Categories > Celebrities > Panic! At The Disco > You're Not The Ordinary Type
If I Retreat
1 reviewThe story shifts to Brendon, who is being pursued by a strange person with dark intentions.
2Exciting
UGH. It is midnight, and I am still writing…I have no life XD. But this story is so fun to write, and all the positive feedback I’ve been getting is really inspiring and thoughtful, so I thank everyone for that! So, R & R!!
Brendon Urie massaged his temples fiercely, trying to dispel his terrible headache from raging any further. The eighteen year old impatiently shoved his bangs from his forehead, breathing lightly through his mouth. The headaches had started earlier in the week, but they had become increasingly worse. Now he felt as if his cranium would come bursting through his forehead at any moment.
After a few more grueling minutes of massaging had gone in vain, Brendon stood hastily from his spot on the bed and strode to his full-length closet mirror. At first look, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. The same fluttering dark brown hair that gently framed his strong jaw, his chocolate eyes were wide, and the corners of his plump lips were turned down into a grimace. A closer look revealed that his eyes were glazed with pain, his lips were chapped, and even healthy amounts of his mother’s foundation could not hide purple circles under his eyes. Brendon sighed and fell backwards into his bed one more, letting himself sink into the mattress.
He would’ve gone downstairs to get some Advil to numb the migraine, but he was extremely wary of his parent’s attitude towards him. A couple days ago, he finally told them he was gay, which was an extreme contradiction towards their Mormon faith. Mr. and Mrs. Urie just couldn’t seem to handle their son’s sudden want to waver from their all-important religion, so they promptly ignored him. Brendon didn’t seem to mind though. He was never exactly the center of attention in his family. Being the youngest of four, with no academic success (he was barely passing) and barely any talent to speak of, he was the outcast of the family. He lived in the shadows while his siblings were showered with praise and love.
Brendon sighed again. This headache would be the death of him if he didn’t do something soon. Standing gingerly and having his temples in a vice grip, Brendon made his way to the door, only to be brought to his knees by a white flash of pain and heat. His throat constricted, making screaming a nearly impossible task. His eyes felt like they were bleeding profusely underneath his shut lids. He felt like he was falling backwards, and he tried to put his arms out to still himself. This turned out to be in vain, as he was surrounded by an overwhelming amount of darkness. Brendon couldn’t move, and the swallowing blackness was pressing down on him. When Brendon forcefully opened his eyes, he could see that the blackness was wavering, ever so slightly.
The darkness was now dissipating slowly. Dim light could be seen in the corners of Brendon’s vision. Pins -and- needles pricked his skin, and he groped blindly at the floor, thankful that he wasn’t swimming in oblivion anymore. He was about to pick himself off when realization hit him hard, causing his eyes to snap open.
He did not have hardwood flooring in his room, nor did it have the putrid odor of alcohol. Brendon’s eyes adjusted abruptly to the dim light, and he was stunned at what he saw. Two figures were struggling on a bed, but their faces were shrouded in shadow. Or, at least, the faces that were visible. Brendon watched with fearful awe as the bigger figure began to pound into the smaller with one hand, while choking with the other. What made it even more terrifying, was that the smaller was transparent. The large figure was screaming, but it was incomprehensible, like trying to listen to someone while underwater.
The larger of the two now brought a fierce uppercut to the smaller’s transparent face, the air making a muffled smacking noise. Brendon winced, and felt wetness on his cheeks. All of this was just too much. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, or who these people were, or where he even was. He was scared, and all this violence wasn’t making his confusion cease.
A sharp glare brought Brendon from his raging thoughts with a jolt. Brendon’s yells of surprise and horror could not be heard as a sharp razor was thrown across the room while a stream of scarlet followed it like a ribbon. The invisible person flickered back into view…
Brendon could taste his own tears as he returned to his own room with a whiplash-like force. He was in such a state of marvel that he hadn’t realized his fierce migraine was gone. Daylight no longer seeped through his window. With blurry eyes, Brendon gazed at his obnoxiously flashing alarm clock. 2:40 AM. He had been in some unconscious dream worlds for hours.
Brendon gingerly stood, cradling his head. His mind was muddy, and he could barely think. He felt completely drained of energy. He felt a great impulse to grab a Red Bull from downstairs, when he felt a strange sensation prickling the back of his neck.
