No matter what, there would always a sort of link between the two.
There has always been some type of link between them.
Faint, but still there has always been something Brendon can feel. He leans over and looks at Ryan's paper. A, D, C, A, B. He jots down a few letters and takes a deep breath before forgetting about the test and settling with staring at her.
Joyce barely has any breasts. Her so called tit department is fucking lacking, and he's pretty sure her red lip stick will stain his dick if she is going to be blowing him. She has a nice ass and the curve of her hips are sweet but this was really all he can say.
He wants to fuck her.
He probably can, if he tries to get her.
But he doesn't. Because of the link.
He has always been able to feel it, a slow drumming in the back of his head. He knows she knows it too, they have already exchanged thoughts about this.
He can hear what she thinks, and in turn so can she. News of this came when they were very young and even though he has always been able to know how she feels it isn't like before.
When they were younger, he can remembering hearing exact words, complete thoughts and dreams and hopes pouring out of her- now it's simply waves of emotion, a few words now and then and the occasion metal music unless one of them tries to contact the other. The bond has faded, the link has dulled. But it's still there.
She turns at his stare. She can feel him. He smiles when she mouths the words, "Stop thinking that" when he starts imagining what it would be like to take her doggy style.
He then gains an image from the depths of her mind of him getting shacked… was that a chainsaw? Damn. She has a vivid imagination, he notes, like he didn't already know.
He channels the words as clear as he can-
I want to fuck you in your ass.
Joyce just sighs, pulling down her skirt and trying to focus on her test again. Brendon cheats a few more answers off of Ryan before sighing.
Give me the answers.
She blocks off her train of thought after that, royally pissing him off.
Give me them.
After that one word, he can't hear another peep from her mind the whole class. It's five minutes before they have to turn in the test and Brendon hasn't finished the first half. Ryan fell asleep on his test, drunk bastard, so he's no longer an option.
Fuck it, he thinks, leaning back in his chair. Fuck it all.
Goddamn it Brendon.
He smirks, not opening his eyes.
You better sit up and listen, you little shit.
He salutes and sits up in his chair as instructed, but not before sending her a shit eating grin as she begins thinking the answers with malice.
He still wants to fuck her.
She hates it.
When she was younger, the thoughts were ok, but now, she hates it. She knows how to hide her thoughts from him, how to seal emotions and keep him out of her head.
So does Brendon. But the problem is that he just doesn't care.
Brendon's train of thought is pure, non-filtered, loud noise. He never holds anything back from her. Ever. She has heard his thoughts when he hooks up with girls, when he gets in trouble and even when he's jacking off, no matter how far away he is.
He wants her to hear him. That's why she can't stand him. For her, this is something out of a fairy tale, a secret to always keep between the two of them.
For him, it is entertainment. A game, if you will.
He lets her hear everything, and never tones it down. She'll be near sleep in her bed when, in the middle of the night, a picture will appear in her mind of Brendon pounding some random girl into the bed, or him setting something on fire, or him taking his new Facebook profile picture, or eating Slim Jim's and Rocky Road ice cream with his best friend as they watch a dirty movie, or even him being angry at having to clean up the dog's shit while he walks it.
She knows everything about him.
And she hates it. She hates knowing that Brendon is a total pervert and that he spends more time with his dick than with his own siblings. She hates knowing that beats up people just because he likes the way blood looks, spilling out of another person's body.
But she also hates knowing what it feels like when his dad slaps him as he slurs curses at the boy. She hates feeling wave after wave of anger when he walks in the house and sees the broken glass that holds a picture of his mother who left years ago. She hates the way that it feels when he cries, even if it only happens once a year, on one particular day.
Joyce never asked to live two lives. To be in one body while feeling the emotion and pain and pleasure and fear of another, to have thoughts, just so much, filling her to the brim, leaving her weak in the knees and making her have to dress in black to keep people away. She never asked to grow up differently than everyone else, getting sucked into the 'not-at-all-in-crowd'. When Joyce was little, people liked her.
When Joyce was little, she was just Joyce.
But in her mind, it's always Joyce and a side of Brendon.
There is no other way to live anymore.
He doesn't want to fuck her anymore.
