) and I don't want him feeling worse. However, he shuts me up with a pointed look and quickly goes, "I don't blame you. You should be. Honestly, I should have been dumped a long time ago for the way I've been treating you. I've been terrible. I think... I honestly think this - what Dayna did - was God's way of telling me how much of an idiot I was being. It's my punishment." He throws in a forced laugh like he's trying to pretend he's just joking, but I don't buy it.

I shrug, and well, what about me? Do I deserve it? What am I getting punished for?

"You're strong, Bren," he whispers, voice cracking. "You can handle it. He knows I'm not. I pretend to be, but... well." He shrugs, sad.

I wonder if he has the ability to read my mind.

I wrap my hand around his forearm, and squeeze.

He gives me a soft, but grateful smile. "I think..." he starts, then pauses, thoughtful, like he can't decide whether or not he wants to say it. After a few minutes I guess he decides that, no, he doesn't, because he shakes his head and goes, "never mind. I don't even know."

"No," I say, refusing to let this slide as I squeeze onto his arm again, urging him to go on. "No, tell me. What? What do you think?"

He looks me over for a few seconds, contemplating, before he takes a deep, defeated breath and goes, "I think, in a way, I was acting like I was, you know, like ditching you for Dayna and stuff, because, I don't know. Honestly, I think a part of me thought that maybe, in some small way, I could be normal again - normal in my... in my dad's eyes. God's eyes even. Like... I can't even explain it. It was stupid. I just thought that if maybe, I started hanging out with Dayna and my old friends again, that if they could accept me, then so could my dad. That maybe, I don't know... maybe I wouldn't be so confused over this whole... God thing. Like, where I stand. I know it sounds so stupid, and I see that now, but I just... I guess I just thought in some kind of way, that if they could accept me so could everyone else... that I could feel better about myself..."

I don't have to think it over before I'm wrapping my arm around his neck, pulling him back into me. He lets his hand beside my hand fall limp, and he just collapses into me, burying his nose and face and eyes into the crook of my neck. "It doesn't sound stupid," I say, because well, it doesn't. Maybe I don't understand exactly how he feels, and I probably won't ever, but in a way, I do understand where he was coming from.

We stay quiet for a long time, with him breathing in long, laboured breaths into my shoulder. Every few minutes I feel a tiny, hot droplet fall onto my skin. "I love you, Bren," he mumbles, gripping hard onto my elbow, sharp nails digging into the hard skin. "I don't - " hiccup, "I don't know how I'd do this if - " he pauses, hiccups and sniffs once more, then tries again after a long, deep breath, "I don't know how I'd do this without you. I couldn't." Saying this only appears to work him up more, because once the last word's out of his mouth, he's bawling hard into my shoulder.

I hush him, running one hand through his hair, and the other massaging circles into his boney back as I go, "it'll be okay," over and over and over and over again until the words stop making sense to me.

I vaguely wonder if there will ever be a time when Ryan will have to comfort me - by the looks of it, I doubt it.

- - -

A few hours later, we're still lying on my bed, me behind Ryan, arm slung around his waist, spooning him.

We're watching The Real World on MTV. Okay, well, it's on, and Ryan might be watching it but too many things are flying through my head that I can barely even see the TV straight.

Eventually, Ryan shimmies around until he's facing me. He runs his finger up my chest, and across my shoulder, then back down. "Look, Bren..." he starts, voice soft with a touch of remorse, "I - I think that it's time to, um - well, I need to tell you something. It might, um - I don't know - it might help explain a little why I've been acting the way I have, I mean, it's really no excuse, but..." He stops his rambling, and blinks at me nervously, lip in between his white teeth.

My heart stops because, um, what? Ryan's been keeping something from me, of course. What now? Let me guess, it's going to be something like he actually slept with Dayna before or something, considering that's how every thing's been seeming to go lately. You know, crappy and having to do with her.

I barely get a cautious 'okay' halfway out of my mouth before my phone goes off on my nightstand, vibrating and pouring out 'Just Dance' by Lady Gaga. Shut up, don't make fun. It's only like, the best song ever.

Since Ryan's the closest one to it, he reaches a hand behind him and grabs onto it for me. Being the nosey kid he is, he reads the caller ID flashing on my screen before handing it to me. Seeing by the way his face drops completely, I don't have to look when he finally does hand it to me to know it's Spencer.

I look him straight in the eye before flipping it open. "Hold that thought, okay?" I say.

He barely gives me a half nod.

I open my phone and mutter an, "'ello, Spencer," trying to sound less enthused than I actually am just for Ryan's sake. God, am I such a good boyfriend, aren't I? I should like, seriously get an award.

