Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > When the Sky is Blue


by gerard_is_my_savior 0 reviews

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: G - Genres:  - Published: 2009-03-07 - Updated: 2009-03-08 - 1259 words


Alena’s POV

I wasn’t sure even where I was running, nor if it was going to help even in the slightest. I just knew I couldn’t look into his beautiful brown eyes anymore, not with all the guilt I wore on my sleeve. I kept apologizing, though it was senseless when he was oblivious to the crime. I felt the concrete hard underneath my feet and the wind bitter against my face, drying the tears that were falling uncontrollably. How desperately I needed him now. How desperately I would always need the both of them.
“Alena!” He cried behind me. I knew my out-of-shape body was soon going to shut down, but I had to try to continue. I wasn’t going to allow myself to tell him of my cheating ways. It would ruin everything.
“Alena Melody Lee Urie! Stop!” He yelled, calling me by my future name; my name in only two short days. “Stop, now!” And, I reluctantly obeyed. I felt my knees weaken and my legs shut down. I fell to the sidewalk, heaving and crying. Suddenly, his arms were around me. It took him no time at all to reach me. He took my hands, scraped from the impact and numb from the cold, in his trembling ones. “Why must you run?” he asked me, his voice sad and searching. His eyes were tearing into mine; tears shrouded his vision and kept me in place there on the sidewalk. Even if I had the strength and the will to move, it would have been impossible. He made it impossible.
“I—“ but I could not bring myself to finish the sentence. My throat felt sore and I felt hollow on the inside. I desperately wanted to rip my own heart out and toss into the middle of the street so I would never have to feel it again. I wanted to claw out my own eyes and cast them away with my heart so I would never have to see George Ryan Ross when I looked into Brendon’s face ever again. How I have wished more than anything else in the entire world that Ryan would have let me die there, where I deserved, alone in a bloody and cold grave. That all I really needed anyways; a grave. I should let Brendon dig me a hole in the earth and allow him to put me inside. I could have used a hole at this point.
I was so lost in thought I hadn’t even realized that I was no longer on the ground but instead in his loving and gentle arms, carrying me back to our house. Our house; our home.
“Alena,” he cooed, placing a kiss on my forehead. “Why do you always run from me?”
For this I had no answer.
“Why must you always run from those who are trying to save you?”
My heart covered quickly with ice. That was the very same question Ryan had asked me, if not said aloud. But I knew it was the way he felt.
“Brendon…” I whispered, my voice hoarse and dry.
He didn’t say anything after that, just opened the black iron gate to our house, carried me up the steps and in through the front door.
It was a beautiful house, the ceilings high and the floors made of either newly finished wood or thick plush white carpeting. A lone couch, covered with a huge white sheet, sat in the middle of what looked to be a living room. The room had huge bay windows and real stone fireplace with a little iron gate across it that matched the one outside. Brendon released me with one hand to tear off the sheet, revealing a gorgeous couch made of black leather. It was a long four-seated one. He laid me down on it and he only knelt next to the couch. My head rested on one of the sofa’s huge padded arms. He pressed his forehead against my temple and placed a kiss just below my ear.
“Alena… I don’t know what you did,” he began, his eyes closed. Which was for the better really. I was afraid to see the pain I caused reflected back to me in those eyes. “I don’t know what you did, but you need to stop apologizing for it.”
I took in a staggering breath. “I can never stop,” I whispered.
“What did you do that causes you so much regret?” he asked, now opening his eyes. They were a dark and made him appear as if he were in pain. Around the rim, his eyes were a very dark brown, and they lightened as you went into the pupil. If you looked closely, they had long streaks of tan running through them.
“I wish I could tell you.”
“Then why don’t you?” he whispered, pushing long strands of hair from my face. His hands were warm on my cold skin. He pushed his lips against mine, preventing me from saying anything stupid. “You know, you’re like a drug,” he said, then laughed. But his laugh was bitter and held not a single shred of humor.
“What?” I asked.
“A drug. You run through me like heroin, like cocaine or speed. Even when we’re apart, I feel like I am dying just to away from each other. Even if you’re killing me, I still need you.”

Ryan’s POV

Two more days and she would be Brendon’s for the rest of her life.
The rest of her short little life.
And when the preacher says, “Does anyone here object to this marriage”, I won’t say a damn thing.
That’s just who I am.
I sighed and rolled over in my bed. Another sleepless night.
I can’t get over how she looked in that dress. Had Spencer and Jon not been there, I would have taken her right there in the damn shop. It wasn’t fair that she was so beautiful and it wasn’t fair that she was Brendon’s.
I rolled over again. She was my drug. I needed her like a needed a hole in the brain; like I needed the air I breathe.
I tossed once more.
It wasn’t fair at all.

Brendon’s POV

She laid so still in her sleep, I could have said she was dead. She rarely moved, and it was very hard to see her chest move up and down. Though every once in a while, she would call out my name in some distant dream.
Silver moonlight came in through the huge bay window, making her skin was almost translucent; you could almost see the blood running underneath her cool, white skin. It was heartbreaking just seeing her like this. She cried and cried and cried, though she wouldn’t tell me why. She kept telling me how sorry she was and was hysterical until she finally cried herself to sleep. How lonely it must have been for her the last several years of her life. All the years she spent without parents who cared and without her older brother.
“Brendon,” she whispered, somewhere far away and unreal. Suddenly, she rolled over. “I’m so sorry. Forgive me, forgive me.”
I stroked her cheek, and she let out a soft moan.
“Forgive me,” she cried, her voice filled with agony. From the tone of her voice, it wasn’t a command, but a simple plea. “Forgive me, Brendon.”
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