Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > A Road Called Loathing
Brendon ran out to the scene of the accident, clad only in a pair of jeans. Rain pelted down on his skin, wind howled in his ears, and thunder shook the ground beneath his bare feet.
“Margot!” he yelled, approaching the crash. His stomach lurched, mouth agape, at what he saw.
A black SUV was flipped on its hood, and Margot was nowhere to be seen. A shaken-looking man was standing a few feet away from the car, which was sparking, his face white as a sheet, trembling terribly.
“What happened?” Brendon asked, approaching the man, frantic worry written all over his face.
The man babbled incoherently, stuttering and stumbling over his words. Finally, Brendon was able to discern, “Brakes weren’t working--jumped out--hit her, went crashing through--”
“What? Crashing through what! What did she crash through? Was it a pretty girl with red hair and freckles and green eyes?” Brendon grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him, begging for some sort of answers. The man just shook his head, unable to think.
“My windshield…I watched her--she just…she crashed right through--” The man sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, staring at the overturned car, which was still emitting many sparks.
“She went through the windshield? She’s in the car! No! No! NO!” Brendon abandoned the motorist, running to the car and dropping to his belly. He skid across the wet road, his stomach getting scratched up, but he didn’t even feel it.
All Brendon could register was Margot, in an impossible position, inside the car. Her back was pushed forward and she was doubled up, head on the floor of the car, one foot pressed against the ceiling, and one caught on a shard of glass that was still in the windshield. It was gruesome, and bloody, and sickening to look at.
Brendon pulled away, retching and puking as he looked at her grotesque arrangement. Coughing and sputtering, inhaling smoke and carbon fumes, Brendon inched his way into the totaled car, scraping his back and arms on shards of shattered glass remnants inside the window.
“Margot!” he yelled, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. No, he told himself. Crying wouldn’t help anyone. He continued calling her name, though he knew she was unconscious. “Margot! Margot!” He screamed until his vocal chords were raw, and he couldn’t speak through the smoke clouding his voice.
Brendon reached his arm out, feeling a shard of glass sink into his abdomen, somewhere between his ribs, and crying out. He stretched, trying with all of his might to reach the girl compressed and unconscious before him.
“Come on!” he yelled in frustration. “Please! Please!” Brendon sobbed, tears beginning to blur his vision, making Margot’s hunched figure a watery smudge. He blinked furiously, still reaching.
Brendon was just able to reach his hand far enough to hook his index finger into the back of her pajama bottoms. He yanked as hard as he could, but the glass of the window was still deeply embedded in her foot, and not giving way. Brendon crawled in further, grabbing her knee and pulling it up, trying to slide the shard out, but that wasn’t working either.
Brendon cried out in frustration, sliding out of the car, feeling more glass remnants crunching beneath his weight. He ran on bloodied feet around to the front of the car, finding Margot’s tiny foot caught on the sharp, jagged glass of the car’s windshield. He delicately lifted the appendage away, then ran back around to grab her and pull her out of the car.
“Margot!” he cried, cradling her head in his lap. She was finally free of the automobile, and he could clearly see every cut, every irritation, and every laceration on her pale form. Her face was decorated with red streaks, her hair soaked through with blood, her limbs sticking out at odd angles. Brendon could barely breathe; he felt like he was choking on his own bile, rising in his throat and burning his mouth.
Brendon stood, carrying Margot with him. He held her tightly, not wanting to let go. He walked over to the grass, barley noticing the flashing red and blue lights of the police car through the pounding storm, or the wailing of the ambulance above the thunder and lightning crashes.
The man dropped to his knees in a muddy puddle, laying Margot’s lithe, limp body on the softer ground, trying to be as gentle as possible, even though he knew she couldn’t feel anything.
“Margot,” he murmured tearily. He laid his head on her chest, her shirt already soaked through with blood and rain, and sobbed, tears adding to the saturation of the garment. “Margot! Please! Wake up, Margot! Please! I love you! I’ve always loved you, and I’ll never stop loving you! Please wake up! Please! Margot! Margot!” Brendon screamed until his voice was raw, screamed and screamed, despite the fact that his voice could barely carry over the whistling wind and crashing thunder. “I said it! I said it! I’ll say it until everyone knows! I love you! I love you!” He continued to bawl into her chest, begging to hear a heartbeat, or to feel a stirring in her ribcage, just so he could know that she hadn’t left him.
Oh, God, no. She couldn’t leave him. Brendon needed Margot, he needed her more than anything. He’d never stopped loving her, and he couldn’t fathom life without her. With a gasp, Brendon remembered what had happened in his bedroom, just before their intercourse. He’d backed her against the door, and her hip had hit the doorknob…
Brendon wrenched up the hem of the girl’s shirt, examining her hip, starting to cry even harder when all he saw was the flawless, perfect, pearlescent flesh that covered her hip-bone. The sight of her untouched skin ripped through Brendon’s heart, making him begin to wretch and gag once more, his face coated with a mixture of rain, tears, and his lover’s blood. He checked again, the confirmation of her unmarred hip more real than the crash of thunder, the questioning police, or the paramedics trying to get Margot out of his embrace.
