Creep || Brendon Urie

7 • Angered ; Ignited

It had been three days since Harris had gone over to Sabrina's house. Three days since Brendon had promptly interrogated him on the events that had taken place between the two. And three days since Harris had refused to give any significant insight about what the two had talked about, which only resulted in frustrating Brendon to absolutely no end. He hated not knowing what happened, but he knew Harris was hard-headed and wouldn't tell him anymore than he felt necessary, just to piss Brendon off. Which it did.

So here Brendon sat at his kitchen table, hands wrapped around a coffee mug so tightly that he was sure it would shatter inside of his clutch at any second. He was stuck listening to Harris go on and on about how he'd taken a sudden "interest" in the new girl across the street and how he was thinking about asking her out tonight.

"Or I could just nail her," he stated so suddenly and carelessly that it caused his uncle to choke on the coffee going down his throat.

"You okay, Uncle Bren?" he smirked, turning around from the omelette that he was fixing to lock eyes mockingly with the stunned man behind him.

Brendon was the closest he had ever been to jumping up, grabbing his nephew by the collar and slamming him against the stove.

His nephew was treating this girl like an object; as if she were a simple, ultimately insignificant daisy whose only purpose was to sit in the front yard idly so that greedy little boys like Harris could pluck them for mere fun and entertainment. Why? Solely because it caught their eye, and because they knew plenty more would grow back in its place. This was all because nowadays boys were taught that no repercussions were dealt for snatching a sweet, harmless daisy from the ground and pulling out its petals until it was bare and useless, just like girls.

Because of Brendon's difference in generation and teachings, he instead saw Sabrina as something more profound, more beautiful and meaningful. To him, she was a stunning, captivating rose planted firmly in the garden of weeds that was his own mind, and Harris' intentions.

Damn him, Brendon thought.

Why did Harris have to be such... such... a boy? A no-good, self-centered, rotten little ass that only cared about the appendage between his legs because apparently it controlled all of his sick and useless thoughts. At least by this age, Brendon had learned to control that; he prayed to God with every last fiber of his being that Harris would learn soon too.

"I mean I jacked off thinking about her last night anyways,"

Finally Brendon couldn't take it anymore, "Enough!" he shouted as he got to his feet and flung the half-full ceramic mug of coffee against the counter top. Shards flew in all different directions, as the scolding hot beverage doused the legs of Harris' pants.

"Fuck! What the hell-" Harris tried to exclaim, but his uncle had him by the throat before he could finish his sentence.

"What did I tell you about cussing in this house?"

The hand he had wrapped around the cold flesh of his nephew's neck was pulsing with the anger coursing through his veins.

Pushing it farther up his neck, he gritted his teeth and brought his face in close.

"That girl across the street..." he growled, "is a masterpiece. Do you hear me? You do not taint her in any way. I swear to everything in this universe that the pain you are feeling now is nowhere near how bad it will get if you continue to speak in such a vulgar manner about her ever again."

The younger boy's nails dug into the flesh of his arms begging silently for a release but he didn't feel any of the pain that the scratches should have induced as he waited for a reply.