DAMN YOUR KISS; ryden

Chapter Fourteen: There's Something Beautiful And Tragic In The Fall Out

After the third time it went straight to voicemail, and after the third message he’d left, Brendon finally gave up, putting the phone back into the cradle.

He was stumped. If he was perfectly honest, he hadn’t expected his calls to be ignored. It might have been presumptuous … and it clearly was. He put his knuckles in his mouth, collapsing onto the arm of the couch, and staring off into space, lost in thought.

She was watching him from the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed, concern etched across her face. It felt … weird. It no longer being her place to console him. That she was watching his heart hurt because of another person.

At least it’s not me causing the drama this time she thought to herself, and instantly felt guilty. The best she could do was to offer her support, be there for him. So after a minute, when he hadn’t budged an inch, she made her way over to him. She touched a ginger hand to his shoulder, let it lie there, and then slowly, wrapped her arms around him in an embrace.

Brendon didn’t think, not really. He let her hold him for a few beats, before turning his head, closing his eyes, and pushing his lips against hers. She was startled, granted, frozen in surprise, but she soon overcame that, melting into the kiss, kissing him back.

And then she came to her senses, using her hands on his chest to push herself off of him, push him away. He looked surprised, and a little hurt, so she quickly said “This isn’t what you want.”

He sighed, looking away from her again, and nodding. “I know.” He looked at the hands in loose fists on his lap. “I fucking know, but there’s still this part of my fucking brain that says that’s what’s right, what I should do.”

He wasn’t expecting the slap. He really wasn’t, as he clutched his stinging cheek in shock. She was giving him a stern look, hands on her small hips. “Shut the hell up for a minute, Brendon. It doesn’t take a goddamned genius to figure out that you’re being a Class-A idiot boy.”

He gave her a wounded look, pouting his lips. He wasn’t intentionally pouting … it was just a habit he had whenever he was on the ‘sad’ end of the emotional spectrum.

She continued on, ignoring the look he gave her. “You have the bright idea of calling Ryan whilst you’re sitting in my kitchen in the doldrums, and when he doesn’t pick up the phone – news flash, not only is he probably going through the exact same head tangling, mind melting process as you, y’know, sometimes people don’t pick up phones.” She reached over, and her face took on a sympathetic tone as she pressed her palms to his cheeks and gave him a level-eyed look. “You know what other people do, when they can’t get through to someone via a phone, and they really need to talk to that person. They go find them.”

Brendon gave her an uncomprehending look, and she was about to explain it to him again, maybe even offer to draw him a fucking picture … when his face cleared of sadness, of anything, and it was scary for a moment, before he gave her a small smile.

“Do you ever hate being right most of the time?”

She clucked her tongue. “Um, it’s all the time, and no, never.”

So she gave him a set of new clothes to change into - stuff he’d left and forgotten to take with him when he’d moved out – complaining that the things he was wearing stank of sweat and liquor, made him flatten his hair, brush his teeth, slap some cold water into his face, like a mom getting her lazy son ready for school.

At the door, she waved him away, waiting, leaning against the frame until the cab she’d called came, he’d gotten in, and it disappeared down the road.

Inside, she resumed her search of places for him.

Inside the cab, Brendon’s fingers were locked in tight crosses.