"Hey," he replies back, all happy and chipper. It's quite a drastic chance in the mood to be completely honest. My head was starting to hurt from all the moping and crying.

Ryan, on the other hand, stares at me, unmoving and unblinking.

"I'm just making sure you're still up for tonight."

I rack my brains. Tonight? Tonight? What's tonight? I had plans with Spencer tonight? When have I ever made plans with Spencer? Wh - Oh. "Oh! That Queen cover band thing, right?"

"Yeah!" he replies, enthusiastically, and I swear, he probably just like, pumped his fist in the air or something. "I just picked up the tickets from my mom's friend. So, you up for it?"

I look Ryan over, from his bags, to red eyes, to his completely and utterly heartbroken expression. Should I? No. No, I shouldn't, because he's fucking depressed here. He could go and like, go and slit his wrists in my bathtub. Then how would I live with myself? He needs me to be there for him, just like my mom said. But then again...how many times in the past few weeks has he just left me when I was upset to go and hang out with Dayna? When we were fighting? When I was fucking crying? How many times has he ditched me? Plus, it's only for a few hours, and my parents are home, so it's not like he'll be alone. And okay, I think I deserve a little bit of happy in my weekend, and I know I won't be getting any of that from Ryan anytime soon. And to top it all off, me and Jon and Spencer have been planning this since last week, so if I don't go, I'd be ditching them, and frankly, I don't want to be a ditcher (like Ryan).

I force myself to look away from him as I say into the receiver, "Okay, yeah. Sure." And damnit, I feel guilty already.

"Okay, Sweet." Spencer beams over the phone. "Well, it starts at seven, but me and Jon were thinking of leaving like, an hour earlier since its all the way on the strip, and seating is kind of like, first come, first serve kind of thing."

"Um, sure." I'm a terrible, terrible, terrible person.

"Okay." There's a long pause on the other end before, he adds, with a slight cough, "So, I only have three tickets, so..." he trails off, and then ends it there, but I think I have an idea what he's trying to say. Although, it's really kind of stupid for him to even mention it 'cause I'm not stupid. Even if he did have another ticket, it's not like Ryan would be coming with us anyway.

"Yeah," I say, softly, staring down at the patterns of my comforter, avoiding Ryan's eyes. Guilt thumps in my chest, because I really shouldn't be doing this right now. "I know."

"Okay. Well, me and Jon will be there at about, quarter to six, so be ready," he explains, voice back to being all happy and chipper.

"Yeah..."

"Kay, see ya then!" he says, and he's already hung up the phone before I have a chance to say bye.

I close my phone slowly, buying time before I have to tell Ryan I'm leaving to be miserable and suicidal by himself while I go and watch an old, hairy guy in tight leather clothes bouncing around the stage, with his ex-best friend.

Eventually, I force myself to pull my eyes off my comforter, and look up at Ryan's curious (but still, very depressed) face. "What was that about?" he asks timidly, even though he looks like he really doesn't want to know.

"Oh, just this Queen and David Bowie thing." I shrug like it's no big deal even though I know he's got this like, secret obsession with Queen (he won't admit it though, because um hi, they're not Christian).

"Oh?"

"Yeah, but it's really no big deal," I say, offhandedly, as I crawl over top of him and off the bed.

His eyes flash. "It sounds like fun."

Yeah, it does.

I shrug. "I don't know, maybe."

"So, you're going with Spencer and Jon?" he asks, with a hopeful edge to his voice. And oh dear god, he actually thinks I might invite him.

"Yeah." I nod, heading over to my closet to find something to wear. Okay, I totally take back everything I said about being a good boyfriend and getting an award. "He bought, um -" pause, deep breath, continue, "he bought three tickets from his mom's friend."

"Oh," he says, voice dropping, and yeah, totally just killed him even more. I'm a murderer. "Okay." He lets out this tiny, muted sigh, stares down at the bed for a few minutes before bringing his eyes back up to me, and forces this big, fakefakefake smile. "Well, I'm sure you guys will have lots of fun."

Lies. All lies. I can see the tears brimming.

"Are you - I don't have to go. I can stay here if you - " I say, quickly, because okay, shut up. I can't help it. I have a conscience, and it's absolutely screaming at me right now.

"No. No," he says just ask quickly, shaking his head, cutting me off mid-sentence. "No, I want you to go. It's better than sticking around here all night with a miserable me."

"Are you - "

"Yes," he replies sharply, and that's that.

- - -

I feel guilty all night.

In the beginning, I stay attached to my phone, texting Ryan, asking him if he's alright, that if he wants me to come home, I will. He texts me back for about, the first half an hour, until he tells me to stop texting him and to have fun, then just stops replying all together.

