Status: Complete.
Don't Threaten Me With a Good Time
Valentine
Brendon sits at the edge of his bed dressed head to toe in black. Five hours. As the clock ticks by, the musician just waits for the universe to prove or mask some sort of horrible truth. It’s hard enough to sit still, let alone quiet his brain. Numbness shook hands with pain. The unconscious mind was now tainted with everything retched and unholy. There was a time of peace when Brendon didn’t believe in God. There was a time of peace when he thought that Patrick was still alive, and if there was a heaven, Tyler would be there.
The musician stands on his feet, slowly leaving the room. He takes a few steps out the door before collapsing onto the ground in the hallway. His dogs rush over and greet him with excitement. He weakly brings up his hands to run over both of their backs. If only his pups could read the negative energy surrounding him. If only they knew their mother wouldn’t be coming back home. Brendon leans against one of the walls and drops his head to the side. Solemn tears fall down his face. It’s shocking to him how much salty water has sprouted from his eyes, but his tears of pain may never run out.
Suddenly, his stomach grumbles. Hunger. It’s a feeling that had been foreign to him for a while. But he couldn’t eat. Not now. His efforts to resist eating soon cease as he gets up from the ground and walks into the kitchen. He avoids looking at the pictures on the fridge and digs around for items to make a sandwich. Throughout this time, he notices other feelings coming back to him. The physicality of being human. Nothing could have been more safe, although he wishes every second that he would erase his memories.
He manages to sleep a few hours later; exhaustion snatches him like a thief in the night. He doesn’t dream about anything out of the ordinary. No more nightmares. Although at the tail end of the dream, he’s standing in a field. He sees Sarah in one of her beautiful spring dresses. Just before he can bring her into an embrace, he hears the doorbell ring and the dogs bark. He shoots up from his bed, trying his best to keep his composure as he quickly slips on some pants and a shirt before walking to the door.
Two police officers. Brendon already knows why, but he can’t show it. Not yet. He perks up his attitude just a tad and says, “Yes, officers?”
“May we come in?” One of them asks.
“Yes, what is this about?” Slips out of Brendon’s mouth. His mind threatens to leave his body again.
They all sit down at the dinner table. One of the officers speaks, “We regret to inform you, but your spouse Sarah Urie was found deceased at Canyon Back Trail.”
Hearing the confirmation of her death slashes Brendon in the soul, “Oh my god.” He whispers as tears build up in his eyes.
“We know this information is extremely hard to take in, but we would like to ask you a few questions surrounding the unfortunate event. A grieving period is acceptable…” The officer trails on.
But Brendon decides to answer anyway. A simple lie with the dash of inevitable honesty, “Yesterday, she told me she was going to go for a run on that trail to clear her head. Our relationship has… had been rocky for a few months. We had our fair share of arguments. Usually she’d go to a friend’s house. I didn’t question why she didn’t come home.” More tears. The officers take notes.
“Her death was… unsettling and the attacker is partially definable as of now. We do not have to give you the details at this time unless you would like to know.”
“H-how.” Brendon musters.
The officer hesitates, “Over the last few months, there has been a string of attacks. Her death followed under this pattern. Her chest was torn from the nape of the neck to the stomach by some sort of animal.”
The images flash through the musician’s mind. He stands up and walks over to his countertop. He drops his head and he can’t help but start to wail. His nails tearing through her flesh. Her blood covering his hands. He was this monster, and all he wants to do is scream it to the world. But he can’t. And he doesn’t know why he wants to be innocent with a guilty conscious.
One of the officers speaks, “We know this is a difficult time, so no further conversation is necessary for the next few days. We’re leaving a note for you with all of our information.”
The other officer finishes, “Our condolences.”
Brendon listens as the officers leave the house, gently shutting the door behind themselves. He turns around and walks back to the table. He picks up the note. The next few thoughts are what follows:
Break the news to everyone.
Funeral.
Memorial Service.
~~~
The next few weeks are hell. Brendon contacts Sarah’s family then his own. Most of this is done through email, and a couple are done through the phone. Listening to Sarah’s mother shriek in utter horror and grief will haunt the musician forever. The one thing he avoids telling himself through all this was the fact that he caused the grief of all these people. Just a smidge of a thought like that would cause Brendon to lose any decent function he had left.
It’s the day of the funeral; closed casket. Mourning her loss with so many other people didn’t sustain any sort of level neutrality. His grief alone was enough to start a storm in his own mind. The chaotic symphonies of everyone’s pain didn’t clear the sky with words of “She’s in a better place.” He could barely glance at the casket, knowing the body inside didn’t present all that Sarah was. That was an empty vessel of a beautiful woman that saved Brendon in so many ways.
Everyone’s tears just made Brendon sick. Half the people in the room barely knew her. The anger in this stage of grief was so foreign, it almost mimicked the rage that masked his terrible truth. Brendon hadn’t prepared a speech for the memorial service, but he blinds his ever lingering dread just for a moment to tell everyone how much he loved her. He speaks in a voice of clarity, the elevated tone seems like he’s putting on a performance.
