The Death Of A Bachelor - Brendon Urie teacherxstudent fanfic au

CHAPTER TWENTYTWO PARENT'S EVENING

Everything was fine for a while. A few days later I got a letter in homeroom about parent's evening, which I was going to attend this year. I stayed at Brendon's house a few nights, and although we had been dating about three weeks now, we hadn't had sex.

I never knew walking into an auditorium full of teachers and parents would be so terrifying. One wrong move and I could touch someone's butt. I saw Brendon at the far other side, already talking to a kid called Hayley's parents. I walked closer to his table and when Hayley left, I sat down at a chair, Pete and Patrick then doing the same.

"So, you're Scarlet's guardians right?"

Pete nodded.

"Well, at the start of the year, she wasn't doing too well..."

Brendon glanced at me. I was almost having a panic attack - not only was I terrible at English at the start of the year, but Pete and Patrick knew one of these teachers had kissed me. I felt a tug on my hand and soon realised Brendon was holding my hand, which made me calm down a bit.

"...but since then she's made great progress. She's at the top of her class, too. Her stories are amazing."

He took a portfolio from a stack of others; mine was larger than the rest.

"She has a brilliant mind and I can't see why she wouldn't be able to write a book and become a best selling author."

Pete and Patrick answered questions, asked questions and said things that needed to be questioned (for example when Pete said he'd rather marry a pizza than have good grades at school which was pretty odd).

When we got up and Pete and Patrick were turned around, Brendon smiled at me. I smiled back.

***

"You don't think I was too enthusiastic do you? I mean, they weren't suspicious or anything?" Brendon asked, wiping his glasses with his shirt.

"Nah, they bought me some Doritos for my high English score, though, so thanks for exaggerating." I said, tapping my pencil on my desk.

"I wasn't. I genuinely think you could be a best selling author."

"That women who wrote 50 Shades Of Grey was terrible at what she did, but she wrote she best selling book of all time, more than Harry Potter."

"Well you're ten times better than EL James."

The bell sounded loudly, causing teenagers to march into the drama/English classroom, so we stopped talking.

About 45 minutes into the lesson, a huge bang came from the other side of the school, but it was so loud we could hear it clear as day back here. A few people turned their heads and wondered what caused the sound, and that's when the screaming started.

I had never heard so many people at once create such bloodcurdling screams.

It's a gunshot. I thought. All those times I had seen schools get shot up on the news, and now it's happening to me.

I could picture the dramatic attention seekers being interviewed on the news already. They'd take cry and tell how they almost got shot, when they weren't even in that day.

Loud booming footsteps could be heard clearly, coming closer to our classroom. I wondered why I could here it so well in such a noisy class, but then I realised it was because they were all like me - listening so intently, so scared for their lives.
A bullet shattered through the thick wooden door which caused wood to spew everywhere.

"Scarlet- everyone, under the desks now!" Brendon yelled.

Everyone scattered under their desks and as I gripped the legs of my table, as tears feel freely from the west and onto the floor, I looked at Brendon. He was having the most dramatic panic attack I've ever witnessed in my life. He looked up at me and ceased what he was doing for a moment before mouthing to me:
I love you.

The first and last time we'd ever say 'I love you' to each other.

I mouthed it back slower.
I love y--

I was interrupted by the door being kicked open, and as the shooter walked in, I glanced at his face.

That's Tate Langdon. He used to be in my Math class.

I was so shocked I didn't realise till he threatened me by pointing the shotgun at my face with Brendon doubled over, clutching his bloody stomach, that he was telling my to stand against the wall.