Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time

Late nights accompany Brendon’s habits of terrible dreams, terrible thoughts, and excessive smoking and drinking. There was no solidarity, unless he eased into and accepted these thoughts. Like being submerged into a body of fire and pretending it’s water.
There’s a knock on Brendon’s studio door, before he turns to see Sarah walk in. She’s covered in baby blue pajamas and her hair is slightly a mess. It must have been 1 in the morning.
“Babe, what are you doing up?” The musician asks.
With a disappointed look on her face, Sarah takes out three packs of cigarettes from her pocket.
“What’s this?” Brendon asks, confused by her disappointed demeanor.
“I found them in the back of our closet, along with other drugs you haven't told me about.”
Brendon is bewildered, “Babe, you know I don’t keep any crazy shit-”
“Stop calling me that, for two seconds. Alright, you stuffed these away on your side of the closet-”
“You just snooped through my shit in the middle of the night even though it’s none of your business.” Brendon says rather angrily.
She holds up the packs of cigarettes, “So these are yours? And none of my business? We’re supposed to tell each other everything.”
Brendon stands and walks over to her, “No,” Brendon takes the packs from her, “These aren’t fuckin mine.”
Sarah takes a step back, “I don’t believe you.” She then turns to leave, just about slamming the door behind her.
Brendon gives himself a minute to cool down before examining the cigarettes. He really didn’t smoke these. He quit them years ago because of the damage it did to his voice. But how could they be in his house? He opens one of them and sees only a few sticks left. He tries hard to remember if he accidentally smoked some while drunk, but that doesn’t explain, so how he could own them? He didn’t purchase them, maybe someone just planted them in his pocket. God, he doesn’t remember whole nights…

~~~

Brendon manages to get woken up early one morning by haunting figures running through his head and blood on his hands. He proceeds through the morning as if his body is on autopilot. Breakfast, coffee, studio. Even when the music he always enjoyed flows through his speakers, he reminds emotionless. Instead of working on songs for his upcoming record, he strings random samples of other artist's songs together. The final product is nothing but jumbled noises.
He walks back in his house with cautious steps. He knows Sarah is up and still upset with him even though it had been at least a week. He still couldn’t possibly contemplate how to fix things, because there was nothing he had done. He swears…
She’s in the livingroom watching the news. The reporter talks about strange animal attacks close to where they live happening about one month apart from each other. The locations shown on the screen make Brendon uneasy. He’d been to those places, or had at least seen them more vividly in his dreams. The reporter concludes saying that they have yet to figure out what kind of animal it could be. The musician feels uneasy, but quiets his thoughts as best as he can.
Sarah turns to look at him, “Can you believe this? So strange. Makes me not want to leave the house.” She takes the remote and changes the channel.
“Whatever that thing is, it won’t hurt you. I promise.” Brendon says.
Sarah takes a second before looking back up at the musician. She lifts her hand up in his direction, cuing him to take it. He does, and then sits next to her, proceeding to hold her close.
Later in the day while Sarah is out (encouraged by Brendon to face her growing fears), Brendon decides to look at the other drugs his wife had found. He hadn’t touched them since the night she mentioned it because the mystery of the cigarettes alone just about drove him mad. Even though he didn’t feel as secure in his mind as he hoped, his hands dug through the back of his closet and found the pile of drugs.
Some seemed to be rolled joins and others were of a more powdery substance zipped in tiny baggies. The one baggie that caught his attention contained fairly flatter versions of ecstasy in a variety of pastel colors. Upon closer inspection, they had iridescent flakes in them. He takes one out, letting it sit in the palm of his hand. He moves it around, watching as it shimmers under the dim light inside the closet. For a moment, he has the temptation to place it on his tongue. Before he could follow through with the plan, he can hear the front door open. He stows the drugs away and proceeds to greet Sarah.
He says, “Didn’t see a rabid bear on your way to your friend’s house, did you?”
Sarah playfully slaps his arm, avoiding eye contact, “No.”
He places his hands on her waist, “You’re alright.” He says in a gentle voice.
She looks up at him with a concerned expression, “We have to talk about what’s up with you.”
His hands fall to his sides, “Nothing’s up with me, I swear.”
She hangs her head to the side, looking seemingly more upset, “You know, you’re starting to scare me more than whatever could be out there.”
He steps closer to her, proceeding to rub her shoulders in comfort, “Hey, listen, there’s probably some explanation for these things, I just don’t know what they are. Maybe I’m forgetting stuff, maybe there is something wrong, but I’m not sure about a goddamn thing right now.”
She stays silent, looking away from him. His eyes plead for her understanding.
She looks to him, “Being sure doesn’t matter. I just want to know what’s on your mind.”
“Uh, food. Maybe some wine.” Brendon says with a smile, trying to lighten the mood.
A tiny smile appears on Sarah’s lips, “Fine, food, but you owe me at least one serious thought.”
“Okay, I promise I’ll tell you something.” The musician replies.
She quickly kisses him on the lips before she heads into their bedroom.
The evening soon enough presents itself and both Uries sit at the table with their plates of stir fry. They eat silently for a few minutes, before Sarah speaks up, “So, you have something to tell me?”
“What, oh…” Brendon almost forgot he was going to tell her about one thing that had been on his mind. One serious thing. One thing he’d probably regret talking about.
“Just one thing, Brendon.” Sarah says.
“Yeah, I remember, uh, well...” He takes a sip of wine, “The reason why my sleep schedule is so fucked is because I’ve been having nightmares.”
“What kind of nightmares?”
“You said one thing, I just-”
“I’ve noticed you get up every once and awhile, I assumed it was because of some sleep problem, just tell me at least about one of the bad dreams.”
Brendon sighs. He should have picked something more specific and less serious, “I can barely remember them, I just know they’re nightmares.”
Sarah looks at him with a blank expression.
“Babe, for real. Somethings just scare me awake.”
“And you don’t even try to go back to sleep? It can’t be that simple, then.” Sarah protests.
“Sarah…”, Brendon feels anger bubbling in the pit of his stomach, “I can’t remember my dreams, I can’t remember where I got those weird drugs from or who gave them to me. I can’t remember some nights out. I can’t remember a lot of fucking things.”
“Then tell me something else.” Sarah says calmly and with the utmost patience.
Brendon clenches his jaw, feeling that heat radiate in his core. He gets up from the table, glass in hand, and proceeds to the backyard and into his studio. He sits in his chair and chugs the last of his wine. Even though he does vividly remember his dreams, telling her would make them too real.

