Fuck is a Bad Word || Brendon Urie x Reader

The Truth?

9k!!!!

Edit: added details on physical and emotional abuse at the end of the chapter. When I originally wrote this book, it was a topic I overlooked since nothing that happened or is mentioned in this book was too serious, especially as you will learn in this chapter. However, this topic is extremely important to me, so I have decided to come back and add it. (Seriously, I didn't let myself sleep tonight without adding it because I felt like I needed to do it as soon as the notion of it popped into my head).

"Brendon?" you questioned as his fast paced feet raced down the stairs of the deck. He didn't answer when you questioned him. He didn't stop.

"Brendon?!" you yelled again, and he immediately silenced you, a hand over your mouth.

"Are you crazy? Be quiet!" He hissed.

You just nodded as you both stood in the backyard of the brick house, the sun setting behind you, and his hand clasped on your lips as you face him.

You didn't know how long you didn't do anything, no words were spoken, and the sun set further and further until the sky was pink and purple and orange, and it reminded you of a sloppy canvas.

But finally Brendon let out a sigh and pulled his hand away from you, making the coldness of the night air nip at your lips, and you wanted the warmth back.

"What was that for?" you asked.

"It's not like they can't hear us when we're out here, [y/n]. I think Alice was right outside that door. That means I don't have much time."

You nodded and soon remembered your reason for seeing him. "I have a serious question that you need to answer truthfully, Bren."

Running a hand through his quiff, he sighed. "Okay, what do you want to know?"

You took his hand and searched up his bare arm. He was wearing a tank top so it wasn't very hard to spot the faded contusions up his arms and on his shoulders. He relaxed into your touch, but you kept your serious stare. "Tell me the truth about these."

He flinched and took his arm back, rubbing up the bruised patches subconsciously. "What's there to tell you?"

"You never have told me anything. There's no point in keeping it a secret anymore, Brendon." You grabbed his hand again, to which he recoiled, and you added, "I want to help you."

"No, no," Brendon shook his head desperately, "I don't want your help. Please."

You were hurt by his words, but you persisted. "I want to help you. I really, really do."

"But It's better if you don't."

You had no idea how to convince him. You just wanted to know, just to make him feel better, and you were hurt that he would tell anyone but you. In the spur of the moment, you threw yourself in his arms and squeezed around his waist. He stiffened and you whispered, "Brendon, please. . ." into his shoulder.

His hand reached up and stroked your hair softly and slowly, and his other wrapped around your torso. "It's best you come inside. We can talk with Alice, too."

"Isn't that what you were trying to avoid?"

"She would help me tell you, I guess. To you the bruises may not seem like a huge deal that I should be hiding, but I didn't want you to know."

Was it really what Sam said, then? Was it not a big deal?

Brendon led you up the stairs of the deck and opened the door for you, leading you through the large rooms into the living room and inviting you to sit down.