Man Up (A Brendon Urie/Brallon Fanfiction)

Chapter 2

These words are knives that often leave scars.

Brendon's PoV

I leave the stage, feeling the sweat running down my face. Someone passes me a towel and I dry off. I'm not allowed to take my shirt off anymore, for many reasons. Mainly because I'm too fat.

Pete runs past me, pausing to give me a quick high five, which I return, hoping he didn't look up my sleeve. I stand and watch them run on stage, the crowd going insane for them, and I smile. Then, I follow the rest of my band mates back through the venue. Suddenly, a hand grips my wrist, and I don't fight as I'm pulled into an unused changing room and the door slams and clicks behind me.

"What the fuck was that?" Audrey growls, staring down at me. She wears higher and higher heels every day, and I'm shrinking.

"W-What?" I stammer, swallowing. All the thrill of being on stage begins to leave as quickly as it arrived. Audrey slaps me across the face, jerking my head to the side. I push my hands down so they don't fly to it as a reflex.

"Well, firstly, that was a dreadful show. You're vocals are getting worse and worse." She snaps. I nod slowly in agreement. It's because I'm so hungry all the time and she is constantly blowing smoke down my throat.

"And what have I told you about flaunting about on stage with that fag Dallon?" She growls.

"It d-doesn't mean anything, I-I swear—"

"Bullshit!" She shouts, shoving me hard in the chest. Caught off guard, I stumble and fall to the floor. I try to push myself up on my elbows but she puts her foot on my chest. I'm shoved back down into the floorboards.

"You love me, alright? Stop fucking around with that faggot, or I swear I'll—" she cut off by her own idea, "I've said it all before and you still haven't got the message, so I need to make sure you never do it again. Take off your belt, take off your shirt and lean against the sofa." She orders, and I pause a moment in horror before weakly fumbling with my belt buckle. She takes her foot off my chest and pulls off my jacket, throwing it carelessly across the room. I'm shaking as she helps pull my t-shirt over my head. I crawl to the couch when she's done, pausing to remove my belt fully and hand it to her.

Then I kneel in front the couch with my elbows on it, back fully exposed, waiting. I heard her laugh before my own belt cracks down across my back once, twice, three times. She makes me count after a while. I can't not scream when it happens, so she takes off one of my socks and shoves it in my mouth.

"You love me, okay? Not some gay ass prick. You're never going to do that again, are you?" She whips with every sentence, and I feel hot blood and sweat running down my back. She's done this before, but never as badly. I give up on counting past twenty and she doesn't care. She pauses at about thirty, belt raised in mid air.

"Brendon! Brendon buddy, where are you?"

It's our security guard and close friend of mine, Zack.

"Stop crying and shut up." Audrey hisses to me. I realise that in this moment I could scream, everyone would run in, and Audrey would be put behind bars, but fear keeps me silent.

"He's probably off somewhere with Audrey," I hear a crew member tell him, "Send him a text and we'll meet him on the bus."

The voices fade away into silence. I whimper. Audrey sends the leather cracking down on my back a final time, before throwing it at me.

"Get dressed. We need to make it look like we were making out." She snaps. I pull on my t-shirt, whimpering again at the burning pain on my back. I haven't looked at it all yet, but I can feel the blood through my t-shirt.

"At least it's all black so nothing will show," Audrey mutters, helping to put my belt back on, grabbing at my crotch for good measure. She smiles at me once I'm all dressed, and for a second I forget everything and smile back.

"You know I love you, babe. You just have to be told sometimes."

"I know." I mumble, looking down sadly. She's right. I deserve what I get.