Mad As Rabbits

A dance.

That’s all it was. And a kiss, but that didn’t change things one bit. That was still all it meant to him. She didn’t know why she was acting like a hopelessly infatuated fan girl, allowing his face to rule her mind ever since that dance at the Angels & Kings nightclub.

It was in her job description to attend that night, as Pete’s co-worker and moral support. That was it; nothing more, nothing less.

“How bad could it be, Brenda? What else would you do on a Thursday night? Hang out with your two gay best friends? I promise you’ll have fun, just save me and the guys from DecayDance a dance or two.”

Pitiful, her two closest friends were gay lovers. They were the only people she was familiar with outside of the office.

And so she had. She’d danced with Pete and Spencer, and Patrick, and Brendon, and Ryan, and countless more after Pete coaxed her into consuming enough alcohol to lose her very thorough thought process. But one really held his place in her mind.

Stupid Jon Walker: having the same sense of humor that she’d fallen for in high school. Stupid Jon Walker: being so incredibly kind that if she was idiotic enough to be a hopeless romantic, she would have believed it was something as clichéd as ‘love at first sight’.

She’d been drunk enough to giggle at each of his slightly awkward jokes and flirt madly with the seemingly-perfect male. Perfect. She scoffed at the thought.

Everyone had flaws.

Except for him.

Just as Shaant Hacikyan’s voice sang into her ear, she was perspiring from the irony. In frustration at how music always seemed to relate to her current thoughts and feelings, she grabbed the IPod off of its stand and changed the song.

She officially hated the shuffle mode.

Honestly, what was the likelihood of A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More “Touch Me” deciding to play though the speakers? Stupid Pete, jacking her IPod and putting his addicting music all over it. She flicked her golden-highlighted auburn hair over her shoulder, her full lips curling into a snarl as she stopped at the red stoplight, changing the song once more. Shuffle had one more chance before she chucked the unreleased IPod Touch out of her emerald Camaro’s window. Both the car and Touch were gifts from Pete.

Yes, Pete spoiled her. She was kind of his best friend and confidant: the only one who had helped him through his disorders and near-suicide. Only briefly had they been more than that, but it was wrong, what with a six year age difference and a few other touchy things.

Bring ‘Em Out by Hawk Nelson played from the speakers. She sat back in her seat as the light turned green and advanced further towards her house. Peace…

Then her phone rang, the melody from The After Life of The Party overlapping Drake Bell’s vocals and indicating that it was Pete. She had just left the office, her shift was over. What could he possibly want from her?

With a huff, Brenda took a hand off the wheel to pause the music before grabbing the phone out of her knee high leather heeled boot and flipping it open, “Hey Pete.”

Sure, her thoughts were bitchy and easily annoyed, but he had to have a reason for calling her, right? Brenda carefully controlled her emotions around others. A trait acquired when her father’s political career took off and he became a Senator. She was then disciplined to the brink of insanity, until she met Hanna Madison, whose connections in the musical world got her to Pete by the time she was sixteen, and a paid job in the only industry that made her feel content by her eighteenth birthday.

“Hey, Brenda. Look, I’m really sorry, but I need you back here to help with some business deals and decisions.” Pete sounded sincere in his brief apology. He must have been in a good mood today. She let out a submissive sigh, cutting an illegal u-ie and earning herself a symphony of honks. She slammed her palm down in the center of her wheel in reply before increasing to her normal speed of ninety miles an hour and weaving dangerously between each of the cars. Some would call her mad, but she was quite late for a very important date by the sound of Pete’s tone.

Of course. She was the presenter and public announcer for both DecayDance and Clandestine. “I’m on my way.” She breathed exasperatedly, adjusting the phone to a position between her cheek and shoulder as she switched gears.

“Thanks, Brenda. I owe you. Times seven, now. I have so much that has to get done. I have to deal with the media for Panic, and you’ll probably work on their Hot Topic clothing line design. They just got here, all four, and they remember you from the club, and asked how you were and stuff. Especially that Walker guy…. are you two together or something?...” He rambled further, losing her attention after a bit.

Fan-frickin’-tastic, just when she had been at peace and was forgetting about Jon, Pete goes on and arranges a meeting with Panic. Oh yes, Shaant, this is insufferably ironic. In fact, she thought she might just perspire from it. Stupid, stupid Cute Is What We Aim For. “Brenda? Damn it, woman, are you even listening to me?! BRENDA!”

“Yes, Pete. I’m listening.” She sighed as she pulled into the Decaydance lot, parking in her labeled space and opening the car door, swiftly slipping out of the vehicle and straightening her black leather jacket over her loose brown and dull gold tank top. The thin silver chains slung around her neck accented that on the jacket, clinking harmoniously as her heeled feet walked with an unspoken attitude towards the entrance. “I’ll see you in a minute.” She flipped the phone shut with another sigh and clenched the silver Razor in her hand.

Her legging-covered thighs were spotted stepping through the threshold and she walked by security without glancing away from her destination: the main desk. She was leaning on the elevated counter, peering over with her petite form to speak to the receptionist, the ogling of several men behind her going unnoticed.

