Second Boys Will Be First Choice (A Brallon Fanfic)

At Least That's What They Tell Me

I watch cars in the street drive by. Each one seems to be going so slow I blink and they're still right in front of me. My collar is too tight. I pull at. I'm so tired. Like when you play a show with a cold or when your hearts broken and you couldn't bear to get out of bed but you have to go grocery shopping anyway.

She didn't feel any pain. At least that's what they tell me. I don't really believe what they tell me anymore. Everyone's been lying to make me feel better. Everyone lies and makes themselves so cautious around me that I feel like an alien in a test lab. I sold the old house. I live somewhere smaller. I couldn't live there alone. Not anymore.

She didn't feel any pain. I do. Five days ago, Ryan woke up, and I had sex with Dallon. Four days ago Sarah died. Three days ago I laid on the ground at the hospital for twenty four hours, without moving. Two days ago, Dallon broke up with me. Not because he doesn't love me, because my wife died and he has to be there for his.  Zack took the dogs "for now" because I'm not fit to care for them right now. Yesterday I announced to the fans what happened, and that Panic! will continue but not for a while. Today. Today is her funeral. Today I have to read to people who barely knew her at all, about what she meant to me. Although no one can really understand. I won't drink, I'll watch. I'll watch as people who don't know was misery is, tell stories to stoners about the time in college when she lent them a pair of flip flops to shower with. They'll laugh, even though it isn't funny and move on.

Her dad will tell stories about her being born, about how nervous he was, along with the same stories he told at our wedding. Her mom, will be silent. She will not smile, she will not laugh. She's watching like I am. I will hear sorry. Over, and over, and over again. My house has already started to smell like a strip club, the mix of cheap bouquets and wreathes that look like Satan had a Christmas party, plus the countless, perfumed and pampered, couldn't give a shit relatives that tromp through my new house and act like they miss her.

Dallon will talk to people for me. He doesn't understand, but he does know that I don't want him too. And that I forgive him. I wouldn't want to date me either. It'll end. And a carefully selected and accepted few, oh so few of us, will go back to my house, and talk about the real Sarah. Nobody knows her exactly like I do, but these few, knew her for real. That's how it'll go. I know because funerals are almost exactly like weddings. Except when you get married you get to go home with someone you love more than anything. And when a funerals over, you go home alone.

So I'm sitting on my porch, wishing that she was here, so I could ask her how she got so beautiful and so she could answer "You're just saying that." and she would giggle and I would kiss her. But she isn't sitting here. I'm alone. Zack is coming to pick me up because I guess I'm not fit for driving either. I close my eyes and lay down, resting uncomfortably on the stairs leading to my front door. I think about her eyes. How they were blue like best day of the summer when it's not too hot but it's warm enough that you can swim at night. Her eyes were like watching people laugh, and being in love and that weird feeling you get in your head after a flash goes off. Her eyes were like the flash and when you looked at them your mind got the weird feeling.

Ryan hasn't called. I think I'm happy about that, but sometimes I wish he would. I know he knows. No one wants you when you have no heart I guess. I hear Zack's car pull into the drive way and the tires grind little rocks underneath them. That's how it felt. My heart felt like tiny pellets. Being crushed
S
L
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And brutally. The ignition pops off. The car door opens reluctantly. He walks over, nonchalantly. Sits down on the step next to me. He sits for a long while. I've never been so aware someone is beside me yet I'm alone.
I've never felt more alone in my life.