He rushed to the window as fast as his muddled senses would allow him, and gazed outside. It was an inky night, its eeriness sending shivers up Brendon’s spine. A lone lamppost shone dim light onto the sidewalk, illuminating a single figure.
A tall stocky man in a gray trench coat gazed up at the open window. Or, at least, Brendon thought the guy was looking up; his eyes were completely covered by dark sunglasses. A black bowler hat completed the look. The slightest smirk crossed the mysterious person’s face, and he snapped his fingers, the noise making a dull echo across the street. Brendon blinked, but the man was gone.
Brendon placed a shaking hand on his desk. He needed this Advil more than he thought; he was hallucinating, and they weren’t helping his heart rate to slow down. He was on the verge of calming down when a hand firmly grasped his shoulder, the other around Brendon‘s mouth. Brendon’s sharp elbow shot backward, landing in solid flesh. Whoever was holding him let their hands fall, and Brendon was able to whip around to face his attacker. He was met with dark sunglasses and an equally dark smirk, despite the fact that the person was doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Brendon was shocked to see that it was the same person in the street. And these were no hallucinations- he felt that hand grip his shoulder painfully, and he felt the hot breath on his neck.
The strange man made no move to grab Brendon again, so Brendon took this golden opportunity to run. He felt like he was flying as he sprinted down the stairs, and he approached an open closet. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he wasn’t being followed. He quietly shut the door behind him and slipped himself between his mother’s coat and his own gray Fall Out Boy jacket. He held his breath, painfully aware that his lungs were screaming for air. He finally let out a ragged, tentative breath, and gave an “Eep!” of surprise when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
The closet door flew open as Brendon sprinted out, wrenching the front door open. Lights flickered on upstairs and sleepy comments were made, but Brendon did not turn. He kept his eyes ahead as he rounded the corner of his street, tears streaking down his face. Millions of thoughts and fears raced through his mind was rapidly heading for the public park. His shoes made empty rapping noises as he ran along a stone path running through the trees. Brendon shut his eyes against the cold night air as he pumped through the park when he collided with a frail body.
Brendon cried out as he hit the ground hard, and brought a hand up to hold his sore head. He saw that the figure mirrored his actions, letting out a small mewl of pain. “What the hell?”
Brendon was relieved to see the frail person was not the man he was running away from, but a skinny boy with soft brown hair styled into fringe, covering one of his wide honey eyes. His Beatles shirt was slightly ripped on the sleeve, as was the knee of his skinny jeans. There was a developing bruise on his face. A guitar case lay a couple feet away from him.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, asswipe?” the boy said as he rubbed the bruise lightly. Brendon felt a wave of guilt as a lone tear fell off the boy’s face. “Did I do that? God, I’m sorry,” Brendon said as he softly stroked the cheek. He couldn’t help but be forward with the boy. He felt heat flush across him as the boy looked onto his eyes, his own glistening. The boy flinched and turned his head sharply. “You didn’t do it,” the boy murmured, but Brendon couldn’t ignore the smaller’s blushing cheeks.
Brendon pulled his hand away slowly. His eyes fell to the ground, and he tried to think of something to say. “Umm,” he started lamely. “Did I…um…Did the guitar get broken?” The boy stiffened and turned sharply to his guitar. The case was opened swiftly, and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s fine. Thank God.” Brendon raised his eyes hopefully, and was met with a stern look. “No thanks to you, of course.” Brendon apologized softly, and was startled to feel the boy’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, the guitar’s fine, so I’m fine.” He smiled softly.
“I’m Ryan, by the way,” the boy, or Ryan, said. Brendon blushed, and looked at the ground again. Ryan chuckled. “Don’t you have a name?” Brendon let out a breathy laugh. “Brendon.” Ryan shuffled, and blinked, his long lashes pulsating. “So…What were you doing that was so incredibly important that you had to run over me, and most likely break a few bones?”
“Running from me, I suppose.”
