Casual Affair

Sweat. I needed it. Craved it. Sometime along the road I had discovered that sweating—the gross, exhilarating release of salty liquid through pores—was my heroin and the best fix for strayed nerves. I needed to feel dirty and grimy; it helped me slither along the stage more easily and feel more at home in the screams of my crowd.

My hair was practically water when I brushed it out of my face, my ass against Matt’s hip as he threaded through a rough riff for one of our more intense numbers. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew it was weird to be favoring Matt during this show. I hadn’t even attempted to get too close to Greg on his side of the stage or laughed at any of Louis’ innuendos.

It was like the secret of Brendon drew me to Matt. He was the only one who knew my true vulnerability without judging me. It was like a bond that had only narrowly existed before had come to fruition, and the sweat flicking off our foreheads tied us together. We were just two broken souls who had no idea what the fuck we were even doing anymore.

And so, to hide my weakness and heartbreak of Sarah’s sudden appearance on the tour, I grinded the hell out of my bandmate in front of the thousands of fans present at that night’s show. And they seemed to be quite enjoying it. Matt, not so much.

“You’re gonna fucking bruise me, Grigsby,” he grumbled into my ear, turning away from the crowd and wincing as he pressed his forehead against my neck.

“You’re fine,” I scoffed, pushing him off of me and fluttering away to belt out the angrier lyrics. I wouldn’t let my eyes drift to the side of that stage. I’d made that mistake once tonight already. My reward was a very apologetic looking Brendon standing in the wings watching me with Sarah’s arms wrapped around his abdomen.

“If you’re done trying to make your boyfriend jealous, my dick and I would appreciate it,” Matt growled at me when I came back over after the song and the lights dimmed over us.

“I haven’t even touched your dick,” I laughed away from the mic, chugging a water bottle as everyone prepared for the next song.

He shook his head and tugged his bass away from himself, briefly nodding down towards his crotch. “Don’t need to touch it for it to get excited, jerk.”

I blushed, letting my gaze linger a little longer than I normally would peeking at the bulge hidden by his bass. “Keep your eyes on your fret board instead of me, then.”

Matt just chuckled and shook his head. “Whatever, Grigs.”

It was the obligatory moment where I had to vamp the crowd, and so I stumbled over to the microphone in the center of the stage, clinging onto it as I grinned at the glistening faces before me. “You all having fun yet?” I teased. Screams. I could have asked if they all liked pumpkin bread and gotten the same response.

“What do you think, you all ready for Panic! at the Disco?” I asked. More screams. I glanced back at Matt and smirked, noticing him trying to subtly adjust himself using his bass. He glared at me. “Alrighty, I think two more songs. What do you guys think?”

Louis responded by slamming his drums, leading us into our finale pieces. The sweat was trickling down into my eyes and I whipped my hair out of my face as I danced around, reveling in the sting as the salt slammed into my irises. At least it meant I alive. At least that was an okay reason to cry.

I loved my fans, but I never made a big deal at the end of concerts. Just a quick smile and wave and then I was off, slinking away backstage to bask in the aftermath of my sweat trip. I pretended not to see Sarah grinning at us and congratulating our performance. Brendon was MIA, probably in the back to hype up with the other guys, and that was fine with me. I didn’t want to see him.

Really, I didn’t.

“Go clean up and then come back here, Elizabeth,” Zack said as I brushed past. “Brendon asked if you would make sure you’re here for this set.”

I was still numb from the adrenaline of the show, but it only took about a millisecond to feel the fury quicken in my veins. “I’m sorry, what?” I snapped, spinning around to glare at him.

Zack’s eyes widened a little and he held up his hands. “What? What’d I do?”

“Why does Brendon want me to watch this set?” I asked. I was angry at the audacity of the entire thing—how dare he request I watch him perform, when I would have to stand next to his wife the day after we had sex! How dare he assume that’s okay! How dare he—

“I don’t know, he just asked if you would,” Zack shrugged, attempting to appear unaffected by my glare. He was doing a sucky job. For as tough as Zack was, everyone on tour knew he was terrified of me in one of my rages.

“Fine.” I spun on my heel, ignoring Sarah’s concerned stare and storming past my guys into our green room.

“Back to hating them, then?” Louis asked. He tugged his shirt over his head, slapping his belly after freeing it from its cotton connection.

Greg groaned and rubbed his forehead. “God, it’s like you’re in a permanent state of PMS with them, Grigsby.”

