||Lets Be More Than This|| 04 ||Ryan Ross||

The house was filled with traces of them. A coffee cup with a pink lipstick mark left half empty next to the sink, not even in it. I could smell cigerette smoke and her expensive perfume that she bathed in. After returning home on Tuesday after a long day at school, I found the house empty. Yet it was obvious they had been back for two, maybe three hourse while their children were getting an education. They didn't stay to wait for us, just to see us after a month. They couldn't even leave a note. Just cleaning for me to do. And it would destroy Callan and Amber

I ached for a hug from my mother, and I wished my dad could be protective of me. In all fairness, they must trust us on some level and that is an emotion that they hold for us. Leaving three teenagers alone for lengthy period of time should set alarm bells ringing in anybodies mind. Parties, drinking, sex, drugs, crime - any normal parent would care. Ours probably wouldn't notcie if one of us decided to run away to Africa. We could quite literally get away with murder as far as they were concerned. I chose not to mess with things that would harm me or others, even though the temptation was there. And my siblings followed my morals. We could go off the rails and have no punishment, yet we act like the perfect kids without any praise.

So why aren't they the slightest bit proud?

Tears fell freely as I attempted to mask their scent with something else. I felt so rejected by my parents and offended by their arrogance. Never, have I wanted to drop everything more than I do right now. Just leave this house, leave Las Vegas, leave my family life and responsibilites behind me. They don't care for anybody but themselves, so why should I? Why did I care so much for my siblings? I'm the oldest, I'm meant to avoid them and get irritated by them. But no, I couldn't prevent the overwhelming desire to mother them.

I ended up clutching the phone in my hand. "Brendon" I whispered, wanting him more than anything. I punched in the digits that made his number. I wanted comfort right now. I was the one in need of support this time.

It rang, infact it continuted to ring. Until I grew impatient and put it back on the reciever. I grabbed a grey hoodie and slipped it on over my school uniform.

I ran outside the house, Callan was at the front of the drive. He started to smile, but stopped when he saw my face. "What's wrong Blaise?"

"I can't... I can't cope. I need to go.. not forever Cal. J-Just for an hour." I avoided his gaze, I didn't want to see the dissappointment or hurt. I've soothed him so many times, now I was the one deserting him. I hiped he would understand eventually, that I would always come back. I just had to escape.

I walked at a fastpace. Normally on foot, it would take me about twenty five minutes to get to Brendon's. With the way I was walking, it would cut fifteen minutes off that. So I wasn't shocked when the house with the yellow door was within sight. However, my body protested at how quickly I was moving it. Every muscle in my legs were throbbing, my lungs were desperate for oxygen and my heart was racing. But I'd made it to a world far away from home and that was all I needed. I tapped on the door, loudly, hoping that I wasn't disturbing Nick, Brendon's older brother who occassionally worked night shifts.

"Blaise? What's the matter hon?" Mrs Urie asked, concerned.

I adore her, but I couldn't bare being near her right now because I loathed the fact she didn't give birth to me and I wasn't her daughter. "I need to see Brendon"

"Sure, you know where he is,"

I forgot my manners, I didn't feel like using them at this particular moment. I charged up the stairs, then headed towards the third door along. I pushed it open. For all I knew, right now Brendon was half dressed, and I was intruding, but I didn't care. Luckily, he was sitting on his bed, immediatly his head shot up as I stepped in.

"R- Blaise? What's wrong?" he stood up and wrapped his arms around me tightly. I sobbed into his chest, sobs which made me hiccup and even gag. It was flooding out. All the pressure had become too much and the dam finally burst under the stress. Like the amazing friend he is, Brendon held me wordlessly. Not pressing me for answers. He just rubbed my back. As they subsided, I pushed away from him and undid my hoodie before perching on Brendons bed.

"They must hate us. Are we that much of a burden? I cannot cope. I can't do well in school and be a mother to two teenagers. Sure, I don't have to juggle a job because they so kindly allow us to use the money flowing out of their bank account. That's it. While they're swaning over the globe doing God knows what. No contact at all. I got home, and they'd blessed the house with their presence. Were they still there when I got there? Nope. Not a flippin chance of that. I'm so unworthy of them, so repulsive. I must be!" I yelled in rage.

I looked up to see Brendon's reaction, but I spotted a shadow by the door. Hesitating, before stepping into my view. Ryan.

