Miss Jackson {b.u.}

{8}

It had been a month since Keaton had stabbed me. I hadn't moved out and Brendon was still waiting for me. He hadn't had a new relationship. Today was another red carpet event. Brendon wore all black and I wore a pink dress. My hair was slicked back and I had a full face of makeup. Brendon walked into the makeup room and gestured that the artist leave. He caressed my face, "no trying to kiss me out there—and make sure that we don't make any hints or signs about us, okay?"

"I want to be free," he began and kissed the side of my cheek, "i want to be more than you're thinking of, Miss Jackson."

I shook my head and got up from the seat. Turning on the 'Brendon and I are just friends,' look. Still, we locked our arms together and walked onto the red carpet. The flashing of the lights never adjusted to my eyes and I turned quickly. Brendon shielded my face with his hand and I thanked him behind his hand. We walked forward a bit, closing my eyes for a second and Brendon double checked to see if I was okay. I nodded my head, opening my eyes and posing with Brendon for the camera's. We had to have a small relationship behind closed doors—because of an abusive boyfriend. This red carpet event was important to me, it was an award for clothing designs. It was sort of stupid, but it was something that showed my skill off to higher professionals. We walked off the red carpet. The lights went down and in this moment I felt like I had found my home. I wanted to be by Brendon's side, for the rest of my life. But, how could I do that if I was stuck in this abusive cycle? I felt trapped. In a closed-out boxed room. Padded walls. Straight jacket. I felt like I was locked in that padded cell. But when I was with Brendon—it felt like I was breathing the polluted, yet refreshing air of Los Angeles. I loved being able to be myself and someone letting me. We stopped at the edge of the red carpet and I fixed my dress and Brendon kept his hand guarded around me, then walked forward, "and everyone's favorite pop punk designer, Miss Joanne Jackson. Did you design both of these outfits?" the interviewer asked.

I smiled and held my dress up with my hands, Brendon helped hold it up, "uh, actually, yes. I did design these two outfits."

"Well, i'll tell you, you guys look stunning together," she began, "Do you think she'll win tonight?"

Brendon glanced up and walked closer to the microphone, "I have my hopes and that tad bit of nervousness, but I do feel like she's gonna win tonight. You know? We can only hope and dream."

Brendon places his hand on my lower back, a flash from behind us lit the background and I turned quickly. The interviewer quickly shoved a camera in her purse and I turned back, keeping that noted in the back of my mind.

Brendon and I sat next to each other at the round table we shared with our security guards.

Nerves rushed through my veins as the award I was nominated for echoed through the building. I had no idea who I was going against. Brendon rested his hand on my back and I saw another flash shot in my direction and I ignored it. I crossed my fingers and closed my eyes, "Joanne Jackson!"

I opened my eyes and gasped, uncrossing my fingers, I shot up, turning to Brendon and hugging him passionately. He pulled me out od the hug and his hands pressed against my shoulders. He leaned in, slowly—I did too.

I stopped.

He kept leaning in.

I pushed him lightly and he stopped. He let go of me and continued clapping. I hurried up to the stage and hugged the smaller lady, then cleared my throat, "it means...so much to win this award. I-It really is a dream. I just want to thank the people who hired me for Panic at the Disco, because now i'm designing for them. But thank you to everyone who believed I could design clothes and thanks to all of the bands that have hired me and expanded my future endeavors."