But It's Better If You Do || Brendon Urie|| EDITING IN PROGRESS

Chapter Twenty Eight

The coffee shop was crowded to the max, leaving me wondering where exactly Brendon and I would -if we even could- sit. Bus boys and waitresses scrambled about on lightning quick feet, trying desperately to get every last order out before closing time. Only in Los Angeles can you find nearly full restaurants on a Tuesday at 8:00PM.

"Brendon, your order's ready Brendon," the computerlike voice announced through a tiny stand-up microphone sitting on the front counter of the coffee shop. The exterior may have been very modern looking, but the inside was in desperate need of major renovations. Brick walls surrounded the swarming customers, giving the shop a very enclosed feeling. I felt empathy for anyone with claustrophobia who were just looking for a hot cup of coffee on that marvelous Saturday evening. Brendon stood and made his way over to the counter. He was back with two scorching hot cups of coffee in no time- mine with extra cream and sugar, his cup much simpler...the "plain black way," as he liked to put it. Our waitress came up to us asking if we wanted anything else, to which we respectfully declined, and continued sipping our coffee with grins on our faces.

We didn't say much other than unimportant things like "wow this coffee is so delicious. Do you think they make it fresh?" And "oh man, this place would be super cool if they changed that gross yellow wallpaper over there by the kitchen area..."
We were in and out of there in no time, off to a nearby hotel to check into, then go off on some other adventure around L.A.

I'd wanted to visit California ever since my father told me how cool it was. Once he told me how many celebrities are estimated to live in or near Los Angeles, I made a goal. An addition to my bucket list.

Visit Los Angeles, California.

Finally I'd accomplished that goal with a good traveling sidekick to accompany me. Of course Brendon had been to L.A. only five million times before thanks to his touring schedule. For him this was nothing new, but to me it was a whole new world. It felt good to be breathing a different brand of air- it smelt much more fresh; more alive than the compact, dry, boring air back at home.

This air had been encapsulated with the stylish Californian lifestyle. Everything in Los Angeles was very young...the people, the buildings, the vibe as a whole. Everything. So, Brendon and I decided to celebrate our youth with a few glasses of champagne to accompany the coffee from earlier that day.

The overall taste of the Champagne was flat out rancid and overly bitter to say the least, but it contained alcohol which was good enough for me, and apparently for Brendon as well, considering he downed three full glasses within six full minutes. I nearly laughed. Getting drunk off of champagne? That's when you know you need a night out. The tangy flavor lingered on my tongue afterwords.

"I think I'm going to be sick," I complained to a now overly drunk Brendon.

"Ohhh c'mon Aaaalex s-stop bein' sachh a w-"

...Cue the disgusting drunken burp...

"Wimp," he finished off proudly, rubbing circles around his extended champagne-filled stomach. Seeing him act this way didn't exactly make me happy or proud, but we both needed a long break...he just chose to do it in a different way. Everyone's different after all. Once the hard liquor started to get to my head and not just my full stomach, exhaustion set in almost instantaneously. Brendon triumphantly guffawed at my ridiculously low tolerance to the Champagne, which, in my drunken state of mind, really angered me. I was spitting out profanities toward Brendon the entire time he was leading me down the narrow hallway just to let him know he'd struck a chord. It didn't do any good since we were both out of our minds at this point.

Looking back at the situation we both freely admitted that he could have easily taken advantage of me in those moments of Champagne stupidity...I argued that the only reason he didn't follow through was because I was passed out cold, while he joked that he would have done it if it hadn't been for my slurred words, pounding headache, and random fits of violent vomiting. Oops.

Either way he managed, in his Champagne-filled stupor, to put me to bed like a gentleman before passing out himself as well. I woke up the next morning to a dazzling (and now sober) Brendon leaning over me ever so carefully, gazing down at my face with puffy, hungover eyes. A thin beam of light creeping through a minuscule crack in the Crimson colored curtains
(*RANDOM INTERRUPTION FOR NO GOOD REASON:)* it wasn't until I wrote this story that I realized just how much I use alliteration in my writing without even trying to. Has anyone else noticed that? Good gravy my alliteration is getting out of hand here. Aaaanyways back to the story...pardon my ridiculousness/randomness ...)
revealed Brendon's uncovered torso.

Wait a second here...did he...did we...are we........oh my God...no no no no no no no no no....There's just no way in hell that he'd get away with something like that. Ha. No.

"Brendon why in God's name are you shirtless and why are you staring at me like that?"

"Can't sneak a single thing past you, can I?"

"Brendon Boyd Urie answer me right now or I'll fucking get dressed and you'll never see me again. What happened last night when you put me to bed? Do you have any recollection of last night at all? What's my name?"

"Oh calm down you worry wart. You really should get out more."

"Brendon this isn't a damn joke! Tell me what happened right now or else I'll leave, I'm not kidding around with you!"

"Nothing happened last night Alex goddammit what'd you think happened? And as a matter of fact, missy, I do remember everything that happened last night. Every singe little detail. Would you like me to go through it for you? Because I can if you'd like..."

"Brendon did we have sex?"

"Alex are you kidding me right now? You've got to be. Please tell me today is April first. You know I'd never take advantage of you right? You know better than that. I'm not out to get into your pants so if that's what you want from me I'm sorry but-"

"You were drunk as all hell Brendon so what am I supposed to assume when you have your shirt off? Besides you're a famous celebrity so I know better than to think that you're everything you claim to be. Excuse me, sir, for actually wanting to treasure my valuable virginity for as long as I can."
(There I go using alliteration again...)

"Well I can assure you that we did not have any form of sexual contact whatsoever in any way, so calm down and take a breather. Being drunk doesn't give anyone an excuse to impregnate anyone against their will. Nothing happened last night. I slept on the couch to ensure your virginity would stay yours..."

"You're lying to me, Urie. Didn't I warn you about lying to me? No drunk person would have the decency -not to mention the right state of mind- to sleep on the couch."

"Am not. Want proof?"

"Why, I'd love some."

"Why aren't my bedsheets messy? Can you explain that?"

Shit, he had a valid point there, but it still wasn't enough to ease my worried mind. If he had done things to me while I was unconscious he'd never get out if it alive.

"That's not any kind of proof I've ever heard of. Is that all you've got as proof?"

I stood to my feet and started to put on my favorite black Converse shoes as a threat of departure. Shortly after the second shoe was slipped on, a long pair of arms wrapped tightly around my torso, silently begging me not to leave.