Or so his thoughts say. Joyce hasn't heard that much from him since he started banging the student body president last month. She also hasn't seen much of him, but that's usual. She never sees much of him anyway- with as much as she hears from him, she tries her best to avoid the punk.
Brendon is right at this moment on the roof of the school with his best friend Ryan, the only one who knows about him and Joyce. He knows Joyce has never told anyone before, pussy like she is, and so Ryan is kind of a third wheel in the link.
"I told her, 'So you want to fuck?' And she flips me the bird. Six minutes later and I got her in the alley behind the place in the missionary. Too easy." Brendon mutters, flipping open his lighter and sparking his cigarette, taking a long drag. "I dumped her ass last week, and the whore cried. I hate it when they bitch."
Ryan nodded, clicking his tongue as he took a huff of a practically empty rubber cement bottle. "Shae bitches a lot." Ryan likes to sniff things. Brendon thinks that's why he's such a dumb ass, losing all those fucking brain cells but he accepts it. When things smell good to you, why not?
Brendon doesn't respond and decides to take the silence as a chance to poke at the bond. He centers in on Joyce.
She's in the school library, reading something by some gay ass author. Brendon follows along for a few minutes knowing she hasn't sensed his prodding yet. Her thoughts are actually really pretty when she doesn't know that he's paying any attention. He wonders why they can't sound like that all the time.
He ponders through her thoughts for a minute before feeling another new, more alert thought enter her mind. He leaves the part of her mind that involves what she ate for breakfast this morning and quiets his thoughts, trying to blend in to Joyce's head and peeks at the alert.
Wow, I mean… he's really hot.
Brendon then received a picture of a dark haired guy with green eyes, taunt muscles beneath his green shirt and a wide smile. The image is of him walking in to the library. Brendon supposes this must be the guy Joyce is thinking about.
He doesn't dwell on it much. Joyce is an amateur at best and usually fawns over guys every once and a while like every normal girl should. She's too quiet and too reserved to ever have any attention directed back at her, she's only kiss two other guys in her life and they were both as weird as her and the relationships failed to last more than a week.
Basically, this guy is out of her league and they both know it. Joyce still doesn't know Brendon is there, considering the fact that she is now putting her full girly fantasies on the boy- something she would never do in front of Brendon due to fear of ridicule.
And then the strangest thing happens. "Hey, you're Joyce, right?"
Joyce looks up and tries to keep her heartbeat normal. There is no way this guy is talking to her- but there are no other girls name Joyce in this library, let alone in this school. She purses her lips tightly at the attractive boy, biting her lip so tightly she is sure she must be drawing blood.
"Who wants to know?"
She wonders if that was the right thing to say.
She fights back the need to growl- when the hell had he first gotten here?
Brendon. Go. The fuck. Away.
Nah, I'm going to enjoy the show, doll face.
"Sorry for not introducing myself first," says hot guy. He smiles a white perfect straight toothed smile at her and flips his hair before sitting down in the chair across from her, pushing away a few books so nothing is blocking their way from each other. "I heard you are at the top your class in chemistry."
She looks back down at the book she was reading from and jots down a few more notes. "And this is important because…?"
"I'm at the bottom of my class." He says, his eyes softening and voice lowering nervously in the most gorgeous way-
Dear lord, woman, don't make me throw up.
Trying to ignore the asshole in her head, she nods at him. "You need help then?"
Another award winning smile, a cheek lies upon a firm hand. "Yeah, that's what I wanted to ask for. So do you want to meet up somewhere?"
Joyce is about to say 'hell yes' when Brendon makes another appearance in her thoughts.
At least learn the faggot's name.
At the tone of Brendon's voice, she flinches, but takes his advice anyways. "Can I know who I'm tutoring before we start making plans?" She wonders how someone can smile like that.
"Oh sorry!" He says, standing up and sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm Terry, senior year, vice student body president."
Life story, much?
You sound more irritable than usual, Brendon.
Shut the fuck up. I just don't like pretty boys.
"And I know you. You're Joyce." He says, green eyes holding a smile.
She nods. "Okay, so, how about next week?"
"How about tomorrow? I have a final this Thursday. Sorry to be so blunt, but-"
"It's fine. Tomorrow it is, how about my house?" Joyce suggests.
Oh, your house, planning on getting some action?
