Little Deaths In Musical Beds (Brendon Urie)

Chapter Eleven: I'm Going Numb. I've Been Hijacked.

(Brendon's POV)

Recording the album is a nice distraction from the emptiness I am feeling. All I want to do is make everyone proud, my parents, Spencer, Brent, Ryan but most of all Liri. I should never have gotten that drunk. I should have told her about Ryan. What the fuck is wrong with me? She is everything to me. If she asked me to drop Ryan right now, I would, in fact, I have. Nothing has happened between us since we got here a month ago, and I'm totally fine with that...I think.

Ryan looks at me like I should be doing something else other than sitting on the couch staring at my phone. He doesn't understand. I miss her. I'm dying without her. I can't take it. I'm going to lose my fucking mind if she doesn't talk to me soon. I've apologized through texts and voicemails a million times but still nothing, and I think I've royally fucked up. What if she doesn't forgive me? I start to lose my breath. I put my hand over my chest and lean over. I don't think I'd make it. No, I'm sure I wouldn't. I would die. I feel a hand on my shoulder, and I jump.

"You okay man?" Spencer asks genuinely concerned.

I sit back up trying to regain my composure, composure, wait that's it!

"Ryan!" I spring up from the couch, "The line in that song," I tell him, "The one we couldn't figure out I-"

He cuts me off, "You mean the one that's figured out but needs work?"

Why did he always have to correct me? Does my opinion not matter? Am I just a voice to him? Suddenly, I don't feel like telling him my idea anymore. I feel like getting the fuck out of here. I laugh, shake my head and turn on my feet then head for the door.

"Hey!" Ryan calls after me, "Aren't you going to tell us whatever it was that you were so exuberant about a second ago?"

"I lost it," I'm lying, and he knows it. He lets me walk out the door, and I'm not surprised. I lean against the building and pull a cigarette out of my pack. I never smoked before I joined the band but somehow I picked it up, and it was a habit I didn't want to get rid of. I wish I had a joint, that would be far better, but I guess the nicotine is going to have to do for now. After I light it, I inhale deeply letting my head fall against the building as well. I close my eyes and try not to think about her. I fail miserably because she is the first thing that shoots across the back of my eyelids. Her face haunts me, that smile, the one that is only for me, it's burnt into my memory, married to the temporal lobe in my brain. Unless I am up for a lobotomy she's not going anywhere anytime soon, at least the memory of her isn't.

The door to the studio opens, and I turn my head as I stub out my cigarette with my foot. It's Ryan. I fold my arms; it's a clear indication that he's not invited into my personal space.

"We have to talk," his voice is stern.

"So talk," I nod my head in his direction.

He sighs heavily like he's annoyed with me. Well, fuck him.

"Brendon," he begins, "I know you miss her. I get it," but he doesn't. How can he?

"But we're doing something really important here. I need you here with us, not off in la-la land."

What? What did he just say to me? I shake my head in disbelief he could be so cold about it.

"Are you fucking serious?" I snap at him, "I am here Ryan!" My voice is raised, and my temper is starting to flare. I'm digging what nails I have into my palms.

"No Brendon, you're not," he scolds me, "You're constantly on your phone or out here smoking. Your head is in the clouds, and I need it down here on earth. In the real fucking world."

That did it. He pushed me too far with that.

"Fuck you Ryan," I make sure my tone cuts, "You're just jealous I'm not all over you," and it's true. I know it is. He doesn't know how hard this is, to have to choose between them. It's fucking torture, and I can't stand it, but I love her. I can't lose her. I don't want to lose him either, god why can't he just understand?

"Really Urie?" He laughs, "You think everyone just wants your cock?" The smile doesn't leave his face, "I've got news for you," he puts his hand on my shoulder and leans down until his mouth is by my ear, "I don't want it, and neither does your precious Liri."

The words cut fucking deep and they'll leave a scar. I back up quickly, the tears come fast. They are hot and angry. My hands drop to my side, but my fists are still clenched. I want to hit him. I want to beat the fucking shit out of him, but I won't. I know I won't, because there is a reason his words cut so deep. There is a reason he affects me so much. There is a reason he makes me feel small when I am around him. The truth? The guy who stands in front of me, the guy who used linguistics to inflict a wound, he's the deepest secret that nobody knows. Part of me is part of him and vice versa. I can't explain it, and I wouldn't even if I was asked. I guess I love him too. No, I do love him. That's the problem.