♡Sweetheart♡ ||Brendon Urie x Reader||

Chapter 16

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I remember myself running. Not the reason, not the destination, just the fact itself.

I ran.

I ran with feet light enough to not make a sound. They were only covered by socks, making the hardwood slippery.

I ran to a door which I stopped at, involuntarily beginning to pick the lock.

My feet then became audible—for the first time that night—on the creaky wooden stairs leading down, and my nose became aware of the putrid stench of iron, metal, and sweat. All minimal sounds occurring in that room came to a halt all at once.

I came face to face with him, my terrified expression meeting his, as my footsteps stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

I was confused. I wanted to know what was going on. But the me in this scene knew exactly what was happening, and I had no control over my body. The me from this memory had full power over my actions. "No. . . Brendon? What the hell did you do?! I knew it, Brendon. I knew you were. . . I. . . I have to. . ."

"[Y/n], please!" The man in front of me was desperate, pleading, as I stumbled away in my best attempt to run. His eyes could do all of the speaking for him, but his lips were too impatient. He spoke as if every word counted, and every word that came out would be important. "I can explain. This isn't my fault—I mean, it is—but it isn't. I can explain!"

I shook my head at him, heartbroken. I looked down at my feet, avoiding those eyes. The ones that displayed raw misery. The ones that were once so dark and mischievous. The ones with his regretful actions fogging up his vision. The ones that shone with guilt.

And at that moment, the ones with so much desperation everything else was overrun.

But I didn't feel heartbroken in reality. I was confused. Nothing more, nothing less. However, in this memory I must have been upset, to say the least. My palms sweat and my face stiffened as if I could cry, but I didn't understand why. I was simply an intruder in my own body: I had no control over what I did or what I felt, but was conscious of my own separate thoughts.

"N. . . No. . ." I attempted to run as quickly as possible away from him. I tried and tried, but my legs shook and my arms trembled. "Don't come near me, Urie! Don't!"

Brendon's grip on the object in his hand tightened at my lack of using his first name, and he dropped the metal contraption he was holding. When I thought he would walk toward me, he backed up.

"I'm sorry. . . God, I'm so sorry. . ."

I took this as my cue to run. To try to get help. To find my father and ask him for guidance. But he sensed my plan and ran behind me, up the stairs, grabbed a key from his back pocket, and locked the door. I was trapped in this basement with him.

"No! You psycho! Let me go! Let me out!" I cried as I tried my best to snatch the key from him, but he dropped it down a drain connected to his concrete floor. I stared horrified down at my lost escape. There was no easy way out anymore. No way that he couldn't stop me. If I just had that key, maybe things would have turned out differently.

"Please, just give me a chance, [y/n]."

I shook my head. "I don't want your explanation." My gaze shot to the mess he had created. His inhumane drawings. His disgusting depictions of violence. The blueprints that littered the floor. "I won't forgive you even if you tell me. You're a scumbag, Brendon Urie! An absolute scumbag!"