I'm Brendon Urie's Daughter

Chapter 4

"Do you wanna eat?" Mom asked. I shook my head no and took a shaky breath.

Dad was arguing with the manager regarding the broken bathroom door. The manager was almost shouting, saying that he could've asked for the key. Dumbass. It's not like the employees would hand my dad the key to the bathroom willingly just because he asked for it.

Dad scoffed. "Seriously? My daughter got physically- and emotionally- assaulted and threatened and you're fussing over a bathroom door? What kind of shitty-?"

"Sir," the manager cut off, "just because you're the oh-so-famous Brendon Urie-"

"You're going off the rails here, old man," Dad yelled. "It's not me we're talking about here, alright? Screw that goddamn door. I'm leaving with my family. If you even dare bug me about it, I'll hand you your ass."

Dad rubbed his face with both of his hands and looked at me. "You still wanna eat?" he murmured, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Lost my appetite," I said hoarsely. "But some water would be really nice."

He nodded and stood up. As he walked to the counter, a little girl of about twelve went up to him, smiling. She held out a pen and a notebook. She was asking for an autograph. Dad forced a smile on his face and signed the notebook.

"Thank you!" I heard the kid say, before she ran back to her table, jumping up and down.

Dad walked towards me with a bottle of water. He studied me, concern written all over his face.

I stood and wrapped my arms around him. "I'm fine, dad. A little shaken, but I'm fine."

He sighed and rested his chin on the crown of my head, wrapping his arms around me tightly. "Are you sure?"

That's a good question, I wanted to say. Am I sure?

Instead of answering, I just took my bag and headed outside and walked to the parking lot, the rest tailing me.

Uncle Dallon, though, had long legs and before I knew it, he was right beside me, slowing down his pace. He kept glancing at me out of the corner of his eye. Was he going to say something?

"What is it?" I asked him.

"You lied to your dad when you said you're fine, didn't you?" he asked me softly.

I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat. "No. I didn't."

He clucked his tongue and shook his head. "He knows. Everyone knows. Breanna, why didn't you wanna tell him the truth? You're terrified. You hide it well, but... we know you. We're family. And don't you dare, for one moment, be afraid to open up to us if you need to. We'll always be there for you."

My eyes burned. I stopped and turned to look at my uncle. From the corner of my eye, I noticed that the others did, too. They stood there, watching- waiting for what I was about to say. I sighed, the tears in my eyes threatening to fall. "Yes, Uncle Dal, I lied about being fine. You're right; I'm terrified. But I didn't tell dad or anyone else that because it is my burden to bear. I don't want anyone else to feel worried for me. I don't want to be a problem- a burden- for anyone. I'm afraid that if I depend on anyone too much, it'll hurt a lot when they tire of me and my worries and problems. I'm scared."

He looked at me with something like pity in his eyes. I didn't want anyone to pity me. I wanted them to understand me.

"Yanna," he said. "I'm not your father so I have no right whatsoever to say this, but Brendon will never tire of you. And... I think you should be telling him, not me."