"Another one, Anthony," I grumbled to the young bartender, one of the only two people left in the joint filled with alcohol and faint music that no one actually listened to. However, once all the people were gone and the air was dilute of the conversations that once saturated it, you couldn't help but listen to it. The songs were ones that nobody had listened to in years, hits that we barely recognized because we heard them in our adolescence. They were horrible.
"Another one?" The just-turned-twenty-one-year-old who I could've sworn was my long lost brother repeated with a chuckle, setting down the glass he'd been cleaning for the past five minutes while watching me make the fifth pint I'd had that night disappear. "Brendon, another one and I'll have to take you home tonight."
"I-I'll be fine," I stammered, wearily raising my finger and miserably failing to point it in his direction. "It's been one year," I tried to explain, my words starting to slur, "One year since...since Spencer got killed. Just give me one more - for him - and I...I promise you I'll be out of here."
Before Anthony could give me an answer, the entrance of the bar was thrown opened, the sound of the street overpowering the sound of the overplayed pop song from the nineties. I turned my head in that direction, my drooping eyes growing wide. Standing in the doorway was a woman, her hair messed up and her clothes torn, as if they'd been forcefully ripped. The mascara that should've hugged her eyes was dripping down her cheeks, one streak stopping short by the cut that split her skin and being replaced by blood.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" Anthony asked the visitor, as opposed to informing her that the bar was closed like he had with a group not too long ago.
She nodded her head and hastily made her way to the bar, sitting down on the bar stool next to mine and asking, "Do you have a sweatshirt back there, by chance? One that someone maybe left behind?"
"Y-Yeah," He stuttered, as if he actually did. He bent down, beginning to search underneath the counter for her desired garment of clothing.
My eyes trailed over to the girl and I noticed the little things I didn't notice when she was farther away from me. Like the redness in her eyes, or the small diamond ring that was wrapped around the ring finger of her left hand. Her eyes flickered over to mine, telling me the story behind her disheveled appearance without even having to speak a single word.
Her husband lived a dangerous life, a life that she should've never been sucked into but was. She wanted more than he was willing to provide for her. She wanted him to give up the life he'd been living for her, settle down with her, move out of the nice apartment they had in the middle of the city to somewhere in the suburbs. She wanted him to find a more secure occupation, one that didn't require him to leave at odd hours and be gone for an undetermined amount of time, because she wanted a family with him at some point, and she wanted him to be there. And when they got married, he told her he would.
But months had past by, day after day filled with explosive arguments that would end in him hurting her, lashing out at her when his reached his boiling point. Seconds would pass where the world seemed to stop turning and time stopped ticking. He would stand over her, staring down at her as she tried to hold back the tears flooding her eyes and the scream that was building up in her throat. To avoid breaking down, showing her weak side to him, she'd escape into the next room over.
Another short amount of time would pass and guilt would flood over him, causing him to run after her, plead for her forgiveness, and whisper in her ear that he was sorry; that he was going to stop, and that he was going to change. He'd tell her they'd have their family, recite to her the dream she'd expressed to him time and time again. And she would nod her head, wordlessly accepting his apology.
Tonight, though? Tonight that argument didn't end like that. Tonight, the argument happened in a place where she couldn't escape, where he couldn't go after her and beg for her to give him another chance. He didn't even reach that point where he'd want her forgiveness. He just beat her, and beat her, until they reached a red light and she got out, running away, running here.
"Here you go," Anthony said, popping up from behind the counter and extending out a solid black pullover with a few stains on the front to her. She met Anthony's gaze and snatched the sweatshirt out of his hold, slipping it over her head and keeping the hood over her hair.
Just as she did that, the door swung open for a second time. This time, however, a man stood in the doorway. He was fuming, his chest rising up and down and his hands clenched into fists by his sides. "Did she come in here?" He yelled at Anthony and me, as if we were supposed to know who "she" was.
We did though, and "she" was sitting right beside me.
"I'm sorry, sir, but we're closed," Anthony replied to him calmly, "No one's come in here in the past fifteen minutes."
The evidently infuriated man grunted and stormed back out of the bar, slamming the door behind him. Anthony looked back over at me and then at the girl with the newly adorned, hand-me-down sweatshirt.
"Was he-"
"Can I have whatever he had?" She cut him off, pointing to the empty glass sitting in front of me in an attempt to avoid the situation at hand.
"Hey," I interjected, spinning on the bar stool so that I was facing her and leaning on the bar, or, at least trying to. My arm slipped and I fell into the bar, pausing for a moment before sitting back up and trying again, this time succeeding. I bit my lip before saying, "Answer his question."
"Yeah!" Anthony tried to second me, though he instantly shied back and tacked on more timidly, "You know, if you want to."
The girl tilted her head back down before pulling back the hood and heaving a sigh. "That...His name is Dallon. He's my...my husband, and...we just had a little argument, nothing you guys need to worry about."
"He cut you, though," I stated what she already knew.
"I'll be fine," She muttered, pushing her fingers through the sea of velvet flowing from her roots and restyling her hair to flow the other way, "I just...I need some time away from him right now."
"Why don't you come home with me?" I blurted out, a barrier blocking communication between my mind and my mouth.
I'd never attracted gazes quicker than I did in that moment, stunned even by myself as I realized what I had just said.
"Really?" The girl asked, a glint of hope flashing in her eyes.
"Really?" Anthony repeated her.
The disconnect between the two parts of my body still hadn't been fixed. "Yeah. I-I need a ride home anyways. You can give me one, right?" I looked over at the beauty sitting next to me and drunkenly smiled.
She nodded her head eagerly. "Yeah. Let me call up my driver." She hopped down from the bar stool and walked away for privacy, pulling her phone out and dialing a number.
"Do you really feel safe taking her home with you?" Anthony asked me worriedly under his breath.
I shrugged my shoulders, my intoxication preventing me from telling the difference between a safe situation and a dangerous one. "Hey, a free ride is a free ride, right? Besides, now you don't have to drive me home."
YOU ARE READING
Drive (Brendon Urie/P!ATD FanFic ft. Green Day)
Fanfiction==DISCONTINUED== Brendon never expected to be in the situation he was in. He never expected that his life would be at risk like it was now, and that he'd been willing to lose it in order to spare hers, the person responsible for all of this. With h...
