Flipping Coins

Many would say that Brendon was the type of guy to act on impulse. Few would say that Brendon was the type of guy who thought before he spoke. But everyone who knew Brendon knew this--that Brendon was, in every way, the type of guy to be good-natured throughout pretty much every situation. That was just Brendon for you.

So when Ryan called him up on my home phone (he answered before the second dial tone could even drone a tune) to tell him he was holding me captive at my apartment, of course he wasn’t upset, angry, displeased, or unhappy in any way. He was happy, excited, relieved, and giddy, just like always.

About five minutes after calling Brendon, Ryan declared that he was going to go “get some fresh air”, and he left my side on the loveseat. A second or two after Ryan’s proclamation, I heard my frontdoor shut, but the echoing footsteps actually grew louder instead of fading out.

I sat up, knowing that the footsteps were due to pass the corner and face the living room any moment now.

“Did you forget somethi---“ I began but immediately stopped when the pounding of steps ended right before me.

Brendon stood in the middle of my cluttered, relatively diminutive excuse for a room--looking as surprised to see me as I was to see him. His hair had not been groomed today; rather it was tactlessly patted and smoothed down to form what looked like an upturned bird’s nest. His dark eyes were larger than normal today, and the murky circles created from sleep deprivation no longer clouded the skin around them. Brendon’s outfit didn’t match, which made him seem inferior in style with Ray Charles…and yet he was still adorably handsome. How he pulls it off, I have no clue. He’s a rockstar (cause that explains everything that’s unexplainable when it comes to Brendon Urie.)

Due to my intense examination with Brendon’s appearance, I hadn’t noticed that a full minute had passed that was as silent and awkward as death itself. Brendon could only tolerate this kind of environment for so long, so therefore he was the first to speak.

Clearing his throat, he swept a hand through the disheveled bangs that hung over his forehead as he made weak conversation, “So…now would be a good time for that Kool Aid dude to burst through the wall, huh?” He laughed nervously.

“As long as he pays for the damages, I guess so,” I said thoughtfully, smiling when Brendon shot a grin my way.

Brendon sighed, his celebrity-worthy smile drifting off a few seconds after mine had dispersed. I watched his eyes fall to the floor, then follow some invisible trail before he eventually turned around to look at something behind him. I leaned in my seat to see what he was so interested in looking at, but it was all in vain because his next question said it all.

Zipping back around to send me a raised eyebrow, Brendon asked so quickly it took me more than a second to realize what he had said, “Why are there boxes everywhere? Are you moving apartments?”

I stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment. When I realized just how long my pause had been, I finally struggled to create the words, “Oh! Uhh….” I fiddled with a strand of fabric coming loose on the sofa I was sitting on. “Well, the thing is, Brendon---“

He took a step forward, his stare increasingly intense. “Why are you moving apartments? This one seems perfectly fine to me.”

“Brendon, I’m not moving---“

“Besides,” he intercepted my speech once more, taking two steps closer, “you like a tiny space anyways. You told me that it suited you, and it does, Ems. I like what you’ve done to the place, and moving out would be a terrible loss for---“

“I’m not moving apartments!” I yelled over his naturally articulate voice. When his mouth snapped shut and all he did was stare at me, I continued in a much more reserved tone, “I’m not moving apartments, Bren. I-I’m leaving Vegas. I’m leaving Nevada.”

His reaction was expected, but painful. He froze, staring at me with glazed, distant brown eyes, and it took a while to thaw him out of the blank mode he was under.

“Here,” I mumbled, taking Brendon’s arm in both hands, “take a seat.” Then I slowly guided him to parking himself on the sofa before scurrying away to my kitchen.

When I returned, I carried a rejuvenating glass of orange juice and slumped down next to Brendon, whom was still blankly ogling at the floor.

“Drink this,” I ordered, placing the cold glass into Brendon’s hand. “It’ll help you feel better.”

When he didn’t respond but simply kept hold of the glass in his hand, I decided to try a little humor.

“Don’t worry--it’s not Kool Aid. That red bastard knows good and well who owns this place, and messing up these walls is a suicide mission. Besides, red is my favorite flavor.” I licked my lips, emphasizing the sleek sound of saliva on my lips.

Brendon’s lips twitched, and I think he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite muster up enough muscles in his jaw to work with him.

After a while, I gave up and decided to have a staring contest with my unswept floor while similantiously picking at my nails--a trick I had picked up from the infamous Ryan Ross. I thought it impossible to wake Brendon up from his paralyzed state, but I was wrong.

A few minutes after my surrender, a shaky movement from beside me caught my peripheral vision, and I turned to see Brendon unsteadily drawing the cup of yellow substance to his lips. I immediately went to help him, but he shook his head. Therefore, I went back to my staring contest with the floorboards, doing some hardcore thinking all the while.

Eventually, Brendon eliminated his jumpy nerves and went back to his fluent, normal movements, and now sipped the orange juice as though he did it everyday. This time he was the one watching me though.

And during this, my thoughts suddenly became clear, as though they had been hidden behind chunky clouds before and now the powerful sun beamed bright, prying the haze apart. I knew I had to say what I needed to say while this epiphany was still bathing in the light, so I gulped a mouthful of spit to obtain some courage and prepared to speak.

“I think there’s well more than one reason why I’m leaving,” I began, and I felt Brendon’s gaze on me intensify, “but the most important reason is that I need a new start. I’m so sick of doing the same thing everyday. I want some adventure in my life, and sure, Vegas is known for flamboyant fun--the place to visit when life gets boring and all that jazz, but you know as well as I do that the Vegas we live in has nothing to do with that world. And besides, that’s not the kind of adventure I’m looking for.”

