Demons ( A Brendon Urie a.u )

8.

(Brendon's pov)

Ryan came home, but you wouldn't know unless you saw him walk through the door. He went straight to his room and slammed his door.

Good thing he closed it.

Camilla seemed uneasy, so was I, but I kept my feelings contained, she goes through enough.

I put my arm around her shoulder, in hopes of calming her down a little bit. To my relief, she layed her head into me, and I feel her relax into my chest.

I smiled, looking up at the TV. I'm not sure what we were watching, but Camilla said said she was putting on something along the lines of "Grey's Anatomy". I didn't care for it, but anything she likes to watch I'm up for it.

"Bren?" Camilla asked quietly, sitting up.

"Yeah Cami?" I replied, pausing the show.

"Do you care if I go upstairs to talk to Ryan?" She asks again, looking up to me.

"I don't care, just be careful." I nodded, her going upstairs.

My uneasiness began to go up when the house grew silent for a few minutes.

Then it wasn't so silent.

*********************************
(Camilla's pov:)

I walked up the stairs, building up whatever confidence I had left. The only thing that stood out to me the most though, was the overpowering stench of alcohol.

Surprisingly, it was even stronger then my house.

I knocked on the door, all I heard was a grunt. My hands were shaky and sweaty as I twisted the metal doorknob to his door.

I totally expected him to be passed out on his floor, but that was the total opposite.

As I opened the door, a mixture of beer and vodka smell practically hit me in the face. Mostly my nose, but still.

Ryan was playing video games, light, sweaty brown hair stuck to his forehead. He didn't look to me, he just continued to play his infamous video game.

Bottles of all different alcohol was placed all over the room. Jack Daniel's, Captain Morgan, Bud light, and more. Most of which being empty. This isn't Ryan. How did he get all of this anyways? Me and him are underage.

"Ryan? What is all this?" I questioned, holding up a half-empty bottle of beer.

"Hey, I was drinking that." Ryan slurs, getting up from his position on the bed.

"Where did you get all of this?" I questioned again, raising my voice.

"Boy, aren't you just full of questions today." He says, smirking.

"Ryan." I arch my eyebrow, serious now.

"That's for me to know and for you to never find out." He slurs again, tripping over his own feet before ripping the bottle out of my hands.

"Also, leave," he starts, "you're ruining my vibe."

"What vibe am I ruining? Getting sh*tfaced drunk?" I said, throwing my hands up.

"Yeah, pretty much." He burps before gulping down the rest of the beer.

"This isn't like you." I say, watching Ryan resume his game.

"'This isn't like you!' He mocks, his voice going a few octaves higher.

My face turns red. I'm not gonna lie, I was embarrassed.

"Are you always this bi*chy and annoying or is it just me?" He chuckles and I gasp.

He never swears at me. Ever.

"You're drunk Ryan. You don't mean that." I whisper, shocked.

"A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts Camilla." He smiles.

"I don't want to hear it." I say, fighting back tears.

"If you're so butthurt, get out." He says, opening another bottle of beer.

"Stop." I choked out.

"Get. Out." He grits his teeth.

"You're going to hurt yourself, Ry." I say quietly.

"I said get the f*ck OUT!" He screams, shoving me out of the room, so hard I fell to the floor with a thud.

He slammed his door, a picture frame falling from its place on the wall to the floor, shaddering into a million pieces.

To my horror, it was of me and Ryan.

I was on the floor on my back, pain shooting all over my body, mainly on my head.

I heard footsteps, fast and quick, coming up the stairs.

Brendon appeared from the stairway, practically sprinting towards me.

"Camilla!" He shouted, not helping my splitting headache.

He kneeled over to my side, eyes furiously searching my face.

"Are you okay? Did he do this to you?" He said, his voice frantic.

"My... My head." I croaked out, talking was painful.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" He asks, holding up his hand.

"Uh, I think 4?" I winced, becoming dizzy.

"Baby, it was three." He frowned, kissing my forehead, "I think you have a concussion."

He looked over at the broken picture frame, and then to me, anger taking over his concerned face.

He gets up, going closer to Ryan's door, "I'm going to call an ambulance, after I kick his sorry ass."

"Why not now?" I ask, confused.

"Because I have a feeling that he might need one also after I'm done." He says, opening Ryan's door and slamming the door behind him.

I heard the sound of yelling and pounding on the floor, before the pain in my head got too much.

Black was all I saw after that.