Terry beams. "Awesome."
Joyce then blocks out her train of thought and grimaces while Terry walks away. No matter what happens, Brendon will most definitely not be in her thoughts tomorrow evening.
"Brendon, man, wake up."
He blinks open an eye to find himself inside Ryan's car in the passenger seat. "You need to get some sleep, bro."
Brendon grunts but doesn't make any move to get out of his current position. Drool hangs from his mouth as he recalls the night before and how he hadn't gotten any sleep at all. How could he? All Joyce was thinking about was-
Terry, Terry, dating Terry, tutoring Terry, yay, Terry-
So he had done his best to block out her thoughts. It wasn't hard, since she has been blocking hers from him ever since that little fag had asked her out the day before. Brendon had thought he would be able to finally get some sleep but not knowing what Joyce was thinking just made things even harder.
He needs a beer.
He needs a beer and he needs to stop worrying about if Joyce is going to kiss that asshole.
Ryan nudges Brendon and tells him to get out of the car. The punk agrees but only because he's tired and that beer is sounding better and better by the second. As soon as he's out of the car, he lights up, taking a long drag of the cigarette before pulling out his fake ID and following Ryan into the club before them.
The cigarette dangles between his lips, the beer burning his throat. The girl trying her best to give him a lap dance is failing. Miserably. "Will you fucking stop it already?"
The girl scoffs at him before hopping off and trying for Ryan, who gives her a sweet look before saying, "Already taken." Shae would be proud, Brendon thinks, snorting. "What's wrong with you?"
Brendon doesn't move but his eyes slide over to Ryan in a questioning manner. "I just mean you seem out of it, man. Not yourself. Got something on your mind?" Ryan steals Brendon's cigarette and huffs in a bit, coughing after it. "I prefer rubber cement over that shit any day."
Ignoring the comment about rubber cement, Brendon takes back his cigarette and shrugs. "Joyce shut me off."
Ryan laughs dryly. "What else is new?"
"She's at her house with that one guy, Terry. The one who gives those lame ass speeches all the time." Brendon looks to Ryan, noticing the boy isn't showing any signs of recognition and sighs. "I banged his girlfriend last week."
Ryan palms his forehead in realization. "Oh yeah, that Tahlia chick! She's the student body president, right? They aren’t going out no more, huh?"
"Nah, but it's weird that he asked Joyce to hang right after that." Brendon grits his teeth together, opening up his thought range, but still no word from Joyce. Growling in agitation, he calls for another round of beers.
Joyce opens the door to her room, glad that her parents aren't home until another four hours. She's never had a boy in the house alone, so this is all new to her.
Terry has strong, muscular arms. He has bright green eyes and she wonders what he is thinking about when his eyes absently travel over to her bed.
She wishes she could know what he was thinking. She always knew what Brendon was thinking. Brendon has muscular arms too. That was what made talking to him so easy.
She has no idea what to say in this situation.
"Well, let's start, shall we?" Terry says, smiling yet again, and Joyce can't help but shoot her friendliest smile back at him. How does someone become so wonderful?
They've been studying for half an hour when Joyce suggests that they take a break. Terry nods at her, and they start talking about random school subjects. She brings up his part in the school council as the vice president. "That's really awesome, do you like it, or is it just for looks? I've never been brave enough to present long speeches or presentations in front of people, let alone everyone at school."
Terry shrugs. "I mean, really I joined just because of my ex-girlfriend. She was my girlfriend at the time, but not anymore, I guess…"
Joyce notices the sudden change in atmosphere, but if hearing Brendon's thoughts has taught her anything, sometimes you have to push to get what you want from people. "Who was she?"
"Just some girl. Her name was Tahlia. The student body president."
Joyce nods, thinking in her head The girl Brendon has been sleeping with. I guess it all makes sense now.
"She's not important." Terry says, and Joyce can't help but notice that he's gotten a bit closer over the past couple of minutes, and that he is now leaning in to her-
Oh my gosh, he's kissing me!
Brendon is staring out of the window at the bar, watching as the rain drops pelt the ground mercilessly when he hears it.
No, this isn't right-
He hasn't heard from her all night, and now, eight o' clock she decides to show up.
Well it's about time.