Dead bodies don’t bruise.
“Margot!” he yelled, approaching the crash. His stomach lurched, mouth agape, at what he saw.
A black SUV was flipped on its hood, and Margot was nowhere to be seen. A shaken-looking man was standing a few feet away from the car, which was sparking, his face white as a sheet, trembling terribly.
“What happened?” Brendon asked, approaching the man, frantic worry written all over his face.
The man babbled incoherently, stuttering and stumbling over his words. Finally, Brendon was able to discern, “Brakes weren’t working--jumped out--hit her, went crashing through--”
“What? Crashing through what! What did she crash through? Was it a pretty girl with red hair and freckles and green eyes?” Brendon grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him, begging for some sort of answers. The man just shook his head, unable to think.
“My windshield…I watched her--she just…she crashed right through--” The man sat on the ground, rocking back and forth, staring at the overturned car, which was still emitting many sparks.
“She went through the windshield? She’s in the car! No! No! NO!” Brendon abandoned the motorist, running to the car and dropping to his belly. He skid across the wet road, his stomach getting scratched up, but he didn’t even feel it.
All Brendon could register was Margot, in an impossible position, inside the car. Her back was pushed forward and she was doubled up, head on the floor of the car, one foot pressed against the ceiling, and one caught on a shard of glass that was still in the windshield. It was gruesome, and bloody, and sickening to look at.
Brendon pulled away, retching and puking as he looked at her grotesque arrangement. Coughing and sputtering, inhaling smoke and carbon fumes, Brendon inched his way into the totaled car, scraping his back and arms on shards of shattered glass remnants inside the window.
“Margot!” he yelled, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. No, he told himself. Crying wouldn’t help anyone. He continued calling her name, though he knew she was unconscious. “Margot! Margot!” He screamed until his vocal chords were raw, and he couldn’t speak through the smoke clouding his voice.
Brendon reached his arm out, feeling a shard of glass sink into his abdomen, somewhere between his ribs, and crying out. He stretched, trying with all of his might to reach the girl compressed and unconscious before him.
“Come on!” he yelled in frustration. “Please! Please!” Brendon sobbed, tears beginning to blur his vision, making Margot’s hunched figure a watery smudge. He blinked furiously, still reaching.
Brendon was just able to reach his hand far enough to hook his index finger into the back of her pajama bottoms. He yanked as hard as he could, but the glass of the window was still deeply embedded in her foot, and not giving way. Brendon crawled in further, grabbing her knee and pulling it up, trying to slide the shard out, but that wasn’t working either.
Brendon cried out in frustration, sliding out of the car, feeling more glass remnants crunching beneath his weight. He ran on bloodied feet around to the front of the car, finding Margot’s tiny foot caught on the sharp, jagged glass of the car’s windshield. He delicately lifted the appendage away, then ran back around to grab her and pull her out of the car.
“Margot!” he cried, cradling her head in his lap. She was finally free of the automobile, and he could clearly see every cut, every irritation, and every laceration on her pale form. Her face was decorated with red streaks, her hair soaked through with blood, her limbs sticking out at odd angles. Brendon could barely breathe; he felt like he was choking on his own bile, rising in his throat and burning his mouth.
Brendon stood, carrying Margot with him. He held her tightly, not wanting to let go. He walked over to the grass, barley noticing the flashing red and blue lights of the police car through the pounding storm, or the wailing of the ambulance above the thunder and lightning crashes.
The man dropped to his knees in a muddy puddle, laying Margot’s lithe, limp body on the softer ground, trying to be as gentle as possible, even though he knew she couldn’t feel anything.
“Margot,” he murmured tearily. He laid his head on her chest, her shirt already soaked through with blood and rain, and sobbed, tears adding to the saturation of the garment. “Margot! Please! Wake up, Margot! Please! I love you! I’ve always loved you, and I’ll never stop loving you! Please wake up! Please! Margot! Margot!” Brendon screamed until his voice was raw, screamed and screamed, despite the fact that his voice could barely carry over the whistling wind and crashing thunder. “I said it! I said it! I’ll say it until everyone knows! I love you! I love you!” He continued to bawl into her chest, begging to hear a heartbeat, or to feel a stirring in her ribcage, just so he could know that she hadn’t left him.
Oh, God, no. She couldn’t leave him. Brendon needed Margot, he needed her more than anything. He’d never stopped loving her, and he couldn’t fathom life without her. With a gasp, Brendon remembered what had happened in his bedroom, just before their intercourse. He’d backed her against the door, and her hip had hit the doorknob…
Brendon wrenched up the hem of the girl’s shirt, examining her hip, starting to cry even harder when all he saw was the flawless, perfect, pearlescent flesh that covered her hip-bone. The sight of her untouched skin ripped through Brendon’s heart, making him begin to wretch and gag once more, his face coated with a mixture of rain, tears, and his lover’s blood. He checked again, the confirmation of her unmarred hip more real than the crash of thunder, the questioning police, or the paramedics trying to get Margot out of his embrace.
Dead bodies don’t bruise.
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