Get me Out of My Mind (Brendon Urie)

4. Sore my insecurities

Brendon leads me down the block of streets, and I look around awkwardly as we do, wondering what on earth passers by think. If Claire and I are the human equivalent of a cat and a sloth, then Brendon and I must be an even more ridiculous duo, like a sleek dark Panther paired with the sloth this time. Or a peacock, besides a pigeon.

He instigates small talk as we walk, and I keep up the conversation despite myself and the absurdity of the situation.

He tells me that he originally comes from Hawaii, and shows me the tattoo on his arm that pays homage to his heritage. I tell him I was supposedly "born" right here in New York, but I expect that some day, the mother ship will return and reveal I was planted on earth and I have to return to my home planet Slobtonia. Yes, I actually tell Brendon this. The strange thing is that he actually laughs, too, instead of phoning the police and telling them that an escaped lunatic is on the loose as I feel he should have.

We leave the world of Jeeves and his snooty customers, and turn down streets that are a little less 5 star hotel, a lot more graffiti and cigarette butts. It is in no way the "red light district", but it's far more casual than where we just were.

And then we stop outside a familiar neon sign, and I look up at it, somehow appreciating the beauty of this much more than that of the elaborate calligraphy of the restaurant we just left.

"Dunkin' donuts?" I ask Brendon, and he grins. Pink and Orange light from the sign cast their glow over his face, which looks more than a little bizarre.

"What? Perfectly delicious and nutritional." He smirks. He looks as if he's trying to convince me to agree with his dessert choice. But that would be redundant, because it's taking all of my willpower not to smash through the glass door and barge inside.

"I guess donuts are alright," I sniff, feigning nonchalance, and Brendon raises an eyebrow.

"Well, if you would rather not-"

I grab his arm frantically, to stop him from turning around. God no, I will not pass up the opportunity to get donuts. "I didn't say that."

Then I realise I am touching him, and quickly pull away before he can scream at the parasite that has apparently latched onto his skin. But he rolls his eyes slightly at my sudden flinch, before opening the door with a sweeping gesture.

"Ladies first?"

I'm hardly anyone's definition of a lady, as evidenced by the way I make a one-woman stampede past him and rush into the store, breathing in the smell of batter, sugar and grease. It's the polar opposite of the restaurant we were just at, and I can't help smirking at the mental image of what Jeeves would think, were he surrounded by these plastic booths and crumpled paper wrappers. I am sure that he would just love it. (At this point, I am almost getting tempted to return to the Snobville USA restaurant, purely so I can reunite with the darling Maitre D now known as Jeeves.)

There are no Maitre Ds, chandeliers, velvet carpets or salads made from shrivelled greens from other countries; only the humble people wearing paper hats and hairnets, and glass case filled with healthily unhealthy donuts. Most definitely more my scene than the last place we patronized.

"What do you want?" Brendon questions with an easy grin, leaning casually against the counter. I can see that the girl serving, who is probably no older than sixteen but already infinitely prettier than I think I will ever be, is aptly checking him out, her eyes taking in every detail of his annoyingly flawless face.

What do I want? If possible, every donut in this entire joint. Though that would probably result in quite the sugar high, with disastrous consequences. I still recall the time that, in my freshman year of college on a dare (I say on a dare, and yet really I dared myself out of boredom then blamed in on Claire with a childish "She told me to!") I ingested two party bags of skittles, then ran around the college campus like a mad woman. And I may or may not have been wearing the embarrassing TARDIS onesie that I had bought myself but planned never to let anyone else see, not even Claire.