"Oh for heavens sake," I huffed, not believing he was here to be a witness of my breakdown. "you Ryan Ross, don't even get me started on you. I guess you're right. My parents don't give a damn about me. Never have never will. Aren't you proud of your wisdom? You're knowledge of me? Shall I bow down at your feet now, or later?"

His jaw clenched, like it had done all week. Not one snide remark had past his lips. No matter how much bait I gave him, he resisted. And it was boring me. Right now, I wanted to provoke a reaction from him. He took his problems out on me, according to Brendon. Well now, I'm in the driving seat and I'm going to lash out this time.

"Why so sad Ryan? I can tell you've had tears in your eyes. Maybe a girl refused you? Nope, nobody would do that would they. Could you not squeeze yourself into Tegan's jeans? No, God no, it can't be that since you're wearing them right now. How about you drop me a hint?"

"Stop it," his voice was twinged with a begging tone.

"Have you ever given me mercy Ryan? Shame, would have been nice around the time you insulted me in my house... hmm." I was making him squirm. I felt Brendon's hand on my arm. Signalling to me that I needed to stop. But right now, I understood Ryan Ross. It felt so good just to pass your suffering onto someone else. And I was just warming up.

"Look at me," I demanded. He did, looking down since I just about reached his shoulders. "now, tell me exactly what you know about me Ryan."

"What do you want from me?" he asked, not breaking eye-contact.

"Just do it," I hissed.

"You're Blaise Kennedy. You live in Las Vegas..."

"Not that, things Brendon has told you."

They exchanged glances. Ryans face was wary, I couldn't see Brendons, but I expected it was similar to his.

"Your parents are never around. They haven't since you were ten really. That's left you in charge of your brother and sister. You've matured quickly, you rarely go out to socialise. You don't trust anybody completely. You have a hard time accepting people because you don't think they'll stick around."

I have no idea why I wanted to hear him describe what I was trying to escape. It stabbed at me, the words and the fact he knew.

"Now, you know that it was only fair Brendon told me your little secret." I moved closer, resting my hand on his chest. I felt him tighten. I'm not sure if it was my touch or because he was over whelmed by the fear that I knew something he obviously didn't want me to know.

"How could you?" he said in an accusing tone, aimed at the boy standing behind me.

"Ryan, trust me. It's not the thing you're thinking of. And Blaise, what are you doing? I know you're hurting, but this isn't you. Stop before you say something you'll regret." Brendon was being my voice of reason, but I wondered how much it had to do with keeping me loyal to myself and how much he was trying to stop himself looking like Mr. Bad. He slipped up when he told me Ryan's feelings and now, in my poison fueled frame of mind, I was ready to use my knowledge as a weapon.

"You make me feel physically sick Ryan. That's how much I despise you. I can't stand being around you. Infact, to use the old cliche; if you were the last man alive, I would throw myself off a cliff, into jagged rocks. Brendon told me how much you like me, but I'm afraid it will never be returned. Because I genuinally hate you, and the only person you can blame is yourself." I spat the ords through gritted teeth, right by his quivering face.

He walked out of the room as soon as the last word left my lips. My shoulders slumped and suddenly, I didn't feel so great. I felt disgusted that I'd lowered myself to his level. The feeling couldn't be mistaken as guilt or regret - no. I was deeply ashamed of myself. Fresh tears fell out of my eyes in a bid of self-loathing.

I turned to face Brendon, who had an unreadable look on his face.

"Blaise, go after him," he ordered, his voice shaking.

"Are you mad? No!"

"He can't go home Blaise! It'll be your fault if he does."

"Oh f.uck you Brendon. It's just like when we were younger. You choosing him over me"

And I followed the route Ryan took, out of the door, away from his disapproving eyes. Out of the yellow door.
ooof, more in results.
"I was born to tell you I love you,"
I walked home slowly, prolonging the time it took to reach the door. But I was here, infront of my house. On the front door, on a post-it note was my name. I peeled the pink paper off and there was a duplicate still on the wood. Except Blaise wasn't written on it.

"And I believe, this may call for a proper introduction," Tiny writing was scribbled on it so it would all fit. The same autograph and the same style of writing. The more I recieved, the more my curiousity and confusion grew. Was it poetry? Or were these lyrics? And who's pen wrote the perfectly formed words. They were male, definatly. From their writing - messy but ledgible. They knew me obviously and attended my school. They must be intelligant - pretty much excluding 75% of my school. They'd suffered. That was clear.

All them assumptions, but nothing written in stone. Nothing lead me closer to who he was.