Alexandria Payne has shut the whole world out ever since the devastating death of her beloved father whom she cared for deeply. Nobody and nothing matters to Alex anymore. No one...except for Brendon Urie, an eccentric celebrity who can offer her fa...
in mine? To be sitting there on the ground so incredibly close to each other that all the finer details on his face could be easily noticed as if we'd known each other since Elementary School?
"As much as I'd be honored to-"
No, no...nothing good ever started in that way silly. Try again.
"You know that it would be amazing if we cou-"
Man this was rough. He pressed a soft finger against my chapped lips. Whoa. Stop that. Agh!
"Say no more. I'll leave to make this easier on you, deal?"
He pulled out a piece of paper from his pocket and scrawled seven random numbers down on it with such fluidity that even an utmost professional scribe would have sulked to see such beautiful handwriting.
"Are you kidding?"
"Not even a single bit. However there is one small condition..."
Knew it. Great.
"Fire away," I sighed.
"Call me sometime by the end of this week or there will be trouble. Understand me?"
All I could do was nod like an idiot in front of a God.
"P-Perfectly."
"Good. Goodnight Alex," he smiled, elevating me swiftly up off the cold ground with one arm and pulling me into his strangely-warm-yet-oh-so-reassuring embrace.
"Please just call me Alexandria," I huffed unhappily.
Alexandria Urie works too just in case you were wondering. Haha.
Things finally went back to normal (sorta) when he hopped gracefully into his beautiful red Mercedes Benz -which certainly couldn't have been cheap by any means- and drove off, leaving the amazing night we'd shared behind in the dirty exhaust of his car. The emptiness and solitude of the small house in which we lived hit me in the face the second Brendon was out of sight. An empty house. Finally! Personal relaxation time sounded so damn good. I quickly slid into my thin black silk Pajamas and crawled excitedly underneath the warm familiar place known as bed. Ahhh. Bedtime at last.
I flipped on Pandora and put the stations on shuffle, hoping deep down to hear some Alice In Chains. Little did my poor mother know the day she popped "Facelift" into the car CD player that I'd quickly fall in love and become a total Alice In Chains fanatic for life.
"I'm the man in the box
Buried in my shit
Won't you come and save me, save me
Feed my eyes, can you sew them shut?
Jesus Christ, deny your maker
He who tries, will be wasted
Feed my eyes now you've sewn them shut."
I shouted the lyrics loud enough that I'm sure all the neighbors called the local authorities at one point or another to come haul me off to the mad house for singing (or screaming) such crude lyrics at such a late hour.
So what? Let 'em riot all they want, it's Alice In Chains dude!
A strangely familiar sound crept through the narrow hallway leading to my bedroom.
They're home.
I hit power immediately and lunged for the ultimate safety of my plush TempurPedic mattress.
"Honey! We're back home again!"
My Moms' innocent sugar-like voice forced a smile to pop up out of nowhere on my face, echoing off of every single wall in the house until it became painstakingly overwhelming. She didn't even have a clue about Brendon or what we were discussing, not to mention what my sister "accidentally" witnessed outside...she wouldn't dare tell mom about that mess...would she?
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