Skin✄Brendon Urie Fanfiction

6. Kai

     I'm not quite sure what happened today, so I began to list events in my head.

1. 9:47 am. Arrive to class late.
2. 10:01 am. Talk to Brendon Urie and somehow make plans with him and end up going to his house (@ 1:30)
3. 1:45-3:30pm.  Art (and flirting????)
4.  3:45pm. Pizza.
5. 4:00pm.  Weird noise.

    After the weird noise (whose source still remains a mystery to me) , Brendon had disappeared for about 15 minutes then came back, a little bit of a mess. Hair flopping over his forehead and a little short of breath. Almost immediately he told me that he should take me home.  I didn't ask why because, as strange as it was, it was none of my business.  So he drove me home, the drive silent until the end.

   I tucked my hair behind my ear.  "Um thanks for today."

   He gave me a small smile. "Anytime.  Sorry we had to cut short, I had something I had to deal with."

   I smiled back. "No it's okay, you really helped me out.  Thanks for the ride home too."

  "Again, anytime. I'll see you tomorrow."

  "Bye."

   With that, I opened the car door and walked up to  the apartment complex.  It was around 4:30pm, the sun crawling towards the horizon, the sky getting darker. I heard the car drive away and I searched my backpack for my keys.  I jogged up the narrow stairs until I reached my apartment. I couldn't find my keys, I probably forgot to take them with me, too busy trying to get to school on time, which ended up being a failed mission anyway.

Hopefully, Mom was still home. She usually leaves around now for her second shift. That woman never catches break. She normally doesn't come home until 9:30 in the morning, and by then, I'm usually at school (unlike today of course). Then she comes home for a break in between shifts at 2:30pm, meaning we see each other for a total of two hours a day, 14 hours a week.

    It can get very lonely, but I've been trying my best to adjust. Mom and Dad got divorced 3 years ago, when I was 13. He was an alcoholic.
    One day, Dad didn't come home. After him and Mom had a fight. That one day turned into many, and then days became months. Then there was the talk from Mom.
I asked her, "Where's Dad been?"

   A deep breath. "Honey, sometimes things just don't work out the way you want them to. Your dad and I didn't work out the way I wanted it to."

   Since the divorce, Mom hasn't been herself. A bit of a hypochondriac. Reading books about psychology and almost diagnosing herself with illnesses she didn't have. After that she would read books with titles that usually were like: Living As A Single Mother,  or Coping With Divorce.

  I remember feeling so much anger for my father, built up and boiling. Eventually, the anger clawed its way out of my belly and I puked it up, leaving me with a nasty aftertaste.

And the aftertaste was worse than the anger. Everything was dull and tiring and almost nothing brought me out of my gloom. For a year, I felt like I was drowning and screaming for help but no one could hear me.

Until I found art. Not just painting and drawing, I found the art of music and found that those two things were more helpful than the endless trips to the school counselor. The music that said, "Stay alive," then pulled me out of the water. And being able to express myself without using words, through art.