“Not all of them,” I snapped. I snatched a towel off of the counter in the corner and wiped my face, scowling at the mascara streaks that crisscrossed against my cheeks. “Just their fucking lead singer.”

Matt gave me a look through the mirror as I reapplied my make-up, raising his eyebrows. “You look a hot mess,” he said. Greg and Louis went about their own business; they missed the way his eyes snaked down my body, taking in the way my blouse stuck to my stomach as I leaned forward to flick at my eyelashes.

I caught his gaze and he blushed realizing he’d been caught. I smirked. “As long as hot is in there, I’m okay with the mess,” I said. He turned away. I pretended nothing had happened.

“Took your time, huh?” Zack joked when I made my way to the side of the stage, changed in a fresh pair of jeans and a tight tank top. He peeked at the trim along the top and flinched when I slapped his arm. “Sorry. Not sorry. Anyway, you’re just in time.”

“In time for what?” I sighed. “Where’s Sarah?” I glanced out towards the stage and caught my breath—Brendon looked fantastic, shirtless, his pale skin lit up by the lights shining down on him during his performance. A flashback of the night before skimmed behind my eyes, when the moon had shone down on our moving bodies.

I shook my head and turned back to Zack. Mustn’t show any weakness or arousal, especially when his wife was around somewhere.

“She went up to the balcony with Breezy,” Zack said. “And anyway, give it a minute. Just sit tight.” He glanced over at me. “Your throat okay?”

“Beg pardon?” I asked, crossing my arms and glaring at him. He shook his head and turned back away to look at the stage.

They were nearing the end of their set, as evidenced by the amount of bras now dangling off of Brendon’s microphone stand and the sweat glistening off his chest. He glanced over towards us and his face lit up when our eyes met; he winked and laughed at my scowl before moving up to the mic.

“What do you all think about having a little duet right now?” he asked. The crowd roared and their voices raised to a decibel that made my blood boil. I stiffened when I felt Zack’s hands grip my shoulder, urging me closer to the edge of backstage.

“What the fuck is he on about?” I asked, digging my heels into the floor to stop Zack from pushing me towards the screams following Brendon’s banter.

“You guys have been practicing, haven’t ya?” he laughed, pushing against my back again. “C’mon, Grigsby, the crowd wants it, Brendon wants it—you’re not gonna disappoint both of them, are you?”

“Fuck you and your cruel ways,” I growled before allowing him to force me back out into the spotlight. I plastered on my performance-grin, the one I only had to dig out when I was really just not feeling the whole center of attention thing, and walked over to where Brendon stood wearing a shit eating grin and offering me a mic.

“You look gorgeous,” he murmured once I was close. I rolled my eyes at him and accepted the mic, feeling very uncomfortable with the realization this was our first time together.

“Bite me, Urie,” I grumbled, and offered the crowd a quick wave. “What are we singing?”

“I love it when you talk dirty to me,” he chuckled. He nodded over to Dallon and Kenny, who then started up the song. They went with a crowd pleaser—you can never go wrong with Journey, even if the kids from Glee had killed it dead.

“Just a small town girl, livin’ in a lonely world. She took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.” Brendon’s eyes sparkled when he sang to me, and for a minute I almost forgot we were on stage. I was mesmerized by the way his lips formed the words and the way his voice sounded against my ear. If he hadn’t winked, I probably would have missed my cue.

“Just a city boy, born and raised in south Detroit. He took the midnight train goin’ anywhere.” This song was the shit for karaoke—I pretended we were in my basement back home, belting it out under the direction of highlighted words and one too many margaritas. I pretended it was okay to be dancing along with him like we had been best friends forever.

I even pretended it was okay for me to press a quick kiss to his cheek at the end of the song when he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, and that the flashes behind my eyes weren’t the flashes of cameras immortalizing the moment. I pretended I wasn’t excited to see what those pictures looked like.

And when I walked off stage and ran into Sarah, I pretended not to be jealous she got to kiss those musical lips whenever she wanted. I wasn’t sure when all this pretending had started, but it seemed to be a part of my life now. And when I saw Brendon smile over at me, something told me it would be for a while.

--

“Are you just never going to go out with us again?” Louis whined. He was spread over my bed, stretching his fingers and toes to the very edge of the mattress in his tantrum. The pillows at the head of the bed bounced as he squirmed around in his effort of demonstrating just how appalled he was with my impending absence at that night’s club.