“Miss Yvonne.” Brenda addressed the woman, tearing lens-covered stormy eyes away from the computer screen, “Where is Panic!’s design meeting being held?”

“Third floor, ma’am.” The brunette replied professionally, her pale skin contrasting with Brenda’s darkly tanned hand as Yvonne supplied her with a small receipt with information. Standard procedure, Brenda nodded with a small smile before heading towards the elevator.

*.*.*

She took a deep breath, standing in front of the door to her destination. Why was she freaking out like this? They were just some talented and cute guys; nothing new to her in her line of work.

Sweet perfection is just behind the door.

She growled a quick internal ‘Shut up’ at her taunting subconscious voice, shoving the thoughts of Jon to the back of her mind. With another sigh, she raised her hand to knock.

Color me cliché, and then shoot me while you’re at it. The door swung open without warning, being pulled backwards by someone inside. She jumped, startled, before taking into account the person who had opened the door.

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. Jon frickin’ Walker.

“Oh, sorry. I was just headed to the bath- Hey, aren’t you Brenda?” Jon’s voice echoed in her mind for a moment, the slightly lisp distorted words bouncing off of the walls inside her head. She gulped, amber eyes wide open and glazed over, with her control over her body faltering.

She regained her composure after a moment, “Yes.” She swallowed, “I’ll be helping you design your Hot Topic merchandise today.” She slid past him and into the room, nodding at the other three members of Panic! At The Disco before heading over to a file cabinet and slipping out their file. “Do you guys have any designs that you already made?”

Brendon nodded, pulling his navy Jansport backpack off of the shaggy carpet and pulling out a similarly designed file. “Um, yeah. We played around with some ideas last night.”

Brenda looked over the sketches, noting the strong points in the sloppy sketches. “What’s the theme of your new album?”

“Well, it’s called Pretty. Odd.” Spencer said, “Are we allowed to give her a copy?”

She raised her hand to stop him, “Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Is it based off of that new single Nine in the Afternoon?”

“Yup.” Ryan nodded. It was obvious that they felt uncomfortable talking about the album, “It’s in kind of a new direction. We have the track list here…”

“That would be perfect.” She smiled encouragingly at Ryan, hearing the door open again as Jon slipped inside, returning from the bathroom. He handed her a piece of lined paper, she read over it quickly, “Mad as Rabbits. I have an idea for that one.”

*.*.*

About an hour later, Pete checked in on them and pulled out Brendon and Ryan for some discussion on the album art for Pretty. Odd. Minutes after that, Spencer rose to his feet. “Excuse me; do you know where the bathroom is, Brenda?”

“Down the hall, second left. Third door on the right. It’s labeled, don’t worry.” She muttered, amber eyes focusing on the last of the papers. Quickly, she straightened them before replacing them in the file and getting up to put the blue folder in the cabinet. Brenda was in a subconscious trance, following a routine that embedded itself into her head. Jon’s footsteps behind her to help her open the frustrating piece of metal were left unheard, as she finally tugged the cabinet open violently and slammed the folder within the crowded space.

An act of habit, she crossed her left leg over her right and spun around in a single motion, coming face to chest, with the only other person in the room.

“Sorry.” She said feebly, feeling hopelessly juvenile as butterflies fluttered in her stomach while she inhaled his scent, and unidentified cologne filling her senses.

“It was my fault.” She was engulfed in another wave of butterflies as she heard the lisp once more, “I just thought I should help you with that ancient cabinet.”

This was so wrong. He was a client of sorts, she shouldn’t have been fantasizing about him pushing her up against that very same cabinet and allowing her to taste the source of his wonderful mispronunciations. Her brain slapped her for staring at him, craning her neck to catch a glimpse at his comparatively towering form. “Thanks, I think I can handle it, though.” She smiled like an idiot.

“Oh- okay.” He nodded, unmoving. His eyes clearly told her that he had something else to say, and he was debating whether or not to voice his thoughts. She shrugged it off, turning back towards the cabinet as he returned to his seat less than a minute later.

She twiddled her thumbs, a habit she had developed as a child, under the oak conference table as the two sat in an awkward silence. “Well, while we wait-.”

“Would you like to go get some tea?” Jon blurted, not registering that he was interrupting her: so consumed in the tense silence as his palms sweated with nervousness. He was her hatter.

Brenda’s lip twitched, almost forming another smile. Her eyes flashed up to meet his, “That sounds brilliant, Mr. Walker.”

He got up and strode towards her in two quick strides, wiping the sweat from his hands onto his jeans before offering it to her. “Call me Jon.”

Brenda took his hand with her own colder one, a pinkish tint filling her cheeks. Dear goodness did she feel as mad as those rabbits. He mind was racing and heart fluttering with anticipation as hopeless romantic thoughts she had once forbidden to enter her thoughts flooded into the speechless mind of hers. He flashed a kind smile towards her.

She had a feeling that this was the start of a beautiful relationship.