Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > Trust Me, Please?

Convince Yourself It's Only A Nightmare

by meeniemoe 6 Reviews

Ever heard of the term, 'it turns from bad to worse'?

Category: Panic! At The Disco - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama, Romance - Characters:  - Published: 2007/02/11 - Updated: 2007/02/11 - 1846 words

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Chapter Twelve:
Convince Yourself It's Just A Nightmare

Alice's POV

I couldn't help teasing Brendon just a bit when I told Jon I was joining him to go shopping. I mean, guys love it when we tease right?...

So I was out and about with Jon, and apparently the shopping list was quite small: orange juice (without pulp, as Ryan scrawled out in unreadable text next to 'orange juice'.) and white bread. (And also butter, but the Safeways we went to was apparently 'out of butter', so we had to get an employee to fetch one...which might explain the fifteen minutes we had free to talk about Brendon and Ryan...)

So we had just about finished shopping for the orange juice and white bread, while a funny man with a tag that had 'Jay' on his shirt looked for butter. Jon and I were standing around, cruising through the magazine section. Funnily enough, I found one with the whole Panic! Band plastered on it. They all looked so serious, with the exception of Brendon, who had contorted his face so awkwardly that even fangirls would wonder what was going on in his head. Jon laughed as I pulled out a three-foot length poster of the band. On one side was Spencer and Jon, all decked out in their black ties and suits. Jon held cards in one hand, covering his mouth ever so slightly, while Spencer held up a dice in one hand, and cash in the other. Both wore the regular makeup: one eyeshadow color (other than brown or black) and their black eyeliner.

On the other side was Brendon and Ryan. It was them in concert (once again, right?) but it was a picture of the last time they toured. Brendon looked slightly red-faced as his lips touched Ryan's neck. Ryan, slightly neurotic (with singing back-ups) just made the picture look entirely like they were having sex on stage.

Good job, boys.

It seemed that I had sighed rather wistfully at that picture, because Jon raised his head from the magazine he was reading, and asked me, "What?"

I bit my lip, before finally muttering, "Oh, just...them." I pointed at the picture of both Brendon and Ryan together, before Jon chuckled. "Yeah. The pair of 'em make quite a scene, huh?"

When I stayed quiet, not really responding to Jon's jokey line, he put away the magazine he was reading, and sighed again. He rested a hand on my shoulder comfortingly. Although he really was the jumping jelly bean of the lot, it seemed that he could wise up, even in a situation like this one.

"Alice, don't worry. I swear, those theatrics are kept for stage. It's not like Ryan and Brendon are...having a relationship." Jon said tentatively. My jaw tightened immediately, and I put the magazine down.

Jon pulled me closer to him, slowly telling me, "Alice, I'm not lying. Brendon loves you...I think he'd rather kill himself than be on the other side of the world without you."

"I'm not saying you're lying, Jon...it's just that...I hate feeling this way..." I said, my voice feeling hurt. Of course I loved Brendon. I loved Ryan, too-because he was just such a good guy. He was nice, easygoing, and almost like a brotherly figure sometimes.

"You hate feeling what way?" Jon asked gruffly, releasing his arm off of me. I stared intently at him. "This...this jealousy." I murmured in a half-catatonic state.

There was an awkward pause between the two for us, until Jon opened his mouth, ready to say something. Then, the employee returned, informing us that there were no flipping butter sticks left for purchase. Jon asked why not, and the employee replied that they were all outdated, and not for sale. We left promptly after that.

So I returned back at the apartment, a bit more re energized after a mini talk with Jon in the car. He truly was right. Ryan and Brendon? Not meant to be.

But I was still wondering, even when I walked through the door to the apartment. Wondering because I was curious. Wondering because all the fangirls talked. Wondering because the stupid paparazzi couldn't close their filthy little mouths about the boy-on-boy act on stage!

I sang, "Brendon!" As I had dropped the orange juice off into the fridge. /Of course, he must be in his room... /I had thought plainly.

Plainly, my fucking ass.

I stood at the door to Brendon's room. Ryan and Brendon were talking in hushed voices. It sounded somewhat secretive, and I really wasn't that much of a peeping tom, but-

"So what're you gonna tell her, Bren?" Ryan's voice echoed in an empty manner. How odd.

"I'll think about that. But right now...I need to..." Brendon said slowly.

I was really ready to walk in then and there. 'her' must have been me. Were they hiding something from me? What were they hiding?...But Brendon tells me everything! I had thought rationally.

"Brendon!" Ryan gasped, but Brendon just kept laughing.

"Come on, Ross, you know you're enjoying it." Brendon said flirtatiously. No, no...This is so wrong...Oh my god...where's Jon when you need him?...What's going on in there?...

"Brendon...you're..." Ryan said tonelessly. No, Ryan, don't say anything! I screamed in my head silently.