“Not if you keep acting like that I’m not,” I laughed. I scratched out a line in my journal that just wasn’t working the way I wanted to and sucked on the end of my pen. This album was proving to be a lot more difficult than I anticipated—everything I wrote felt too empty.

“But it’s been two nights in a row!” he moaned, rolling onto his stomach very haughtily.

“It’s not good for my liver to go out every night,” I shrugged. Another line scratched. Sappiness was not something often attained by Elizabeth Grigsby, and these lyrics were proof of that.

Louis huffed and rolled off the bed, evidently deciding his continuous case of the gimmies would get him nowhere. “Fine. Be a party pooper. See if I ever get drunk with you again.”

“Don’t forget to pack condoms,” I said in a monotone, not tearing my eyes away from my journal as he stormed away to the door. He guffawed and flipped me off before slamming the door shut behind him.

Not too long after he left there was a timid knocking on my door. I smirked, knowing he had probably decided to come crawling back to apologize or mention he had forgotten something. I pushed aside all my papers and hoisted myself up towards the door.

“I’m not usually one to endorse groveling, but for you I’ll make an exception,” I laughed, flinging the door open. Only thing was, it wasn’t Louis at the door. It was Brendon.

“Not sure what I have to grovel over, but if it’ll get you to let me in, oh, please, forgive me.” He was wearing that goddamn smirk, the one that made my insides all jumbled like a tangled jump rope.

“The fuck are you here for?” I snapped. I gripped harshly at the door, not wanting to give the slightest indication that I wanted him here. Bad things happened when he showed up alone at my hotel room door, namely mind blowing sex that led to unnecessary emotions and heart-wrenching confusion at the reappearance of his wife.

“Hello to you, too, Elizabeth,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “I said I wanted to talk earlier, didn’t I?”

“We have nothing to talk about,” I said. I was impressed with how well I was able to keep eye contact with him without crumbling. It was like the tone of my voice was convincing the rest of my body to be mad at him.

“Well, I wanted to talk,” Brendon said. He gently pushed against my shoulder and I shivered under his touch, instantly melting away from the door and allowing him to stroll in. He left me standing dumb at the door and walked over to the bed where he sat down and waited for me to follow suite.

“Won’t Sarah be looking for you?” I asked. I closed the door and listened for that clink of the locks sliding shut before leaning back against the fake wood, keeping my palms pressed against its chill to keep myself from reaching for him.

He shrugged and shook his head, looking down at his fingers as he stroked the duvet of the bed. “Nah. I told her I needed to talk to you. She went ahead out with everyone else.”

“Good for her.” I crossed my arms and cocked my hip, waiting for him to talk. “So?”

“Can’t you come sit down?”

“No. Now talk.”

He sighed and looked down at his hands. His fingers fiddled with the ring bound around his finger, spinning it around like a planet revolution. “I don’t regret it, and I’m not sorry,” he said. He looked up at me and shrugged. “Wanted to get that out of the way first.”

“You want to be a little more specific?” I asked.

Brendon stood up and stretched his arms behind his back. “I don’t regret sleeping with you. It was one of the best nights of my life, and I’m not sorry it happened. I’d do it again, if you wanted it.”

“Is that you propositioning me?” I asked, my laugh coming out more biting than I intended as he walked closer.

He smiled and shook his head. “No. I just wanted you to know I wasn’t just trying to make you a notch in my belt. It really meant something to me.” He moved even closer until we shared the same air and his chest pressed against mine and he nuzzled his nose against mine.

“Brendon,” I whispered. “Sarah is here.”

He paused, his nose still pressed against mine. “I know,” he said quietly.

I shook my head and tried pulling out of his light embrace, not really trying and only succeeding in pulling back enough to look in his face. “She’s your wife,” I said. “You married her. Why are you doing this to us?”

He looked at me sadly and slowly shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “Sarah’s great, she’s fantastic, it’s just…” He looked like he so badly wanted to tear his gaze away from mine but somehow physically couldn’t. “She’s just not you, Elizabeth. And I don’t know what it is about you, but I just…”

“I know,” I interrupted before he could pick back up. I gripped at his forearms and pulled him closer until my eyelashes brushed against his cheek and droplets of tears dripped onto his skin. “I can’t explain it, either.”

His kiss was so much sweeter than before, tasting like salt and sweat and the joint he’d accepted from a fan during the show. Everything about this was wrong, but we were too far gone. We were falling, onto the bed, down to hell, and in love. And we had no chance of redemption.