Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time

Chapter 28

 (Warnings: brief purging and self mutilation)

The hours tick by as Brendon lies awake, continuously playing the terrible dream in his mind. The sun shines through the curtains, but the light doesn't reassure any hope; doesn't reassure sanity. The musician sits up, feeling the subtle atmosphere around him embrace his outer shell. This body didn't feel like his, so his mind separates for a few moments. His guts feel unsettled, his soul is heavy, and his stomach is queasy. The eye of his mind dips into an abyss, and it creates a tightness in his core. It's almost as though he holds a power he doesn't want to accept.

He gets out of bed, each movement is like trying to break free from inside a coffin buried six feet under. He slips on clothes, reminding himself that routine is hiding and hiding is safe. Dreams are only dreams. The one thing he knows he truly can't face is himself in the mirror, so he avoids it like the plaque. His body and mind are rejecting each other enough. He walks into the kitchen, continuing routine. He makes himself a cup of coffee. His dogs rush over and jump up on his legs, but he refuses to acknowledge their existence.

While he sits at the table, coffee in hand, his phone briefly buzzes. He looks to the direction of the marble countertop where his phone is placed.

'Check your phone, Brendon, be a little more human.' He thinks. His vessel arises from the chair as he walks over and picks up his phone. It's a text from Pete. The musician's grip tightens as the words in his dream rush through his mind. What he wanted to do to someone he considered a good friend...

He decides not to reply, proceeding to turn off his phone all together.

Sarah walks in. She's expressionless as she goes to the fridge and takes out leftovers from a dinner Brendon had no part in. He couldn't blame her for avoiding him, even if it broke his heart. She was a light for him, but now even she seemed just as dismal as the world that manifested before him. He doesn't want this... to feel lost in his own home... his own body.

He watches as Sarah heats up her food in the microwave. He doesn't even bother to say good morning. Because it's not good, and there's no point in lying.

She looks over, finally noticing his existence and says, "Hey, Bren."

"Hey." He replies, letting the word crumble out of his mouth as though he was on his deathbed. Death is something he now wants, but only if that meant nonexistence. That hope of a long sleep filled with nothingness was a pipe dream. He didn't want to truly admit it to himself, but there's something after death... he must be something after death. He's already dead, and he's been dead.

His hands grip the sides of the table as his jaw begins to clench. He can feel tears of ignorance and unacceptance start to build up in his eyes.

"Babe?" Sarah's voice coos; sounding almost muted and off in the distance.

Brendon moves his head in the direction of her voice, struggling to release his grip. The musician then feels a gentle hand on his back as he pushes his attempts to relax. He closes his eyes for a second, absorbing her touch.

He eventually musters, "Sorry."

There's a pause before Sarah says, "I'm going out again tonight."

"Okay."

"Okay." Sarah finishes, going back to her leftovers by the coffee maker.

The fact that she can't even sit with him reassures the ever growing distance. He knows he's the one to keep pushing her away, but she shouldn't be around such toxicity anymore. Brendon is becoming something unlike himself, he'd rather be locked in a cage than have it be exposed to her... even if sometimes he thinks her touch just might save him from himself...