Eventually, the people all leave except for Spencer, Linda, and Zack. Brendon feels himself returning to solace. His friends have a hard time mustering any further words, but the musician figures that maybe they believe their company would help him stay afloat. In some ways, it did, but his most comfortable place is being alone. Small conversations begin again, and Brendon would chime in every once and awhile. It makes things seem a bit more normal.
Zack is the first to say his goodbye to Brendon. This is the one rare occasion where the bodyguard initiates a hug before his departure. Spencer and Linda are the next individuals to start going outside. Something in Brendon doesn’t want his best friend to leave.
“Hey, Spence.” The musician says.
Spencer turns around, as well as Linda, “Yeah, Bren?”
“Can I just talk to you? Just for a while.”
“Sure.” There’s a sympathetic smile on his face. He turns around and tells Linda something before they depart with a quick hug.
Spencer goes back into the house with Brendon as they both sit on the musician’s couch.
“What do you want to talk about?” Spencer says in a quiet tone.
Brendon chews on his bottom lip, questioning what he even wants to say. It haunts him that his best friend was one of the reasons he turned into a monster when, in this current time, he sits beside him ready to comfort him. His heartbreak, seemingly short and soon enough resolved, played hand in hand with the death of his wife. Like he couldn’t trust Spencer enough to stick by him. He starts to cry again.
Spencer starts rubbing his back, giving him words of convenience. It all just sounds the same, and through the heavy thoughts in his head, nothing could truly suppress the guilt.
“Listen, I know it’ll take time, but these wounds will heal…”
“No…” Brendon looks at his best friend.
“What do you mean?” Spencer furrows his brows in confusion and concern.
“It’s all my fault.” The musician cries.
“Hey, no it’s not. You didn’t know it would happen-”
“I did it!” Brendon shrieks, “I killed her, goddamn it. She’s gone because of me!”
Spencer grasps Brendon’s shoulders firmly, “Stop, Brendon! You can’t tell yourself that. The world can be fucking cruel and we all want to blame ourselves for the things we can’t change. Sometimes we have to accept tragedy and find the strength to move on.”
Brendon swings his arms around Spencer’s body, sinking into an embrace. He continues crying, practically soaking his best friend’s shoulder with his tears. But Spencer is wrong. He could never accept this, but he just needs him now. He needs to spill his guts just enough to alleviate the built up pain of lies and silence. It’s one of the most important things a human can do.
They stay locked in that position for a long while, and Brendon continues to spill his words.
“I wanna die, Spencer.” Is the last audible phrase from the musician’s lips before his words turn into incoherent whimpers. Brendon soon enough grows tired. They separate from the hug and his head immediately falls in Spencer’s lap. The musician begins to fall asleep, feeling the light touch of his best friend’s fingers gently sweep through his hair.
The musician stands on his feet, slowly leaving the room. He takes a few steps out the door before collapsing onto the ground in the hallway. His dogs rush over and greet him with excitement. He weakly brings up his hands to run over both of their backs. If only his pups could read the negative energy surrounding him. If only they knew their mother wouldn’t be coming back home. Brendon leans against one of the walls and drops his head to the side. Solemn tears fall down his face. It’s shocking to him how much salty water has sprouted from his eyes, but his tears of pain may never run out.
Suddenly, his stomach grumbles. Hunger. It’s a feeling that had been foreign to him for a while. But he couldn’t eat. Not now. His efforts to resist eating soon cease as he gets up from the ground and walks into the kitchen. He avoids looking at the pictures on the fridge and digs around for items to make a sandwich. Throughout this time, he notices other feelings coming back to him. The physicality of being human. Nothing could have been more safe, although he wishes every second that he would erase his memories.
He manages to sleep a few hours later; exhaustion snatches him like a thief in the night. He doesn’t dream about anything out of the ordinary. No more nightmares. Although at the tail end of the dream, he’s standing in a field. He sees Sarah in one of her beautiful spring dresses. Just before he can bring her into an embrace, he hears the doorbell ring and the dogs bark. He shoots up from his bed, trying his best to keep his composure as he quickly slips on some pants and a shirt before walking to the door.
Two police officers. Brendon already knows why, but he can’t show it. Not yet. He perks up his attitude just a tad and says, “Yes, officers?”
“May we come in?” One of them asks.
“Yes, what is this about?” Slips out of Brendon’s mouth. His mind threatens to leave his body again.
They all sit down at the dinner table. One of the officers speaks, “We regret to inform you, but your spouse Sarah Urie was found deceased at Canyon Back Trail.”
Hearing the confirmation of her death slashes Brendon in the soul, “Oh my god.” He whispers as tears build up in his eyes.
“We know this information is extremely hard to take in, but we would like to ask you a few questions surrounding the unfortunate event. A grieving period is acceptable…” The officer trails on.
But Brendon decides to answer anyway. A simple lie with the dash of inevitable honesty, “Yesterday, she told me she was going to go for a run on that trail to clear her head. Our relationship has… had been rocky for a few months. We had our fair share of arguments. Usually she’d go to a friend’s house. I didn’t question why she didn’t come home.” More tears. The officers take notes.