I need sleep. Good lord, I feel like a zombie. :P… And my dialogue is terrible…Anyway, R&R….I must seem so so so so dull right now XD………. I’ll write more when I regain consciousness…
Goodnight, ChemicalKissez11 lurvz ya;)
Brendon Urie massaged his temples fiercely, trying to dispel his terrible headache from raging any further. The eighteen year old impatiently shoved his bangs from his forehead, breathing lightly through his mouth. The headaches had started earlier in the week, but they had become increasingly worse. Now he felt as if his cranium would come bursting through his forehead at any moment.
After a few more grueling minutes of massaging had gone in vain, Brendon stood hastily from his spot on the bed and strode to his full-length closet mirror. At first look, there was nothing out of the ordinary about him. The same fluttering dark brown hair that gently framed his strong jaw, his chocolate eyes were wide, and the corners of his plump lips were turned down into a grimace. A closer look revealed that his eyes were glazed with pain, his lips were chapped, and even healthy amounts of his mother’s foundation could not hide purple circles under his eyes. Brendon sighed and fell backwards into his bed one more, letting himself sink into the mattress.
He would’ve gone downstairs to get some Advil to numb the migraine, but he was extremely wary of his parent’s attitude towards him. A couple days ago, he finally told them he was gay, which was an extreme contradiction towards their Mormon faith. Mr. and Mrs. Urie just couldn’t seem to handle their son’s sudden want to waver from their all-important religion, so they promptly ignored him. Brendon didn’t seem to mind though. He was never exactly the center of attention in his family. Being the youngest of four, with no academic success (he was barely passing) and barely any talent to speak of, he was the outcast of the family. He lived in the shadows while his siblings were showered with praise and love.
Brendon sighed again. This headache would be the death of him if he didn’t do something soon. Standing gingerly and having his temples in a vice grip, Brendon made his way to the door, only to be brought to his knees by a white flash of pain and heat. His throat constricted, making screaming a nearly impossible task. His eyes felt like they were bleeding profusely underneath his shut lids. He felt like he was falling backwards, and he tried to put his arms out to still himself. This turned out to be in vain, as he was surrounded by an overwhelming amount of darkness. Brendon couldn’t move, and the swallowing blackness was pressing down on him. When Brendon forcefully opened his eyes, he could see that the blackness was wavering, ever so slightly.
The darkness was now dissipating slowly. Dim light could be seen in the corners of Brendon’s vision. Pins -and- needles pricked his skin, and he groped blindly at the floor, thankful that he wasn’t swimming in oblivion anymore. He was about to pick himself off when realization hit him hard, causing his eyes to snap open.
He did not have hardwood flooring in his room, nor did it have the putrid odor of alcohol. Brendon’s eyes adjusted abruptly to the dim light, and he was stunned at what he saw. Two figures were struggling on a bed, but their faces were shrouded in shadow. Or, at least, the faces that were visible. Brendon watched with fearful awe as the bigger figure began to pound into the smaller with one hand, while choking with the other. What made it even more terrifying, was that the smaller was transparent. The large figure was screaming, but it was incomprehensible, like trying to listen to someone while underwater.
The larger of the two now brought a fierce uppercut to the smaller’s transparent face, the air making a muffled smacking noise. Brendon winced, and felt wetness on his cheeks. All of this was just too much. He didn’t know what the hell was going on, or who these people were, or where he even was. He was scared, and all this violence wasn’t making his confusion cease.
A sharp glare brought Brendon from his raging thoughts with a jolt. Brendon’s yells of surprise and horror could not be heard as a sharp razor was thrown across the room while a stream of scarlet followed it like a ribbon. The invisible person flickered back into view…
Brendon could taste his own tears as he returned to his own room with a whiplash-like force. He was in such a state of marvel that he hadn’t realized his fierce migraine was gone. Daylight no longer seeped through his window. With blurry eyes, Brendon gazed at his obnoxiously flashing alarm clock. 2:40 AM. He had been in some unconscious dream worlds for hours.
Brendon gingerly stood, cradling his head. His mind was muddy, and he could barely think. He felt completely drained of energy. He felt a great impulse to grab a Red Bull from downstairs, when he felt a strange sensation prickling the back of his neck.
He rushed to the window as fast as his muddled senses would allow him, and gazed outside. It was an inky night, its eeriness sending shivers up Brendon’s spine. A lone lamppost shone dim light onto the sidewalk, illuminating a single figure.
