The Drug In Me (Ronnie Radke Love Story)

Glass

*hey so there's a surprise in this chapter ;) at the end, something important is going to be hinted at. Comment if you think you know what it is XD ill give you a hint, it has to do with the night Ronnie got hit by the car and it involves Ryker and abuse. If you want, you can reread the end of that chapter, I think it was called Taken. Or you can just guess. Ill tell you what it was in the next chapter (if I remember oops) Good luck and happy reading!*

I was tired. Tired of being His punching bag. Tired of being His sex toy. Tired of being down here. Tired of being away from the band. Tired of not knowing how Ronnie was. Tired of breathing. Tired of living with this uncertainty and pain.

Was the reporter right? Did I lead Ronnie to his death? Was he really dead? How could I know? Oh, Ronnie, please tell me you're okay Ronnie. Y-you can't be dead Ronnie, you can't be. I-if you're dead, I have nothing left.

No, he had to be alive. He had to be okay. He had to be. Ronnie was okay, he was okay. I just, I felt it. I felt this drive to keep holding on and hoping for another escape chance. I just felt a tiny part of me telling me that I had to stay alive, that I had to hold on. And why would I feel the need to hold on unless Ronnie wasn't dead? I don't know, maybe he was dead. But I couldn't give up until I knew for sure.

I had to keep holding on until I knew the truth about Ronnie. I had to wait until I knew for sure that he was alive or dead.

*Jacky*

I didn't know what to do. Should I have tried harder to find Ryker? Were we right to have called off the rest of our legs in Warped tour? I knew the fans must be upset but I think that they understand that we were going through a lot. Ronnie could be dead and Ryker is missing, it would be too much to continue the rest of our journey.

What had happened that night? Ronnie obviously couldn't tell us, so no one knew what had happened that night. All I know is that I picked up the phone to hear Ryker scream, a car squealing away and sirens blaring in the distance. It didn't give me a clue as to what happened. And next thing I knew a person began to talk to me, explaining that Ronnie was hurt and he would be taken to the hospital in critical condition. And I hadn't heard anything since.

The media jumped at this opportunity, lacing up a rumor that Ryker had run over Ronnie. I didn't want to believe it, I couldn't imagine Ryker doing that. She cared so much for him. It seemed pretty obvious that she loved him, so why would she do that?

But everyone just seemed to love that story, so no one would listen when I asked, begged for a search party to be sent out to find Ryker. She would have come back by now if she could. She had to be in trouble. It had to be someone else's fault, it couldn't have been her. It couldn't.

I sat down on the bench, waiting for my friend to arrive. He had never given me a name, just telling me to call him 'pal'. He had first came up to me the day after Ryker had gone missing. He had sat down next to me on this very bench, asking me why I was crying. I had told him about Ronnie and Ryker, and he had apologized to me. I was expecting that, but I wasn't expecting what he had said afterwards.

He had told me about how his girlfriend had fallen down in the woods during one of their night walks together. She had slipped and fallen into a pitfall, and she had hit her head on a collection of hard rocks. Her head had cracked open and begun to bleed profusely. He had tried everything to help her, but she hadn't made it.

And then, we had sat in silence for a while, not talking. We just sat there and moped in our fears and sorrow. Then, he shook my hand and walked off, saying he was off to visit his girlfriend, the way he did every night. I was confused, so I asked him if he was going to the graveyard. He had smiled at me strangely and said "no, I'm going to the forest where she first died." And then he had walked off.

Ever since then, he had come to this bench every day and sat with me. Sometimes we would talk about those we had lost. Other times we would sit in silence, tears rolling down our faces. And sometimes we would talk about our life before we had lost them. We shared stories about our times with them. And sometimes we would do nothing but weep.

His crying was strange, it almost seemed forced, more of a laugh than a cry. But I just figured that he was just coping in his own way.

I saw him pull up, his familiar silver car parking beside the curb. I stared at his back window, where something had hit it and broken it. The glass was still intact, but it was shattered. I imagined that it would feel rough and uneven to the touch. It had been there since the first time I had seen him. I wondered why he hadn't gotten rid of it, but every time I pointed it out or looked at it he would grin to himself like it was a secret.

I stared at the broken window and thought of what we would speak about today.