“Her death was… unsettling and the attacker is partially definable as of now. We do not have to give you the details at this time unless you would like to know.”
“H-how.” Brendon musters.
The officer hesitates, “Over the last few months, there has been a string of attacks. Her death followed under this pattern. Her chest was torn from the nape of the neck to the stomach by some sort of animal.”
The images flash through the musician’s mind. He stands up and walks over to his countertop. He drops his head and he can’t help but start to wail. His nails tearing through her flesh. Her blood covering his hands. He was this monster, and all he wants to do is scream it to the world. But he can’t. And he doesn’t know why he wants to be innocent with a guilty conscious.
One of the officers speaks, “We know this is a difficult time, so no further conversation is necessary for the next few days. We’re leaving a note for you with all of our information.”
The other officer finishes, “Our condolences.”
Brendon listens as the officers leave the house, gently shutting the door behind themselves. He turns around and walks back to the table. He picks up the note. The next few thoughts are what follows:
Break the news to everyone.
Funeral.
Memorial Service.
~~~
The next few weeks are hell. Brendon contacts Sarah’s family then his own. Most of this is done through email, and a couple are done through the phone. Listening to Sarah’s mother shriek in utter horror and grief will haunt the musician forever. The one thing he avoids telling himself through all this was the fact that he caused the grief of all these people. Just a smidge of a thought like that would cause Brendon to lose any decent function he had left.
It’s the day of the funeral; closed casket. Mourning her loss with so many other people didn’t sustain any sort of level neutrality. His grief alone was enough to start a storm in his own mind. The chaotic symphonies of everyone’s pain didn’t clear the sky with words of “She’s in a better place.” He could barely glance at the casket, knowing the body inside didn’t present all that Sarah was. That was an empty vessel of a beautiful woman that saved Brendon in so many ways.
Everyone’s tears just made Brendon sick. Half the people in the room barely knew her. The anger in this stage of grief was so foreign, it almost mimicked the rage that masked his terrible truth. Brendon hadn’t prepared a speech for the memorial service, but he blinds his ever lingering dread just for a moment to tell everyone how much he loved her. He speaks in a voice of clarity, the elevated tone seems like he’s putting on a performance.
Eventually, the people all leave except for Spencer, Linda, and Zack. Brendon feels himself returning to solace. His friends have a hard time mustering any further words, but the musician figures that maybe they believe their company would help him stay afloat. In some ways, it did, but his most comfortable place is being alone. Small conversations begin again, and Brendon would chime in every once and awhile. It makes things seem a bit more normal.
Zack is the first to say his goodbye to Brendon. This is the one rare occasion where the bodyguard initiates a hug before his departure. Spencer and Linda are the next individuals to start going outside. Something in Brendon doesn’t want his best friend to leave.
“Hey, Spence.” The musician says.
Spencer turns around, as well as Linda, “Yeah, Bren?”
“Can I just talk to you? Just for a while.”
“Sure.” There’s a sympathetic smile on his face. He turns around and tells Linda something before they depart with a quick hug.
Spencer goes back into the house with Brendon as they both sit on the musician’s couch.
“What do you want to talk about?” Spencer says in a quiet tone.
Brendon chews on his bottom lip, questioning what he even wants to say. It haunts him that his best friend was one of the reasons he turned into a monster when, in this current time, he sits beside him ready to comfort him. His heartbreak, seemingly short and soon enough resolved, played hand in hand with the death of his wife. Like he couldn’t trust Spencer enough to stick by him. He starts to cry again.
Spencer starts rubbing his back, giving him words of convenience. It all just sounds the same, and through the heavy thoughts in his head, nothing could truly suppress the guilt.
“Listen, I know it’ll take time, but these wounds will heal…”
“No…” Brendon looks at his best friend.
“What do you mean?” Spencer furrows his brows in confusion and concern.
“It’s all my fault.” The musician cries.
“Hey, no it’s not. You didn’t know it would happen-”
“I did it!” Brendon shrieks, “I killed her, goddamn it. She’s gone because of me!”
Spencer grasps Brendon’s shoulders firmly, “Stop, Brendon! You can’t tell yourself that. The world can be fucking cruel and we all want to blame ourselves for the things we can’t change. Sometimes we have to accept tragedy and find the strength to move on.”
Brendon swings his arms around Spencer’s body, sinking into an embrace. He continues crying, practically soaking his best friend’s shoulder with his tears. But Spencer is wrong. He could never accept this, but he just needs him now. He needs to spill his guts just enough to alleviate the built up pain of lies and silence. It’s one of the most important things a human can do.
They stay locked in that position for a long while, and Brendon continues to spill his words.
“I wanna die, Spencer.” Is the last audible phrase from the musician’s lips before his words turn into incoherent whimpers. Brendon soon enough grows tired. They separate from the hug and his head immediately falls in Spencer’s lap. The musician begins to fall asleep, feeling the light touch of his best friend’s fingers gently sweep through his hair.