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Post by Brendon Urie on Jun 14, 2011 20:45:11 GMT -5
I kicked the door, surprisingly it swung open. I could have done that this whole time? It meant nothing that his place looked like a demolition zone, just as long as he was okay. "Come on."
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Post by William Beckett on Jun 23, 2011 10:51:06 GMT -5
I groaned as I felt a crunch and oh, I stood on glass. Oops. Brenny boy hadn't said anything about the hellhole I was calling home, not a word. I tried to apologize but the only sound I could find was 'bee', muttered over and over and over and over
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jun 23, 2011 20:16:21 GMT -5
"Hey, shh." I found a cleared space on the ground, still warmer than outside. "Sit." Poor thing, he's just so very... vunerable. To everything.
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Post by William Beckett on Jun 26, 2011 2:58:36 GMT -5
"Bed," the bed's pretty clean. My bed's pretty clean. Oh god, my bed. I just told Bee to go to my bed. Beautiful baby boy Brendon Boyd. My. Bed.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jun 26, 2011 7:45:23 GMT -5
"Fine." Pulling his hand down the hallway, I found his bedroom. No glass here, just a tangle of blankets and pillows. Straightening them out, sitting down, showing him to his own bed in the darkness. "Sit, William, please."
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Post by William Beckett on Jun 29, 2011 16:21:06 GMT -5
I nodded before remembering it was pitch black in here. I followed the disturbances in the air u til I was resting beside him, so fucking close to that beautiful boy and it was all I could do to stay conscious. Fuck. Crashing.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jun 29, 2011 20:28:09 GMT -5
Poor thing. He always brought this on himself, but still he was an addict and most times he couldn't help it. "Lay down, William. You're not going too well..."
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Post by William Beckett on Jul 2, 2011 10:01:35 GMT -5
I lay back, sinking down down down into the bed, sinking down into my head. "Gonna kill..." what was his name? Fuck, what was my dealer's name? It was meant to last longer, it was meant to be stronger than last time. I was meant to feel good. Gonna kill him, gonna kill... No, it didn't start with B. R. Arrrr. Oh, fuck. I closed my eyes and willed the world to disappear. But not my B, not Brendon.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jul 2, 2011 10:21:32 GMT -5
I stroked his forehead until I thought he was asleep. If I just hope he'll be okay when he wakes up, will it help at all? I have to stay by his side, till he's completely down again, so I may never sleep tonight. Watching him sleep is just the consolation in this mess.
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Post by William Beckett on Jul 2, 2011 14:42:03 GMT -5
"Ryan," I muttered. "Gonna kill Ryan."
I smiled to myself. I remembered. With those last little words, I let myself drift completely into sleep. I would have slipped past there. It wouldn't have been sleep at all. I dreamt it, but I knew it. I kept falling.
He kept holding onto me.
I'd be okay.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jul 2, 2011 21:03:57 GMT -5
Not him, no. Ryan? I mean, we haven't spoken in months, I didn't think-fuck. Nobody knows the effect it has on people, any drug. It's affected me and I didn't even consume it, I just had to watch poor William lose control, and then try and regain it again. At least now he was sleeping.
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Post by William Beckett on Jul 15, 2011 7:33:55 GMT -5
The ground was slipping from beneath them, so we ran. We ran to nowhere, we breathed nothing and the trees were melting into feathers. We ran and found themselves falling all the same. We were never going to escape. We were broken. The world was broken.
We fell. I woke up gasping, but the air was there. It was solid on my chest, solid and crushing me, but it was real.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jul 15, 2011 8:10:10 GMT -5
"William?" I could only muster a whisper to him, his breathing bringing my attention back to the real world and not my imagination. I was surprised I hadn't drifted into sleep yet.
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Post by William Beckett on Jul 15, 2011 9:30:45 GMT -5
I couldn't speak. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't speak. The air in my chest was as solid as the air around me. Fuck fuck fuck. I leaned as far as I could before I was pushed back down and picked up a bottle. Sculled as much of it as I could before I was coughing, trying to breathe. But then the air was liquid, liquid like what was burning my throat. I could move through it. Slowly, fluidly, I could move.
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Post by Brendon Urie on Jul 15, 2011 9:38:03 GMT -5
I reached out to him and pushed his hand away. "Stop that." My mumbling did nothing, as I took his other hand in my own, in the hope he'd accept my comforting before I was reduced to tears.
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