hømetøwn

• : / forty two / : •

I knew before we started that it would be a long car ride. I sat in the passenger seat, feeling like an intruder. There was a part of me that almost wanted to move into the back. Brendon drove with an unfamiliar rigidity. I stole glances at him as he wove between lanes. It was impossible not to think of the first night we met. He was so relaxed then. He had leaned back in his seat, an easy smile on his face, drumming his thumbs against the wheel. We had eaten chicken nuggets and listened to Welcome to the Black Parade. It felt like millions of years ago. I imagined the time stretching between then and now, and all the flames that chased me here. Was I the same person? Was I going crazy? Brendon's eyes were different now. They were heavy, weighed down, scared. When he looked at me, there was something shifted in his expression. Something fearful. He was scared of me. And I guess I didn't blame him now. If I were in his place, I'd be scared of me too.

"Do you want to play some music?" he said.

I studied my kneecaps. He wasn't used to silence. He never liked to drive without listening to music.

"Sure," I said.

He handed me his phone and aux cord. I fumbled with it, trying to pull up Spotify. I tried not to notice the name Isabella in his notifications. What if I played The Black Parade again? Could I trick him into remembering our beginning? Could that make him want to try again – or at least keep going for a little while longer?

I didn't have the courage to find out.

Birdy's cover of Skinny Love filtered through the speakers. Brendon didn't react. I closed my eyes and let the cold piano fall over me. Her haunting voice floated everywhere. It was the perfect song for how I felt right now.

I wondered if Brendon would make any other attempts at speaking with me. I wondered if I wanted him to. Honestly, I wasn't sure anymore. Every time we spoke, all I could hear was that I was being left behind. No, not left behind. This felt worse than being left behind. This was being taken back. What was waiting for me back there? Back...home? Who was waiting for me there? Connor? Angie? Josh?

The thought of Josh sent a harsh sting through my body. Josh. The night on the rooftop surged back to me in fractured pieces. He wanted me then. How incredible, that there was a time when both Josh and Brendon wanted me to be with them. Now I could be with neither of them. And it was my fault.

Wasn't it?

It was so easy to slip into the blame. Instinctual. I was so used to guilt that refusing it felt wrong. But this whole thing was insane. I didn't light Brendon's apartment on fire. I was sure of it. How could I? I was with Josh, on the rooftop. I didn't put those matches in my pocket. So how did they get there? And why the hell was Connor in this city – why did he come to see me? Who had his phone? Who was behind all of this? And why were they doing it?

At least Brendon knew better now. This is why you don't take strangers home to live with you.

Brendon laughed. It was a forced, chopped laugh, but a laugh all the same. I realized, belatedly, that I had said that last bit out loud. Heat flared across my face.

"You're not a stranger anymore. But yeah. I guess," he said. "I just thought...never mind."

I wasn't going to push him to continue. Maybe a week ago, I would have. But now I felt like I was scarcely in a position to exist alongside him. I refused to make myself any bigger than I had to.

There was a long, heavy pause. Then he kept going anyway. I think it's because he was scared of the silence.

"I know this whole thing is just. Brutal. And I never wanted this for you."