Vegas Boys

The best thing about living next door to my boyfriend was that I got to see him any time I wanted. But this was also possibly the worst thing, because I had absolutely no self-control.

After school on Tuesday, he came home with me and we pretended to work on homework together for two or three hours, until Dad finally came home and intimidated Brendon so much that he finally said he'd better be getting home. I finished my homework and my few chores on my own, and then an hour later I finally gave in and allowed myself to walk over to Brendon's house.

His mother answered the door, and she didn't look very happy to see me at all. But before I could even open my mouth to say anything, she turned around and called up the stairs, "Brendon! Your friend's here to see you!"

She stepped back away from the door to let me in, and as I stepped inside, I could hear a series of low thuds coming through the ceiling above, and instinctively looked up. I followed them all the way across the ceiling until finally Brendon emerged at the top of the stairs, hurrying down the first few uncertainly until he could see who was at the door.

At the sight of me, his face lit up, and he took the rest of the stairs two-at-time and, planting his hand on the banister for support, jumped the last four and landed right in front of me. "Long time no see," he told me, grinning, as his mother shook her head and walked back into the kitchen. "Like, a whole hour."

"I know," I laughed. "I was getting lonely."

He just smiled wider and took my hand. "Come on," he breathed excitedly, and pulled me up the stairs behind him.

When I had first met Brendon, his overwhelming friendliness and hyperactivity had gotten on my nerves, to say the least--but now, they were my favorite things about him. Anyone else in his position probably would have been at least a little bit surprised to see me; but Brendon just smiled and acted like he had been expecting me all along.

His room was at the end of the upstairs hall to the right, and the door was still open and all the lights were still on as he pulled me inside. It was a small room--smaller than mine--with plain white carpet and blue walls that were mostly bare, save for a couple of posters and a clock. A bed, a small nightstand, a dresser, and a TV on a stand in the corner were the only furnishings, but lots of books and CDs and other miscellaneous items were strewn about everywhere. A keyboard was set up in front of the side window that faced my bedroom window, and a guitar was laying across his unmade bed.

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about the mess."

I just laughed. "It's okay," I replied earnestly, "my room's just as bad, if not worse."

"I don't believe that," said Brendon as he closed the door behind us.

I was left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, because there really wasn't anywhere to sit. Brendon noticed, and hurried over to start clearing off his bed, setting the guitar aside and dumping everything else into the floor haphazardly.

I folded my arms across my chest and looked around the room as I waited, and then decided to make a stab at conversation. "So what have you been up to since we last parted?"

"Oh, I dunno." He sounded nervous for some reason as he finished making up the bed. "I was just--working on some stuff--"

"Songs?" I asked curiously, as I remembered the guitar and looked down to see a pen and an open notebook, in which was scrawled what looked to be song lyrics, on the floor.

"Oh--I don't--" He saw what I was looking at and quickly picked up the notebook and flipped it shut, shoving it into the little drawer in his nightstand with an air of something like desperation. "Sort of, but--it's just stupid, it's not like--Ryan writes all our songs," he finally managed.

"Oh." I felt kind of bad for asking, because he was obviously uncomfortable. "Sorry to be nosy, I was just--"

"No," said Brendon quickly, frowning. "No, no, you're not. I just--" He stopped mid-sentence and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck before gesturing awkwardly to his newly-clean bed. "Do you want to sit down, or something?"

We both laughed, nervously, and climbed onto his bed. It was pushed up into the corner of his room, so we sat facing the other side of the room, with our backs up against the wall.

"So," said Brendon. He turned to look at me and grinned, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively just because there was nothing else to do. We both laughed, and then he asked, "How about some music?"

I shrugged. "Sure."

He leaned over to reach for a tiny remote that was perched on his window sill, for some reason, and pointed it at the huge stereo on his dresser that I had somehow failed to notice. It turned on with a mechanical clicking sound, and Smashing Pumpkins' "1979" automatically came on.

The music made me think of something, and I asked, "Have you guys ever, like, made your own CDs?"

He knew I was talking about the band, and furrowed his brow a little as he thought about that. "Yeah, we've done a few recordings. They're mostly shit though."

"I bet they're good," I argued.

He shrugged, and then said thoughtfully, "I dunno. I guess they could be worse. But we're no Rolling Stones."

I remembered that day, back before we had started officially dating, when he had explained to me that his mother hated the band because she was afraid of what Brendon might become, and I had joked that they could be the next Rolling Stones. It was a fond memory, and I smiled to myself--but it was also tinged with regret. That was back when I was still fighting him, before I had let some of my walls down. It seemed so long ago.

Brendon and I hadn't even been a couple for a week yet, but it felt like we always had been.

But that was probably because Brendon had never met a stranger and didn't know how to hold a grudge. He was more than happy to let me forget about everything I had put him through.

I was pulled out of my dark thoughts as he reached over and took my hand. I looked up and he was smiling at me, so I smiled back, and we just sat there, listening to the music in silence for a while.

He looked down at my right hand, which he was holding in his left, and ran his thumb over the ring Dad had given me just before school started. "You're always wearing this," he observed.

I nodded a little. "It's a blue diamond. My dad gave it to me over the summer."

"It's nice."

"Mmm-hmm," I mumbled vaguely, watching him continue to slide it up and down on my finger with his thumb.

He stopped and looked up at me, smiling with a casual grace that couldn't make up for the intensity in his dark eyes. "Maybe someday I'll give you an even nicer one," he whispered.

I just stared at him blankly for a moment or two as I struggled to take that in, and then I realized it was impossible, I couldn't fathom it. So I just leaned over and rested my head on his shoulder, blinking rapidly to dispel the tears I felt coming on.

Brendon saw, and leaned down to kiss the wet spots on my cheeks. "What's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked softly.

"I don't know," I mumbled, reaching up to wipe my eyes. "I don't know why."

He let go of my right hand and slipped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer, and kissed the top of my head. He took my left hand in his right one and brought it up to his face, kissing my bare ring finger; then he let that hand fall back into my lap again as he wrapped his other arm around me, too.

All I could think was that it was too soon. It was way too soon for any of this. I could see my fate rushing at me at break-neck speed, I could see that I was only going to end up devastated for all of this--and yet I couldn't stop it. I was caught up in a whirlwind romance, and I couldn't slow it down.