~~~

Some time passes, and Brendon manages to get back on working on songs for the upcoming record. It feels good for the musician to get back to these things. Doing what he loves tends to be the best distraction. If anything, these songs specifically seemed to all be therapeutic and personal. Traveling back in time with his thoughts, or even making up stories, he couldn’t wait to share these tunes.
After he’s finished touching up one of the tracks, he goes back into his house and decides to call the dogs over to him. One of his favorite activities was playing with Penny and Bogart; he let that activity slip for too long. He throws one of their chewtoys across the room and watches as both of them fight over it. Once he’s done amusing his pups, he goes into the kitchen. Sarah is slicing up some fruits.
“Hey, darlin’.” Brendon says, before placing a kiss on his wife’s cheek.
“Hey, how are you feeling today?” She asks.
“Pretty good. The album is definitely coming together.”
“That’s great. Can’t wait to hear the finished product.” She finishes.
Brendon grabs a beer from the fridge and stands next to Sarah while she begins to slice a pear.
“Fruit salad?” The musician questions, even if the answer is fairly obvious.
“Yep!” She says in a cheery tone. She looks up to Brendon for a second and he takes the opportunity to press their lips together.
“Ah, ouch.” Sarah exclaims, quickly dropping the knife down on the table. She pulls up her finger and a tiny trail of blood starts to seep out.
“I got it.” Brendon says before taking her finger and putting it in his mouth. He could feel her blood caress his tongue. Even for the second it was there, enough crimson liquid seemingly coated his mouth. He could taste every little detail of her blood. A shiver runs up his spine… the taste. Holy shit, the taste of blood.
She waves a hand in front of his face and he snaps out of his brief trance. He looks down at her hand and notices she already has a bandaid over it. Shit, how long was he not paying attention?
“Sorry.” He says, briefly shaking his head.
“You looked out of it for a second.” Sarah says.
“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.” Brendon says in a positive tone.
Sarah gives him a disapproving look like she knows he’s lying.
He continues defending himself, “Really, I’m just kinda tired, you know-”
Without another word, Sarah walks past him. He stands there, regretting telling that lie.
“Sarah.” He booms, before turning the corner. He could see her quickly walk down the hall with a coat over her shoulder and keys in her hand. He stops his chase, watching as the door shuts.