she's my winona; brendon urie au

one

Life's just a pace-car on death
Only less diligent
And when the two collide
It's no coincidence
•
•
•

"Promise me you'll be safe?" Chloe inquires.

It's a reassurance that I'm in at least someone's mind, but it's also a reassurances that anything can happen to anyone; life spares no one. It's funny—my dad used to say I had a little Karl Marx in me. It's depressing monologues like these that remind me why. Hell, the word monologue even sounds depressing.  Or is it just me?

"Yes, Chloe.  Believe me, my hand's over my heart." I smile lightly.

She's such a worry wort, I think to myself. What a sister. A very seat-belt, don't-tell-me-I'm-wrong kind of person. I, for one, think it puts a good balance on things-between my dad's drunk drives home or my mothers shuffling between jobs—it's all too much. A little safety and consistency is nice every once in a while.

I sometimes imagine my mom standing in the middle of the street, closing her eyes, and spinning around, her finger pointed straight. When she opens her eyes, whatever building her finger had gestured to would be her new job, whether it was safe, clean, or just the opposite. It's that very image that keeps my sister the way she is—and it's that image that insisted that the moment I turned 18, I'd be long gone. Like that Guster album, I think. Lost and Gone Forever. And so, like Adam Gardner would want, I moved out three weeks after my 18th birthday and into a small apartment with a friend called Claire. We met in a college course that was meant to help students decide which carrier they should pursue. Of course, it didn't help one bit, but, now I have Claire.

"Well, alright. As long as you're promising, I trust you." There was a pause over the receiver. I wondered what she was doing.  Is Marley acting up?  Is Cam talking to her? "I have to go, sweetheart. We're taking Marley down to the clinic. I'll call you when we get back." She assures.

"Alright, Chloe.  Good luck.  Bye!"

"Bye-bye!" Chloe mumbles quickly.

Marley—being the bubbly one-year-old he is—enforces their great need for luck. Not that he's a bad kid—more so curious—being inferior to no expectation of what a one-year-old should be like. He's giggly and fun—everything that scares Chloe. If it wasn't for her husband, Cam, then she might be the one so lost and gone forever.

I end the call and place my phone on the dresser beside my bed. Sighing reluctantly, I roll out of bed. Productivity has never been necessarily inviting, but, it's still mandatory, nonetheless. A tragedy, really. Though, I trudge out of bed and into my closet, pulling an off-white sweater off of a hanger, and then tossing it lightly onto my bed. Then, after my burgundy jeans joined the sweater, I showered and got dressed. Once I put on mascara and pink lipgloss, I did my eyebrows and put my phone and keys in my purse, locking the door behind me and leaving my house.

Chloe would always say I was lucky that my hair was naturally manageable. By the time I had finished everything I needed to do that morning after my shower, it was dry and in light, honey-colored waves. I wouldn't argue with her thoughts there. It sure was a luxury. Everyone has vices.  Everyone needs just one thing that keeps them smiling. For me, it's my hair. Even in brisk Chicago air, like today. . .and every other fall day. It's Chicago, so naturally.  Oh, Chicago sure doesn't give up. The wind is bitter, numbing me within an instant. As quickly as I can, I walk to my car and unlock it. It's almost as if I'm racing the wind and the cold. Before I can even manage the door open, I get a phone call. And before I'm more than a few seconds into the phone call, I drop to my knees.

"W-what do you mean, they got into an accident? I was just talking to her," I shout.

"Carly, I know, I know it's hard. But you need to get down to the hospital." My mother offers, in attempts to soothe me. "They need you there"

"Are they okay?" I ask.

"Well," She starts, "I'm going to be honest with you, sweetie—no, not really."

I get it, she's going through stuff too, my mother, but her lack of sympathy isn't helping on my end. Progression doesn't come with force, it comes with motivation. How does she expect motivation when she's agreeing that it's hard? I can't believe it. On the other—more important—hand, I do believe that I need to be there for Cam and Chloe. Even—oh god, what happened to Marley? I stagger to my feet and fling my car door open, sitting in the drivers seat and telling my mom that I'd be at the hospital momentarily. After hanging up, my phone is on the dashboard and my hands are on 2' and 10'. I feel as though since they got into a car accident, it is far more likely that I will. I want to speed to the hospital, I want to be reckless and fearless, all at once, but it'd be too ironic for me to crash on my way to go see victims of a crash, so, I suppress my feelings of anger and anxiety, buckle up, and head down East of Broad Street. Moments blur into hours and seconds don't seem any different. By the time I make it to the hospital, I swear it's been a couple of days. I mean, I guess that it's likely. I could have blacked out, drove to Nevada to get a coffee, and then awoke when I started driving back. It is what it is. The headlights and streetlights blare into my eyes. They seem much brighter today—that, or I'm just more sensitive. Whatever it is, it's not helping. I'm not even driving, though, and that's the thing. I'm sitting in the parking lot and staring into the blacktop, trying to forget that each breath I take counts more than it ever has. Cam, Marley, and Chloe could be dead or alive and I'm stalling so I don't have to find out. I want them to lie to me—the doctors and the nurses—to tell me what I want to hear. They won't, though. I'd call them arrogant bastards or something similar, but they could be in the hospital, staring down proudly at a three patients they just saved.

Clearly, I'm not a shoulder to cry on. But, I digress.

A/N: Hello. How is everyone doing today? Well, this is my first update of this book. I hope you all liked it, and if not, suggestions and requests, as well as constructive criticism is all encouraged either in my PM's or in the comment section. I appreciate you taking the time to read my book, it's honestly kind of an honor.

I'd like to say that the book may be thought of as slow for the first few chapters, but I was really trying to emphasize how dramatic everything was. I really want to get my point across and the feelings of all the characters. I guess his chapter doubles as a filler, due to the mentions of how Carly grew up and how Chloe acted.

I have nothing else to say for now, seeing as I've only started this book and there's nothing really to talk about. But thank you for making it this far if you did. Love you all, lots.

-Emma

Disclaimer: All of this book was written by me, on my own. All characters are fictional, besides Brendon Urie, obviously. Who, I don't own in any way at all.