Man Up (A Brendon Urie/Brallon Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

That tattoo, your last bruise, this impossible year.

Brendon's PoV

She's ruining the life I should be enjoying. Fuck, I know that. And I'm not doing anything about it. I'm so scared of her, of the power she holds. I lay, staring blankly at the bottom of the bunk above mine, waiting for her. She'll be here soon. My stomach tightens up in nerves.

Soon enough, I hear the familiar clack of high heels as she marches into the bunk area. Her eyes narrow as she looks for me, watching as I sit up so quickly I almost smack my head on the bunk above. She instantly fills the small space with the thick haze of cigarette smoke.

"Babe, what the fuck are you in here for, everyone's in the venue, waiting for you." She snaps, taking a drag and staring me down. I stand up quickly, keeping my head down. Her hand flies forward and squeezes my ribs. I wince. She chuckles.

"Someone's following the new diet plan," she smirks, "Good boy."

By "new diet plan" she means her controlling what I eat, which is just enough to keep me alive. She takes a final drag, inhaling deeply and blowing the smoke in my face. I know well enough by now not to cough, or even acknowledge it at all.

"Arm." She commands, holding out her hand. I sigh and pull up my sleeve, putting my wrist in her hand, which she grips tightly. I look away as she searches for a space, then stubs the cigarette out on my wrist. I catch the scream in my throat and push it back down, looking away and pressing my lips together. It burns, the pain spreading out in all directions across my soft skin, but I shove it all away as she spins on her heel and I follow her out of the bus, sliding my sleeve down as I go.

She clicks her way across the car park, stopping suddenly and spinning back around to face me.

"Wipe that miserable look off your face before I slap it off," she growls, "It's not my fault you're hungry, it should teach you not be a fat fuck."

"But Audrey—" I try. My weak retaliation is met with a harsh slap across the face. It stings, but I know not to touch it or act like it hurt. She's wearing rings. Used to this contact by now, I nod, and force a smile. She returns it.

"Much better. Now, let's go."

I follow her into the the back of the venue, aware of the searing pain in my arm and faint sting on my face. Eventually, she's forced away from me for soundcheck. I love these brief moments without her, where I can be happier like I used to be, just playing music. Of course, it never lasts, all shows and sound checks end and I'm back in the real world.