I'm internally screaming and wish I could update earlier than I do but I can't
Brett gave me an apprehensive glance as I led him well past the restroom where I knew no one would hear us.
"W-What do you need?" He stuttered, flustered by my sudden actions.
I leaned in closer to him, my voice a little over a whisper, "Brett, why is your mom here?"
"What? My mom? She's not here." A small wrinkle appeared on his forehead as he thought about it, confusion apparent in his voice.
I furrowed my eyebrows together. "What do you mean? I saw her. I know I did."
"Maybe it was someone else?"
I shook my head. "I swear by it, she was there. I know I saw her."
Brett seemed as though he wanted to have an answer, thinking very hard about it, but even though his lips moved, he never made a sound. However, someone else did.
"That's quite a naïve assumption. Lu is two hours away with her daughter Leena."
I turned to the voice I recognized, revealing the man himself. Brendon Urie.
He stood at least ten feet away, not making an attempt to step closer. If anything, he seemed uninterested in my very existence, taking his sweet time to fix his cuff links, focusing on them instead of me. "Impetuous woman," he spat out.
I couldn't say I hadn't been excited to see him after quite a while of being apart, but those two words changed my mind entirely. "Fuck you."
There was a thick atmosphere. The separation between us became almost too unbearable. I wanted to run to him, hoping he would go back to being kind, supportive, and thoughtful. Even if he was perverted, he never acted on it. He always respected my opinion.
I couldn't say the same now. If he really did ever respect me, why was he acting like this? He began to ignore me over a stupid mishap that could have been settled through a conversation.
It arose the greatest fear in me: maybe he had only ever wanted to toy with me, fuck with my head, then break me down.
"Brendon," Brett spoke out, his voice a dry, stiff tone.
As uninterested as before, Brendon fixed his other cuff link. "Brett."
Brett stared him in the face, his eyes hard. A one-sided battle seemed to be taking place. One between a man who intended to hold his ground and another who didn't care enough to acknowledge it.
"I'd suggest you leave, Brett, before any other false fantasies are put into your head." He looked up from his wrist to stare me in the eyes. "There's no reason to meddle with pointless things."
Now I was almost certain I was going to punch him. But, if I could avoid any casualty today, I wanted to make sure I leave Brett safe. He hadn't done anything wrong, nor did he deserve to be caught up in this mess. It was my battle to fight.
"Brett," I glared at Brendon, never taking my eyes off of him. "How about you go look for Lu. You know, just in case she's here. I saw her go down the other hall."
He gave me a worried glance. I could tell he didn't want to leave, but complied, knowing I had a reason to want to be alone with Brendon. "Just. . . don't do anything you'll regret."
He began to walk away. Even if I was confident I wouldn't make any impulsive decisions, it was likely I would. I couldn't completely guarantee that to him.
"I'll do my best."
It had been two minutes of silence since Brett had left. As if we both wanted to make sure he was totally gone, out of earshot, and unable to step in.
But then Brendon took a step closer. "You know, I wasn't going to confront you until I was sure you were up to something."
I didn't answer.
"She's not here, you know." A smirk fell upon his lips. "Could it be that Miss [Y/n] [L/n] has become that gullible? Or are you just looking for attention?"
I closed my eyes, tried to calm myself. My fists clenched at my sides. I didn't answer.
"Ignoring me? That's fine. I didn't really have a desire to talk anyway." Brendon turned his back to me and took a few steps away, waving his hand.
"You're wrong."
He stopped. "Is that so?" Brendon turned back around, intrigued. "Enlighten me."
"You can't pretend I was the one who started this, asshole. I just wanted to talk to you, to make the most of the person I was living with."
He chuckled.
"And you deceived me, Brendon Urie. You're an awful person. I hope you rot in hell. I refuse to ever put up with your shit ever again."
Brendon's face remained taunting, entertained.
I ignored him. I didn't care what he thought. I just needed to get out my thoughts to the only person that they should concern.
I ran a hand over my eyes, trying my best to hold back my worst emotions. "But even if I say that, I still like you."
Brendon's smirk fell. His face expressionless. His eyes with the same emotion that I couldn't pinpoint at the Halloween party.
"You're a dick. A scumbag. An ass. A backstabber. A douche." I stared him right in his eyes, my lips quivering, unable to show him how much his actions hurt me. "But I still fucking like you."
Brendon turned around again, but didn't walk away. It seemed like he knew he had to, but he couldn't. He didn't want to walk away from me.
"I am."
I stabilized myself. "What?"
"I am a dick. A scumbag, an ass, a backstabber, a douche." His fingers curled over the cuffs of his button-up. "But those are the only things I can ever seem to do right."
A step. Not from him, from me. He didn't dare move. But me? I was different. I walked toward him.
"Brendon, you damn well know those are the only things you know how to do in the first place."
"I know."
I couldn't stop the words from coming out. "You messed everything up, Brendon. All you had to do was talk to me. It's your fault for ignoring me. It's your fault for tricking me. And you're damn wrong if you think I'm going to cut you any slack with just an apology."
"I know."
I took a few breaths through my nose. I had more anger to let out. More to get out to him. "I'm not going to go any further," I breathed, "because I know that no one deserves that kind of treatment no matter what they did."