I turned to look at Brendon and was surprised to see him looking attentive and serious, which was a guise rarely found upon that face unless a camera was in a 5 foot radius.

Hiding my surprise, I continued softly, “Brendon, I’m not happy here. I haven’t been since I’ve graduated highschool. Now, these past two weeks, I can honestly say that they’ve been wonderful to me, and now I know why. Jordan is giving me a chance of happiness and adventure, and I’d be a fool to pass it up. He makes me happy. Can’t you see that? Can’t you see that I’d be better off leaving than staying, Brendon?”

And quietly, so quietly, did the next whispered words ping the air with their tiny, rippling sound waves….

“I could make you happy, Emie.”

Brendon stared at me, his brown eyes holding promise, passion, and boy were they full of meaning. And for the second time that day, I broke the silent promise with myself as my vision filled with streams of water.

“Don’t do this to me,” I pleaded. “Not now, Brendon. I can’t handle this right now.”

“But I love you!” Brendon suddenly shouted, a brilliant smile somehow managing to fit itself onto his expression as he shot to his feet. “If not now, then when? I need and want and love you! We deserve each other, Ems. I deserve you! After all these years of loving you like I have, I deserve to have you. And don’t tell me you don’t love me back because we both know that’s bullshit. You love me, and I love you, and that’s how it’s meant to be!”

“You’re just saying that because you’re scared of losing me!” I yelled back, jumping to my own feet. “You’re selfish to say that! You’re selfish to play with my feelings just so you can have your way! I’m telling you that I need a new life and that I'm unhappy, and all you can say back is that you deserve me.”

“But I mean it,” Brendon said softly. “I do deserve you, and I do love you.”

“Oh!” I threw my hands up in the air. “Now you love me, do you? Do you see how goddamn selfish you are? You want someone to feed your fire, so you have sex with me. Then, when I need space and time to think about things, you try and kill yourself. And just when I’m ready to face you and tell you how I feel, you get a girlfriend--a replacement because I’m just not doing anything for you anymore, am I? Then when my substitute gets a little jealous, you toss aside the one person that’s been there for you all along. And when things are getting rocky in your relationship, you crawl back to the one you’ve neglected and expect me to unquestionably accept you after a few meaningless words and actions? How am I supposed to take that? Tell me how I’m supposed to take that, Brendon!”

I didn’t realize it, but during my tirade, Brendon’s eyes had grown cloudier and cloudier, and as I was demanding answers from him, the tears had spilled over the edges of his eyes.

Staring at him, bewildered and still slightly heated up, I witnessed one of the few times of Brendon crying. Sure, that one time in his car had been scary, but this time I could see the tears forming and roll down his cheeks in clear daylight without him wiping them away before they even had a chance to swim about his face. It was like watching an abandoned baby cry for its mother.

I took a few seconds to calm down before I moved forward, hands outstretched to soothe Brendon, but he stopped me.

“No,” he sniffled weakly, pinning a halting hand in my face, “I completely understand. You-you’re right. I am selfish. I’ve been using you like a blind man’s dog, and you don’t deserve that. You deserve better--a new life, and I want you to act like you’ve never known or met me. I just want you to be happy, Emie. That’s all I’ve ever wanted, and I need to let you go.”

“Brendon, I---“

“No.” Instead of taking a step away, he actually moved forward, so forward that I could smell his breath on my lips again. My stomach churned at the thought of him kissing me. I wasn’t sure if I wanted that or not.

I could see his black pupil flicker from studying one eye to the other, and he made forward to kiss me, but stopped. Some thought went through his mind as he stared at me--so close--and then his arms wrapped around my back as his face disappeared to rest on my shoulder.

I belatedly realized he was hugging me, and at the last moment did I pull my arms around his neck, tucking my head against his own shoulder. I breathed him in with deep inhales, trying to savor and file away his scent in my mind. Brendon didn’t want to let me go (both literally and figuratively, I think), but he eventually unfolded his arms and pulled back to study me.

Stroking the side of my face with the back of his left hand, he smiled softly as he explained in a quiet tone, “I want you to know that last night, and the time before that--those were not meant to just ease my…fire,” his cheeks beamed with a pinkish hue, embarrassment seeping into both of us at his words, “but they actually meant something to me. They could never, and will never, be described as one-night stands. I want you to know that I would never use you in that way. Never ever.”

I nodded. “Okay. I believe you.”

Brendon leaned forward to give me Eskimo kisses (which is a simple phrase that here means intentionally rubbing his nose against mine, for all you southern folks soaking up the sun) as he mumbled, “I’ll miss you, Ems. It’ll be nearly impossible to let you go, but I swear to try. If Ryan Gosling can do it, so can I, dammit.”

I chuckled, but it was a weak one. I didn’t feel much like laughing right now.

“I’ll miss you too, Brendon,” I whispered back, closing my eyes to keep from tearing up again. I didn’t need to make this any more Hallmark-y than it already was.

“Goodbye Emie.”

“Goodbye Brendon.”

“Keep in touch.”

“I will.”

“Swear?”

“Yes, I swear.”

“Swear on all that you hold dearly, including Ryan?“

“Yes, including our fragile Ryan.”

“Swear on your whole collection of Gilmore Girls Season’s 1, 2, and 3 exclusively on DVD that I’m totally going to borrow one day and never give back?“

“Yes, damn you.”

“Swear on---?”

“Brendon, get the hell out of here already.”

Brendon laughed, pulling away. “If you insist, master.” He slipped the word bator underneath his breath, grinned at me, and then walked to the door.

I watched him, smiling the best smile I could put on at a time like this when he turned to give me one last hard, intense look. Then he opened the door, slipped through it, and the door shut.

Bye-bye, Brendon.