Tutorial | Brendon Urie

Chapter Fourteen

We've arrived at my house, somewhere I didn't want to be, really. I feel like I need to make the most of the time I had with Brendon.

Quietly, to emphasise my reluctance, I ask, "Brendon, I really don't want to be annoying or clingy or whatever, but can we just chill at yours for a while? I don't feel like being alone."

He looks at me and shakes his head for a second, not to say no, but as if in disbelief. "Yes, of course, sure. Do you have anything to grab?"

"No, I have a toothbrush at yours already."

"Oh right," he says, followed by an insincere chuckle.

The engine starts up again and he pulls back out of my driveway, and down my street.

"You know, I'm glad you wanted to be with me."

"Yeah, I just kind of wanted some company today."

He turns to me briefly, "No, I mean for your first time."

"Oh, well, personally I don't think virginity should be as big of a deal as people make it."

He exaggerates an eye roll accompanied by a smirk. "Oh, gee, I'm flattered then."

"Come on, you know what I mean. I just think to treat girls like an innocent delicate flower is kind of condescending and chauvinistic."

"Yeah, I guess I never really thought of it like that."

Entering Brendon's home again brought back both comforting and embarrassing memories; a bittersweet twinge in my stomach.

"Do you want anything to change into? You must be cold in that." He says as he places the duffel bag by the table next to the door.

Only now noticing the cold air that's making its way beneath my dress I reply, "Actually, yes that would be really nice."

"Sure, I'll just grab something for you."

He's holding a dark plaid shirt and what looks like grey pants. "This is kind of all I've got at the moment. It doesn't look really great, but it'll keep you warm."

"Thanks Brendon. Do you mind if I just get changed in there?"

He motions for me to enter his room. I walk in and notice the familiar glare that reflects from his perfectly made sheets that comes in through the window, only slightly softened by the sheer curtains. I remember that only a week ago I had laid on this bed, uninvited, so bold as to crawl in with a stranger. It doesn't feel real. One week since being here, and already I have shared more with Brendon than I have shared with anyone, ever. One week. It really puts time into perspective. Something that used to be objective and forever steady had now become so free and abstract, kind of like how you could spend eight hours sleeping that feels like nothing but then spend eight hours awake that feels like a lifetime.

I tuck my dress and leather jacket under my arm and walk back into the entryway in Brendon's shirt and track pants. I place my clothes on the table by the door along with my now only slightly damp socks.

Brendon is in the kitchen, a place that he seems to be more familiar with than most other people.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"Do you want French toast?" He says from inside a cabinet.

I love French toast. "I love French toast."

"Well, good, because here you go." He places two slices drizzled in cinnamon and brown sugar on a plate and slides it to me across the kitchen counter.