she's my winona; brendon urie au

twelve

"I'm fucked,"

After that, we put Marley in the living room to muffle our swears and hoarse talk.

"How so?" Brendon questioned, loosening his grip around Marley's waist and standing up straight to face me.

"The house isn't mine. . . . Chloe and Cam didn't give it to me in their will," I said slowly.

He stood back in awe, squinting his eyes a little as he tried to process the information. I wouldn't blame him. Why would they give me the rights to their child, but not to there house? I could've kept going, but I stopped to remind myself that this wasn't planned-not on my behalf or theirs. I don't have the rotten tomatoes to throw, and they aren't the ones on stage. When I think more about my analogy, it seems as if God is the one on stage. That's ironic enough for me to say, considering I'm an atheist. It's just, no one has the guts to throw anything at him. That, or he catches it all. I spit back sour ideas into the cloud of air between us to see how well Brendon can take it. I test his wit, his charm, and his capability. It's like a boot camp, it's like I'm trying to make sure he can withstand me and whatever I manage to trip over.

"Wait, why did they even have a will, anyways?" He asks.

"They're just like that. Really organized and prepared,"

"Who did they give the house to, then?"

I sigh, "My rich uncle in Orlando. We don't get along too well,"

"And why is that?"

Though I don't feel as though it is relevant, I tell him anyways. I mean, he did ask.

"He was being a sexist piece of shit so I called him out and threw one of his plates at the wall, and then I took his dog."

Brendon chuckles a little, says, "'Atta girl,", and pats my head. I giggle back, putting my hands proudly on my hips and sticking my chin high in the air.

"Why would Chloe and Cam want to give it to him then?" Brendon questions, retracting his hand.

"Chloe's just sweet to everyone, so he gave her the house. I guess she did that in return, you know?"

Brendon shrugs. He knows there's not much we can do from here. And I have a weak grasp on the concept.

"Do you think you should call him and see if he'd let you keep the house?"

Is he dumb? I took his fucking dog.

"Probably not, but-"

"I think it's worth a shot," he reasons, "I would go for it."

I find his contact and my thumb hovers over the phone icon. I stare down at it, hesitantly.

I quickly look up at Brendon, stalling by rushing out the words, "You know what's even worse? His name is fucking Roger. Do you even know a Roger who isn't a douchebag? Like, seriously, I-"

"Carly," He punctuates.

I sigh in defeat, "Fine, fine. . ."

I tap the button and put the phone next to my ear, my anxiety raging with each dial tone.

"You've reached Roger," He bellows in a low, raspy voice.

"It's me, Carly." I say softly, in attempts to hide my identity.

He hangs up. I press my phone down on the countertop and get on my tippy toes to protest madly at Brendon.

"See! I told you this would happen!" I yell at him.