I end up freaking out, because ohmigod, what if he killed himself? So, I call him, but he just goes, "Brendon! I'm fine!" and then hangs up.

I sigh in defeat, and slide my phone into my pocket.

Spencer looks from across the table at me, eyebrow raised.

I shrug, and look up towards the stage, where the curtain sways back and forth, while the roadies set up for the show behind it.

A few minutes later, Jon comes sauntering back to our table, three beers in hand. "Look what I got!" he sings, placing a beer in front of me and Spencer, then one for himself.

We stare at him. Spencer's the first to ask, "How the fuck did you manage to get those?"

"The bar doesn't ID," Jon answers, wriggling his eyebrows.

"They probably didn't think they had to," I reply with a smirk. "You look about thirty."

Jon smiles, impressed, and strokes his bearded chin. "It's the facial hair. It's a wonderful thing."

"I bet," I reply, taking a swig from the beer. I gag, 'cause I always hated the taste. "Not that I'd know," I reply, a little on the bitter side, 'cause okay, sometimes I really wish I could grow facial hair. But, I just... can't. It's sad.

Jon sends me a sympathetic smile, and pants my hand with his. "It's okay, Brenny. One day."

Spencer just smiles all lovingly (er, okay, more like hornily) up at Jon, runs his hand up his hairy arm, then presses a kiss to the side of his mouth. I guess Spencer Smith gets turned on by facial hair. And it's actually kind of funny now that I think of it, 'cause Spencer's got this cute, little, eensy baby face that you just want to squeeze and coo at. Then there's Jon, all manly and... stuff.

Jon tilts his head a bit, smiles, then kisses Spencer back (with tongue, and a lot of it from what I can see) right in front of my eyes. They make out for a total of 0.7 seconds before, I'm clearing my throat and demanding, "Stop!"

Thankfully, they listen, but Spencer stays glued to Jon's arm, sipping at his own beer.

Jon gets up about five more times during the show, refilling us on more alcohol. We have everything - beer, wine, cooler, margarita, rum and coke, vodka and orange juice. So, it goes without saying, by the end of the show, we're pretty trashed.

We're slurring, and laughing, and the drag queens that joined us at our table are giggling and calling us names like sugarplum and honeybee.

Ryan completely slips my mind until Spencer and Jon start making out again, and the drag queen next to me, Misty, turns to me and asks, "and where's your boyfriend, cutie-pie?"

Then, I kind of want to cry. And then hug her at the same time, 'cause she smells like cherries and cigarettes and alcohol.

When we finally decide that it's getting late and we should leave, we give our new friends a goodbye hug, and make our way out of the smokey club and into fresh air. Then we kind of realize, like, shit. How are we supposed to get home if we're all drunk?

"We could call a cab?" Spencer suggests.

"I don't have no money," I reply, swaying back and forth as I squint, trying to separate the big blur of colors from another. Maybe drinking wasn't the best idea ever.

"Me neither." Jon sighs.

"Ditto."

Damn.

"My mom can probably pick us up," Jon says, faintly with a bit of a slur.

"We're like, um, drunk," Spencer states from beside him like, duh. He would probably slap me if I ever said it out loud, but he's so much like Ryan (even when he's drunk like he is now) that it's not even funny.

He shrugs. "So..."

My phone vibrates from in my pocket, and I pull it out to see my mom's cellphone number flashing on the screen. I momentarily freak out, because fuck, I'm drunk and my mom is going to chop me up into little, tiny pieces and kill me! I take a deep breath, close my eyes and count to five before answering. I can do this. "'lo," I slur, and damnit!

"Brendon!" she yells. "Why haven't you been answering your phone?! I've called at least twenty times!"

Oops.

"Uh... I was at a concert?" I reply, and yeah, that sounds good, because I was... and yeah.

She sighs, and there's a superlong pause on the other end. I'm just about to ask if she's still there but then she goes, "You need to come to the hospital right now."

I almost fall on my butt. "The hospital? What?! Why?! What happened?! Is Ryan okay? Oh my god, please tell me - " I cry, voice all high and squeaky, and oh my god. Ryan killed himself didn't he? I was off getting drunk with drag queens and Ryan killed himself.

I start crying a little.

"He's fine!" she says, voice loud and irritated, cutting me off mid-freakout.

"Oh, thank the lord!" I breathe a sigh of relief, and stop crying. I turn to see if Spencer and Jon are listening, but nope, they're making out, completely oblivious. Of course.

"Then what?"

She sighs, pauses, then goes, "it's his dad, Brendon."