He stood in his place.
I wanted to talk more, but it was pointless. He had no reaction. My eyes shifted down, defeated. I was about to walk away, even.
"You're wearing red today."
My eyes shifted back up to Brendon. I didn't know how to respond. Wasn't that obvious?
"Red was my favorite color."
I listened, lips parted.
"When I was a little boy. Red was my favorite."
I wanted to speak. No words came out.
"My mom would always wear red summer dresses and take me to the park. They were decorated with flowers. They were nice, simple. I found them beautiful."
My eyes closed. How did this apply to me?
"I had a very supportive mother. She was smiley and helped me in anyway she could. She wore red so often. It looked nice on her. Complimented her eyes."
Was he comparing me to his mother?
"Then one day, I lost her. She was gone. She never came home. Ten days later they found her dead in her car, three hours south of here. Heart attack."
I was confused in that moment. I couldn't understand what he was trying to say.
"She was only in her early 40s. It didn't add up." Brendon shook his head and let out a dry laugh. "I made sure the dress she wore in her coffin was red. I hope she was grateful for that."
I had to say something. "Why are you telling me this?"
Brendon didn't respond. It was like he didn't intend to ever answer.
Quiet rushed over the whole hallway, the only sound was the distant chatter of voices and the air conditioner. I thought our conversation was over. But then he broke the tension.
"You should wear red more often," he whispered.
With that, he seemed to truly declare our conversation over, his quick paces attempting to leave, but I wouldn't let him. I moved to him as quickly as I could in heels and grabbed onto his wrist. Brendon tried to pull away, but he couldn't. I pulled back with as much strength as possible.
He whipped around. "What do you want from me?! You keep saying you hate me, you wish I'd burn in hell, I'm an asshole. Why can't you just leave me alone, goddammit?!"
I shrunk back. My eyes widened.
He sighed. Ran a hand through his hair.
I knew he was right. I wanted to apologize. Say I'm sorry for bothering him. I keep saying terrible things about him, so why do I keep coming back?
"Can I ask you a question? One simple, dumb ass question?"
It always scared me when he cursed. He never cursed. "Okay."
"Why the fuck don't you hate me? You keep saying you do, but you sure as hell don't. Why? I'm an asshole, I'm a perverted dick who just wants to run my hands over your ass."
I shook my head. Bit the inside of my cheek. "I don't know, I just can't help but love you."
That was what it was. What I was feeling. Love. I don't have any memories of it. It was different than the love I felt for my father or my mother. I harbored more affection for him than I ever knew. It felt good to say, to admit.
"That's right, I love you! I am in love with Brendon Urie. I don't give a shit if the whole world knows." I threw my hands up. "I keep coming back to you because I believe you can be kind. I believe you aren't who you say you are or pretend to be. I have faith in you Brendon Urie because, goddammit, I've seen the good sides of you."
When I looked back at him I didn't know what I expected to see. Anger, annoyance, happiness, maybe?
I knew for sure I didn't expect to see sadness.
"You. . . how?" The sadness quickly escalated into fear. "I tried my hand at playing the disgusting perverted guy. Tried to be an asshole just now. Tried to decrease contact between us, even. Just to avoid this happening." His hands rustled with his hair, messing it up. "I can't fucking believe his." He had shock written all over his features. Eyes wide. Face toward the ceiling.
Eventually, his arms fell limp at his sides and he began to laugh. I realized then I had made a mistake. I hadn't quite known how, but I made an irreversibly bad decision.
"You have to be fucking with me." Brendon gripped my shoulder and I squeaked. "You can't love me, I'm a piece of shit. Please, tell me you were kidding."
I wanted to tell him that it had all been a joke. Maybe then we could laugh. We could go back to being distant. My life would be normal. But I hadn't done that.
"I love you, Brendon. I wasn't kidding."
He jumped back from me like I had just told him I was a murderer. "No. No no no no no. You're still joking aren't you. You're still. . . You're still. . ." he fell to his knees and went into an almost catatonic state, beginning to mutter the same thing over and over to himself. "I can still fix this. I can still fix this. I can still fix this. I can still fix this."
Panicked, I got down on my knees, too. "Brendon? Brendon! Come on, Brendon, why is this happening? If I tell you I was joking will you go back?"
I brushed his hair out of his eyes as he sat there. He continued long, drawn out repetitions without air. I began to worry he was going to suffocate.
"Brendon, please, come back to me. What's happening?"
Suddenly, he shot up, back on his feet. I rose to mine, as well.
"Hey, are you okay? Come on, we can go somewhere else to calm you—"
"No!" He yelled. "Don't. . . Don't come near me."
I looked at him, cocking my head to the side. "What do you mean? It's just me. I don't want to hurt you."
"It's not me I'm worried about. They'll. . . They'll. . . I can't let them hurt you!"
I needed to get someone I knew could help him. Someone I was certain would calm him down.
"Brendon, I'll be right back."
Once again, and definitely not the last time that night, he didn't respond. I fast walked back down the hallway, my motivation being his very words that trailed behind me as I walked.
"I can still fix this."
Well heck.
That was unexpected.