Get me Out of My Mind (Brendon Urie)

1. Only For Tonight

AN: I have no idea how crappy this fic will be. I've written a few chapters already but it's taken me a while to publish it because I'm so insecure about my work and I'm pretty sure that this will get no reads or will be criticised for how bad it is. Either way... The first chapter's up now. Enjoy, if possible.

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It should be a Friday night like any other for me. The usual creature comforts; slobbishly ignoring the college essays piling up until the last minute (which I really shouldn't, since I'm close to the end of my degree, but I can't help being lazy), curling up in sweats and some old shirt with my trusty friends; Netflix and a pint of ice cream. The kind of thing that makes my mother frustrated and my friends bored, though I personally distrust anyone who prefers social interaction over the far less demanding pastime of binge-watching an entire series of science fiction TV show and stuffing their face with the nutritional joys of chocolate and caramel swirls. At this time, as soon as I finish my last lecture (because a sadistic professor of mine has set one at 3pm on a Friday afternoon for this semester) , I should by all means be dumping my bags on the floor as soon as I enter the room and flaking out, preparing myself to remain on the couch as much as possible for the next 48 hours.

This is what a Friday evening looks like. This is what I should be doing.

That is except for Claire, and her utterly selfish obsession with trying to get me a social life. Did I fail to mention that social interaction is akin to some sort of curse to me? I'm not exactly gifted with a tactful mouth, which leads to me frightening away others as soon as I hop onto my ranting soapbox and begin to explain to them why every single one of their opinions is wrong, or get into a heated argument over what they, for no apparent reason, deem 'minor' (minor, or not, I am the kind of person who refuses to back down). Yet Claire fusses and rolls her eyes when I try to explain that going out for dinner is inferior to subsisting off pizza and Oreos.

"You know it's not, Erin," she always shakes her head, and sighs. "Come on. It's good to get out the house sometimes."

Maybe it is, if you are Claire. I have no idea how Claire and I became a strange, lopsided pair of friends- to me, it is reminiscent of those news articles about the "heartwarming and unlikely friendship" between two animals who are opposites. I recall seeing one about a cat and a sloth, and how in the picture the cat looked regal, elegant... while the sloth hung off it with a goofy look on its face. This describes Claire and I perfectly, and it is not hard to tell who is the sloth in the pair.

There she is, the picture of beauty, slender yet curvy, fashionable, her skin a golden tan I could only dream of, with toffee coloured hair that looks straight out of a shampoo commercial, doe eyes and cupid's bow lips. And if her appearance is not enough, she also has to be just as unfairly attractive on the inside, vivacious and charismatic and only occasionally annoying. I was determined to hate her the moment I found out we were going to be roommates, because I saw her with her fashionable outfit and pretty face, and knew that she was my opposite in almost every way. This lasted a full two days, of me skulking around the small apartment being even more brooding and antisocial than usual, and then I was lured into the kitchen by the scent of her baking oatmeal cookies, and she smiled at me, and we bonded over those cookies and a cup of tea. For some strange reason, we have been friends for the past three years now, a bizarre pair of opposites, like two pieces from completely different jigsaw puzzles that fit together somehow.

The beautiful, likeable girl... And me. Ah, yes, the Erin. If there was a scientific journal written about me,the entry would probably be something like; The Erin is a strange creature, usually seen in an oversized sweatshirt. The Erin is usually docile, unless someone threatens her with fashion or work, in which case she can rear up and attack them with her advanced, but rather uneffective, defence system: Sarcasm. Scientists have attempted to determine the diet of the Erin, but gave up after observing her eat Oreos and cold French fries for breakfast. The Erin should probably be avoided at all costs.