She doesn't acknowledge his presence in her mind. At all. Brendon finds that admittedly strange, it's weird because she's no longer trying to block off her train of thought but for her to not even notice he was in there with her means that she must be trying her hardest to focus on something else…
Please, why can't I just tell him to stop, it doesn't feel good.
No stop it! I'm still a virgin, why does this have to happen to me?
He seemed like such a nice guy, Terry. He's covering my mouth and even if I bite his hand he doesn't care.
He feels a sting of pain down below him- it's coming from her. He's feeling her pain. Something is pressing into her, slowly.
The cry for help is so loud he falls off of the barstool, attracting the attention of many others around him but Brendon just focuses on sending thoughts back to Joyce as he is splayed out along the tiled floor.
Joyce, WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON?
He's going to rape me Brendon, please, help, I'm half naked and I'm scared and-
Brendon snatches his car keys from Ryan's hand and refuses to listen to reason. "Brendon, your drunk, don't go out driving, it's not safe-"
Brendon growls when Ryan tries to snatch the keys out of his hand. "Touch me and I rip your fucking dick off. I'm going to get her."
Ryan realizes what Brendon is talking about and takes his hands off of the punk, watching his run away as he realizes it's no use. Joyce is in trouble.
Brendon has always been bound to come to her rescue sometime.
She doesn't know how the situation got to be like this.
One moment he was kissing her and the next her shirt was missing. Now his hand is down her pants and she's crying and he just doesn't care.
What happened to the Terry with the dazzling smile? Wasn't he at one point spilling his guts about his ex-girlfriend? But maybe that is how all this shit started in the first place. The first time Joyce tells him to stop he says, "My girlfriend always told me to stop too, and then she goes and lets some other guy pop her cherry."
Why was this happening to her?
She has sent her thoughts and cries to help to Brendon who isn't responding at this point. She's scared and she's also pretty sure he cut her off and that no one is coming to help her. So much for her last life line. She tries to relax but it's impossible, with Terry's finger ramming into her again and again and him whispering vile things in her ear while his hand covers her mouth forcefully and his body pushes her down against the bed.
Joyce has never wanted to die before. The feeling is new but she'd never wanted death more than never, has never prayed for death before now.
That's when she hears the door to her house slam open and angry footsteps on the stairs. Her parents? She hopes. Terry stiffens.
Her bedroom door handle cracks the wall as Brendon slams it open. His face is twisted into something that scares the ever loving shit out of her. His hands curl and uncurl in rage. He's beyond pissed. "Get the fuck off of her, you piece of shit." He runs over to them, slamming Terry so hard off of her that he hits the wall beside her bed, leaving a dent and screaming as Brendon begins to punch the green eyed boy without mercy.
Joyce covers herself with her blanket and watches as Brendon continues punching him, blood swelling from Terry’s face as Brendon grunts, his nose running and tears trailing down his face. "You filthy bastard! You touched her and I'm going to kill you, you mother fucking little-"
"Brendon!" Joyce says, grabbing the punk arm, immediately bringing him to a stop as she pulls his chin toward her, making his chocolate brown eyes face her. Terry scrabbles away from him, gathering his things and sprinting down her stairs and out the front door. It's not until they hear his car start outside that Joyce takes in another deep breath.
Brendon grits his teeth as angry tears pour out like waterworks. He shakes his head and growls in rage.
No it isn't! How can you say that, that fucking prick… he touched you!
What does it matter, Brendon? It's over, I'm fine!
"No, stop saying that! No one deserves to touch you like that, especially without your permission! Not MY Joyce!" He shouts, pushing his hands against his head in anger. "Not you, not you, anyone but you! He can't treat you like that. Not you."
Brendon covers his face with his hand before falling into Joyce's chest.
You're getting more upset than me.
I'm so sorry, Joyce, I'm so sorry for letting that bastard touch you…
It's not your fault.
I'm so sorry.
Just not you. Never you. I love you, you know that?
Joyce sighs. Brendon is drunk. She smells the alcohol on his breath. That must explain the overreaction. There is no way Brendon loves her like that. Maybe like a sister, but…
Yeah, I know.
Maybe it's okay to just pretend that he really does mean it, for now.
Pretty sad, huh? Oh, well. Hope y'all liked it anyway.