Regrets and Cigarettes

Just Another Show, but This Time, It's Different-B

"God Brendon, can you stop smoking for just five minutes?" She throws the lighter on the ground and I dash to get it, plucking gravel out of the initials. "You should really try to quit, you ignorant bastard. You know I hate the taste of cigarettes."

I shrug. My obsession with cigarettes is like hers to liquor. Her previous lover gave it to her, so it was like the same situation.

"Brendon, you're going on stage in five minutes," she continues to yell at me. "They expect you to be a good role model."

"Well, Sarah, what if I don't want to be?" I scream back. She's pale now. "All their parents hate me, he hates me, what's the point?"

And her face gains color because I mentioned you. My brain is calling me stupid. "If this is about Ryan, you really need to get a hold of the fact that he's not coming back."

My blood is boiling and I haven't even sung yet. I give her the middle finger and walk to backstage, kicking gravel in front of me. Spencer's hanging out, watching the opening act perform.

"Oh, B!" he grins. I feel a bit better. "How's San Diego treatin' ya?"

I sigh. "Sarah and I got in a fight again." It's odd, I don't feel upset that we got in a fight. I feel energized.

Yet, Spencer gives a reassuring frown. "I'm sorry, buddy. Maybe you'll feel better once we get on stage?"

Not without you, I won't. However, I smile at Spencer, just so he knows it's all going to be okay.

"Mr....Mr. Urie?"

I whirl around and behind me is a small girl who's wearing a band shirt that she made herself. Never would I think of making the exclamation point into a lightning bolt.

"Yeah?"

"Can you, play Northern Downpour tonight?"

I smile and nod while she runs away. I watch her as she runs to an older fangirl who cries when I look her way. A fucking trick so I can cry on stage, but I never break a promise. Except, maybe to you.

***

I know I sing the song but my mind is a blank. Out in the crowd, is someone who looks just like you. I sing to you. I tear up at our lyric and try to play it off, just to go back to singing to you. Spencer and a crew member are helping with backup vocals. I'm dying inside. I want another cigarette but the lighter in my pocket becomes heavier with each word sung. All is a flashback of the good ol' days.

I start to think, why am I even here? Why didn't I just join you? Sarah hates me and you love me, or at least you did.

I haven't even finished your CD yet.

The song finishes and I walk off the stage. My cheeks are wet and my eyes are irritated. Spencer's hand is on my back as he leads me into the dressing room. I vomit in the bathroom sink.

"Shhh," Spencer coos as he rubs circles on my back, something you did. I vomit again. "You can talk if you want to or you don't have to talk at all."

I nod, head still leaned over the sink. I glance into the mirror. My hair is sweaty and tangled, eyes bloodshot, and lips blue. I look horrific.

Spencer looks like sunshine, beaming with delight.  He's a healthy guy and a superb drummer.  If Spencer can go onstage after they left, why can't I?  What have you done to me?

"How do you do it?" My voice is hoarse from screaming your lyrics into a microphone.  That stupid fucking song that was us.  "How can I do that?"

"It was hard for me, too," his smile faded.  His eyes started to droop some.  "Like...Jon and I were good friends...but you and Ryan were bigger than Jon and I."

I ran my hands through my hair.  "Yeah, I guess so."

"Did you love him, Brendon?"

I had to dwell for a moment.  Did I really love you?  Was it just physical, like sex and kisses?  Or did I genuinely love you?

I flashback to your twenty-first birthday, when you flew across the country to visit me in Seattle.  That was sex and just overall good loving.  That's were we planned to live once our careers were done.  Now, I have no recognition of where you live and I'm driving my girlfriend and I all around the country to be as far away from you as possible. 

"Yeah, I did," I mutter.  "I never told him that I did.  I still do love him."

Spencer patted my back and lead me out of the bathroom.  Within a few feet, I am surrounded.  Fans, paparazzi, reporters, everyone imaginable is around me.  Spencer is grabbing my forearm.  They're screaming your name.

"WHERE'S RYAN?"

"WHAT HAPPENED IN CAPE TOWN?"

"WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU AND RYAN?"

"WHY DID HE LEAVE US?"

The lights are flashing, my eyes going black, but like a best friend would, Spencer pulls me closer to the tour bus.  Your album hasn't even come out yet but you sent it to me last night.  Why is this all affecting me?

Oh right.  I know why.  Because now, I know how you feel on the situation.  Instead of just assuming that I never meant anything to you, I have your emotions with backup instruments.

How do I already have a cigarette in my hand?   No, this has just been given to me, because it's not lit.  Where's the face who gave me a beautiful cigarette?

"I thought you'd like this," I hear a familiar voice.  My body is completely frozen.  All the cameras have stopped flashing, the people are silent and all there is is you and I.

"R-Ryan?" I stammer.  My lips feel like gelatin.

"Hey, Brendon."