"Amazing?" Brendon asked in his usual hyperactive manner. /But why is he acting so damn sexy? This isn't him! This isn't my Brendon!... /I was ready to cry.

Gently, I prodded the door open. Just to peek a little more. The two didn't seem to see me, but all I saw were their shadows on the carpeted floor. The blinds were drawn and the lamps were on, so obvious figures were all made out to me. It was like a movie screen. It was like...a movie. It was...a really bad movie. Bad for me, anyways.

As I thought about how much I hated myself for trusting Brendon Boyd Urie, I realized how far I pushed the door open by accident. And that was when I saw it.

They were both collapsed on the floor, gasping for air. Ryan's shirt was off. (Am I kidding myself? It looked like it was RIPPED off...the shirt was in shreds in a pile in the corner of the room! What did Brendon DO?)

"Brendon Urie...I swear to god..."

"Come on, Ross. You know it was a good workout." Brendon winked playfully at him. I didn't miss it, of course.

And that was when they saw me.

"That wasn't what you thought you heard..." Ryan whispered cautiously. Oh, yeah. Give me a break. Wasn't what I thought I heard?

So I finally made my vow. I wasn't going to return. Brendon had hurt me more than once, and I couldn't take it. Baby, give me a break!...

As I ran out as fast as my legs could carry me, I crashed into Jon, who yelled, "What's the rush?!" I didn't even respond until I was at the bottom of the stairwell, screaming, "Sarah's ill, I gotta go!" In a very hysterical voice that did NOT sound at all like my friend was having a minor illness. (It was way too hysterical for any kind of lie anyways...)

I hopped into the car, and then realizing that it was the new car Brendon gave me for my birthday, I shook feverently, got out of the car, took the keys, and tossed it into a random trash can nearby. Still crying, I hopped into the car I arrived in, (throwing out the sunglasses that Brendon gave me, too...) and drove off.

I was done.

I'm finally done with Brendon fucking Urie.

So why did it all feel so wrong?

*
Brendon called her. More than 178 times. And it was already 3 pm...still the same day she left the apartment. Brendon's heart was ripped to shreds, tossed in a corner, left to rot forever. It was really too bad she didn't see the distorted look in his eyes-the wretched sudden emptiness that reigned.

It was frightening.

He really was catatonic. Ryan could see it as plain as daylight. In fact, Ryan apologized, even though he knew it wasn't his fault. Jon and Ryan were still talking about the situation, because Jon wasn't getting the whole thing.

"So you're telling me that she saw you guys...together...on top of each other...wait. Why did you do it in the first place?"

"We were arguing! It had to do with the tour. We wanted to explain it to her, and-" Ryan said angrily, before getting cut off by Jon.

"No...god. You know what happened in the store earlier? Before she came back from grocery shopping with me? She saw that goddamned magazine with you and Bren."

Suddenly, Brendon turned around, listening to what Jon had to say. Jon was appalled at Brendon's sudden movement. But he continued with his story.

"And...and she asked me...if you guys were sorta having a relationship..." Jon managed to choke out slowly, scared if Brendon would quickly stalk over to him and strangle him without hesitation. Still no action from Brendon. Jon sighed. "And I told Alice that nothing was happening. She seemed doubtful, and I think she was expecting at least a kiss from Brendon when she got back to the apartment. Obviously...she didn't get what she thought was going to get..." Jon mumbled irately, twisting his wrists about in a nervous fashion.

It was obvious the whole band-well, three of them, since Spencer hadn't returned yet-and nothing was being solved. Brendon was going insane (none of them let Brendon go after her).

"Brendon, let's go get something to eat. I don't think you ate lunch when we ate our sandwiches." Ryan told Brendon quietly, tugging on Brendon's sleeve. (Yeah, he was now wearing a blouse.)

Brendon didn't say anything. Jon leaned into Brendon, speaking clearly into his ear (Jon never gets it, does he?!) "BRENDON. LUNCH. NOW."

"I don't fucking WANT lunch! Just leave me alone, dammit!" Brendon screeched, stalking into his room, his stomach churning like fire.

That was how the rest of his day went. No-one interrupted him, and no one really dared to.

His cell phone rang. His mom was calling. But that was hardly the dilemma.

But then, the ringtone suddenly inspired him.

'Think of what you did...
I've got more wit, a better kiss, a hotter touch, a better fuck...sweetie, you had me.
You know it will always be me...'


That's right. It was her.

It was her loss. It wasn't going to be his.

Brendon mulled over this thought, but was (mentally) too tired to think anymore. So that was how he fell asleep for the next thirteen hours-on the carpeted floor. His stomach still churned, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

Make her jealous...It'll be her loss. Put the fuckin' blame on her.

A/N: We're coming to an end, my dear commenters and readers...(Who's watching the Grammys tonight?)
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