THIS IS NOT GOSPEL • (Brendon Urie)

Chapter 1 • Third Row

God had a plan for all of us.

That's what they told me. And I lived by that quote my whole life. God gave me direction, helped shaped my values, I never once questioned him. I always remained in my small circle of Christian friends, and it was great, we all got along well. I didn't have the need to interact with anyone else. Even if I wanted to, my father would make sure I didn't.

I forgot to mention, my father is a pastor. Great. What a blessing. He has always been there for me, however, my mother hasn't. She left when I was very young. My father told me she chose to follow the wrong path. He never liked to speak about her. I only very recently started talking to my mother, but my father didn't know. He didn't have to know right? But god, it felt so wrong to lie to him.

Just like I felt it was wrong to be staring at the boy two rows behind us during service. I couldn't stop. Even when I tried to concentrate on what my father was speaking about, I couldn't. My stepmother kept telling me to look forward and to stop looking around. I hated sitting in the front row. You couldn't move. You couldn't speak. All you had to do was sit with your legs gracefully crossed, hands resting on top of each other on your lap as you looked at the pastor. Being the pastor's daughter was tough. People always expected you to have a particular personality, and if you didn't have it, you would be looked down upon. I was supposed to be looked up to, I was the "role model" to the youth in our community. Sometimes I wish that wasn't the case, that way I would stop overthinking every decision I made and think less about consequences.

I could feel that boy's eyes piercing holes through the back of my head. Every time I slightly turned around, he would give me a mischievous smile. He was up to something. Something not good. And I didn't want to be apart of it.

I had never seen him around until last week. My stepmother told me they were a nice small family, just moved here from Nevada. They looked very friendly, his parents chuckled slightly every time my dad would crack a joke. They looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary.

I tugged the ends of my skirt, trying to straighten them out. I hated lace. The texture felt abnormal and strange to my touch. It felt like I was rubbing my fingertips on blunt sandpaper. If I ever got married, I would make sure I wouldn't have any lace on my dress, it's rough surface would cling onto my jewellery and nails, no thank you.

I felt my phone buzz on my thigh, my stepmother jerked her head around and looked at it.

"Switch it off." She hissed.

I ignored it and tried to focus on what my father was speaking about. Something about cleansing your body from hateful thoughts. It didn't really interest me, cleansing your body from hateful thoughts is nearly impossible. Everyone has hateful thoughts, even if we try to ignore them, they are still there in the back of our mind. I remember my father once saying that the people we saw in dreams were just different the characteristics we had. When you dream of someone really selfish and mean, it is just reflecting that you have that characteristic. We don't like to view ourselves that way so instead of us dreaming we are this trait, our brain made up a person so that "they" had that trait instead.

My phone buzzed again. This time I decided to switch it off because not only was it starting to annoy my stepmother, it also started to tick me off as well.

But I wanted to check my notifications. I knew that if I didn't, it would bug me for the rest of service.

"May I be excused for a moment?" I whispered.

My stepmother nodded, as she moved
her legs out of the way and allowed me to walk to the restroom.
I hated getting up in the middle of a speech because everyone would stare at you until you were completely gone. And I really hated it when people stared at me. Even if they weren't, it felt like they were. Then I would imagine the different judgments that would be made just when they would catch the glimpse of me and it made me feel uneasy.

I made sure I was completely out of sight before taking my phone out.
One notification was about me having low storage. The other was a text from Tyler.

Tyler
,,,(who is that boy and why does he keep staring at you? Kinda creepy.)

Tyler had noticed too.

,,,(I don't know, but I can't stop looking at him, I feel so weird)

I texted.

,,,(If your father finds out then you're dead. Rip)

Tyler reminded me of the tough consequences. Again with the consequences, I wish I could escape then just for once.

,,,(I hope he doesn't)

I turned off my phone and walked back to the main hall, service was finished and people were murmuring to each other.

I walked over to Tyler, he was occupied with his phone, I gave him a nudge and he turned around.
He stood up, walking outside as I followed and then stopped in front of the fence staring at me.

"What." I said.

"You know what." He said, crossing his arms.

"Jesus Tyler, I was only staring at him because he was staring at me." I said, shrugging my shoulders.

"Sure." He said, he looked behind me and pointed.

"Your dad is calling you. Go." He said.

I waved goodbye to Tyler and went back inside. My stepmother was standing near the refreshment table and beside her was the new family. And there he was, standing there, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, hands in pockets. He stared at me, looking me up and down the whole way.

I stood beside my stepmother, my father following me.
"I would like you to meet my daughter Sarah." He said, placing his hands on my shoulders.

"Sarah this is Mr and Mrs Urie. And this their son."

"Brendon." The boy said, taking his hand out of his pocket and shaking mine.
I nodded, giving them a warm smile.

"Welcome." I said, smiling.

"You have a very beautiful daughter." He said, giving me that mischievous smile that made me feel uneasy.
My heart skipped a beat and I looked over at my father. He chuckled.

"Thank you." He said.

That was close. There he stood with his perfectly gelled hair, one loose strand resting on his forehead.
He was a beautiful creation from God. But I could sense that his intentions were not godlike at all.
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