A tall stocky man in a gray trench coat gazed up at the open window. Or, at least, Brendon thought the guy was looking up; his eyes were completely covered by dark sunglasses. A black bowler hat completed the look. The slightest smirk crossed the mysterious person’s face, and he snapped his fingers, the noise making a dull echo across the street. Brendon blinked, but the man was gone.
Brendon placed a shaking hand on his desk. He needed this Advil more than he thought; he was hallucinating, and they weren’t helping his heart rate to slow down. He was on the verge of calming down when a hand firmly grasped his shoulder, the other around Brendon‘s mouth. Brendon’s sharp elbow shot backward, landing in solid flesh. Whoever was holding him let their hands fall, and Brendon was able to whip around to face his attacker. He was met with dark sunglasses and an equally dark smirk, despite the fact that the person was doubled over in pain, clutching his stomach. Brendon was shocked to see that it was the same person in the street. And these were no hallucinations- he felt that hand grip his shoulder painfully, and he felt the hot breath on his neck.
The strange man made no move to grab Brendon again, so Brendon took this golden opportunity to run. He felt like he was flying as he sprinted down the stairs, and he approached an open closet. A quick glance over his shoulder told him he wasn’t being followed. He quietly shut the door behind him and slipped himself between his mother’s coat and his own gray Fall Out Boy jacket. He held his breath, painfully aware that his lungs were screaming for air. He finally let out a ragged, tentative breath, and gave an “Eep!” of surprise when he heard someone clear their throat behind him.
The closet door flew open as Brendon sprinted out, wrenching the front door open. Lights flickered on upstairs and sleepy comments were made, but Brendon did not turn. He kept his eyes ahead as he rounded the corner of his street, tears streaking down his face. Millions of thoughts and fears raced through his mind was rapidly heading for the public park. His shoes made empty rapping noises as he ran along a stone path running through the trees. Brendon shut his eyes against the cold night air as he pumped through the park when he collided with a frail body.
Brendon cried out as he hit the ground hard, and brought a hand up to hold his sore head. He saw that the figure mirrored his actions, letting out a small mewl of pain. “What the hell?”
Brendon was relieved to see the frail person was not the man he was running away from, but a skinny boy with soft brown hair styled into fringe, covering one of his wide honey eyes. His Beatles shirt was slightly ripped on the sleeve, as was the knee of his skinny jeans. There was a developing bruise on his face. A guitar case lay a couple feet away from him.
“Why don’t you watch where you’re going, asswipe?” the boy said as he rubbed the bruise lightly. Brendon felt a wave of guilt as a lone tear fell off the boy’s face. “Did I do that? God, I’m sorry,” Brendon said as he softly stroked the cheek. He couldn’t help but be forward with the boy. He felt heat flush across him as the boy looked onto his eyes, his own glistening. The boy flinched and turned his head sharply. “You didn’t do it,” the boy murmured, but Brendon couldn’t ignore the smaller’s blushing cheeks.
Brendon pulled his hand away slowly. His eyes fell to the ground, and he tried to think of something to say. “Umm,” he started lamely. “Did I…um…Did the guitar get broken?” The boy stiffened and turned sharply to his guitar. The case was opened swiftly, and the boy breathed a sigh of relief. “It’s fine. Thank God.” Brendon raised his eyes hopefully, and was met with a stern look. “No thanks to you, of course.” Brendon apologized softly, and was startled to feel the boy’s hand on his shoulder. “It’s ok, the guitar’s fine, so I’m fine.” He smiled softly.
“I’m Ryan, by the way,” the boy, or Ryan, said. Brendon blushed, and looked at the ground again. Ryan chuckled. “Don’t you have a name?” Brendon let out a breathy laugh. “Brendon.” Ryan shuffled, and blinked, his long lashes pulsating. “So…What were you doing that was so incredibly important that you had to run over me, and most likely break a few bones?”
“Running from me, I suppose.”
I need sleep. Good lord, I feel like a zombie. :P… And my dialogue is terrible…Anyway, R&R….I must seem so so so so dull right now XD………. I’ll write more when I regain consciousness…
Goodnight, ChemicalKissez11 lurvz ya;)
Sign up to rate and review this story