Tutorial | Brendon Urie

Chapter Seventeen

The music was softer here, not as intrusive. It was still affecting me like it had been, but at least now I could hear my own dirty thoughts.

The kitchen was so different to the lounge room. The lounge room was warm and dark. The kitchen was light and cool. It was open, fresh like newly cut crystal. The countertops were white marble, the splashback was white tile, the sink and appliances were almost platinum. Almost white gold. On the kitchen table was a hydrangea arrangement, white, manicured, manufactured like the rest of this showhome kitchen. I slowly walked behind the island counter, dragging my hand across the clean cold marble. This whole room gives me a strange feeling of nostalgia.

I breathe in deeply, taking advantage of this brief moment of solitude. Becoming lost in my thoughts, I slip into prayer. I pray for forgiveness. I couldn't possibly predict what this night would bring, but I know it will not be pure. I pray for strength. Brendon has unearthed something ungodly from within me. I pray for endurance. He's a challenge.

I hear a few distant footsteps creak across the wood floors, even over the music. I turn around.

Brendon leans against the doorframe of the arch I had only just waltzed through. "That wasn't difficult."

"It wasn't supposed to be." I drop my shoulder a little bit and my bra strap slips. He chews on his lower lip and tears his hand through his hair.

I can't describe the kind of control I feel. It's like holding the reigns of a chariot of bears. It's like being in the front seat of a fighter jet. If you've ever held a gun, I'm holding a cannon. I'm holding a cannon and it's pointed at a single target. That's power.

I slink away from behind the marble island and step towards him. He's already walking towards me. He's only a few feet from me. He's at my toes.

"What's good here?" He moves around me. My eyes and body watch him walk to the sparkling fridge. The huge doors open with an unpleasant sucking sound.

I see your move. I raise you a skirt.

I unzip the back between the pleats silently and let it drop to the floor. The soft thud causes him to turn around.

"I don't know. You tell me." I kick the skirt resting on my foot to the side. In my little black ensemble, I am freezing cold and smoking hot.

He floats his gaze from my ankles to my neck to my eyes and then back to the white light of the fridge. His knuckles match this pristine kitchen – white around the fridge's handle.

"There's some kind of cake in here."

"What does it look like?" I come a little closer.

"It looks like cheesecake, I think." His voice is almost trembling. I'm at his heels now.

"Let me see," I twist my arms under his and run my hands down his bare, sweat glazed chest. I peek my nose over his shoulder to have a look at whatever was in the fridge. "Yeah, that does kind of look like cheesecake," I whisper into his shoulder.

My hands have travelled below his waist now. As they're about to reach his belt, he slams the fridge door shut and spins around.

"Not so fast," he wags his finger at me like I'm a child. "I don't just take my clothes off for anyone."

"Really?" I ignore his objection and reach for his belt anyway. "Well, luckily I'm not anyone."

I undo his belt and throw it by my skirt. He reaches under my legs and picks me up onto the kitchen counter. The frozen marble shocks my skin and my back reflexively arches into him. A slight gasp escapes my now trembling lips.