All Was Golden in the Sky

I felt like I was drugged. Every inch of my body was sluggish, exhausted—I’m pretty sure Brendon had to practically drag me out to the car when we were leaving the hospital. It just felt like I had lost the will to even try to put on appearances. Luckily no paparazzi or anything had caught wind of our late night trip, so at least we didn’t have to worry about any pictures of Brendon rolling me out in a wheelchair popping up on the internet.

He made me some chai after he got me settled on the couch, and he reached up in the closet to grab my favorite fluffy blanket and the zebra print pillow he usually kept hidden for his naps in the music room. It was touching seeing his desire to keep me at least somewhat sane outweighed his usual desire to keep his favorite pillow to himself.

“Here, baby,” he said, handing me my tea in one of my favorite mugs. It was one he had gotten me when we had first started dating with little ducks traipsing along the rim. It made me smile, until I saw the little duckling in the back. Then the tears started again.

“Oh, Annie, I’m sorry,” Brendon mumbled. He grabbed the mug before I spilled it and quickly threw it onto the coffee table, wrapping his arms around me in the same breath. He was naïve if he thought I preferred his zebra pillow over his embrace; he was my thunder jacket in the worst rainstorms of life.

“I’m so sorry, Bren,” I sobbed. The words echoed everywhere: in my head, in the room, through the hours, and each time they were shushed by Brendon’s reassuring whispers. Every time I snapped throughout the day he wouldn’t let me get the words out, just pulled me tighter into his chest until finally I managed a few hours of fitful sleep.

Dallon called a couple of times, asking Brendon what we were up to and if he was enjoying his day off. I knew Bren well enough to pick up on the catch in his throat when he told Dallon we were good, just having a lazy day by the TV, but Dallon didn’t seem to be any the wiser.

We watched a lot of old 80s movies—Footloose, The Breakfast Club, Ferris Bueller. We almost watched Dirty Dancing, which was one of my all-time favorites, until Brendon remembered the whole ordeal that Penny went through in that one. I cried more, he decided it was best not to watch, and the cycle started all over again.

It took nearly a week for me to feel normal again, or at least as close to it as I could manage, all things considered. Brendon wanted to stay home with me all week, but I wouldn’t let him. The album was supposed to be finished soon and I knew how badly he wanted to be there to put on all the final touches. I wasn’t going anywhere—literally. I could survive a few days by myself.

“I don’t mind staying home,” he told me. He was doing his darnedest to help me out around the house and was folding our laundry on our bed next to where I lay. He even refrained from his usual comments every time he came upon a piece of my underwear, although the thought of him cracking any kind of joke was something I very badly craved at the moment.

I shook my head and reached out for him, even though I was on the opposite end of the bed and couldn’t reach him. “No, Bren, you have to go,” I said. “You guys are almost done, and I know how badly you want to be there. I mean, this album is your baby—“ I cut myself off and looked down at the comforter, trying to focus on my breathing to stop myself from crying again.

Brendon noticed and tossed his shirt to the side before crawling next to me on the bed. “You’re not careful with those waterworks and you might make us an indoor pool, missy,” he joked, but I could tell his heart wasn’t in it.

“I wouldn’t want to get pruney,” I tried, but my heart wasn’t really in it, either. I patted his thigh and tried giving him my brightest smile. “Anyway, I want you to go, honey. ‘Cause then I can finally hear the finished product, and we can talk about what an amazing musician you are, and plan out things for your tour with Fall Out Boy.”

He tried smiling and linked his fingers with mine, bringing them up to his lips to kiss my knuckles. “You’re allowed to say you want me to stay, you know,” he said quietly. “You can be selfish for once.”

“I know,” I nodded. “But maybe if I pretend everything’s okay and normal then it will be.”

“You could always come with me?” he suggested. “You can stay in my lap the whole time while I fiddle with everything.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Bren, I know we snuggle a lot, but I think that would still make the guys think something is up.”

He just waved his free hand in the air with a frown. “They don’t like it, they can deal with it.”

I smiled, genuinely this time, and shook my head. “I love you, honey, but I don’t think I’m up for going out at the moment.” I shifted so I was cradled into his side, and I could feel the stubble on his chin scratch against the top of my head. “I’ll be okay. I promise.”

He seemed hesitant when he pressed his lips against my forehead, lingering there as he pondered. “Will you at least call Hannah and ask her to come over? I don’t want you being alone right now.”

I couldn’t help but stiffen in his arms. Maybe I wanted to be alone. But then I remembered Brendon was the one who had found Spencer in his depression; he was inconsolable then. I didn’t want to think about how he might react if some nerve in me snapped and I broke down like Spence had.

“Okay,” I finally nodded. “I’ll call her.” He nodded and kissed me again before dragging himself out of my arms. I knew I should be more selfish and only worry about myself, but I couldn’t help but notice the pain behind Brendon’s eyes when he pulled away. I knew he had to be hurting more than he was letting on simply to make me feel better, and I wanted to help.

I just didn’t know how, or if I even could.

--

People can be really insensitive.

I know a lot of it probably isn’t intentional really, but the things that some fans say just because they aren’t in your place…really? It was bad enough reading all the bizarre responses to Brendon’s tweets that had nothing to do with its subject—stupid things mostly referencing their great desire for his dick or oh-so-eloquent jizz to be all over them. Brendon could ignore it, but with my hormones being as fucked as they were, it was really pissing me off.

And then there were some that were even worse. Not just telling Brendon how badly they wanted him—which many did—but how he deserved so much more than me. It was the usual stuff I’d gotten before we’d even been engaged, but the sting was so much worse.

“Oh, Brendon, leave Annie and come be with me. I can have your babies!”

“I’ve been told my pussy’s a very hospitable environment, Brendon. Care to confirm?”

Dozens of them, each more vulgar and heart breaking than the last. Two months after the miscarriage we agreed to tell people about it, starting with our friends and family and then finally making an announcement on the band’s webpage in an effort to explain my sudden disappearance off the face of the Earth and the reasoning for Brendon’s absence to a lot of events over the past two months. Some people were sympathetic, and then there were these people.

Promising my husband babies because I couldn’t give him any. I have never so badly wanted to go to Twitter with such a vengeance. Brendon and Hannah convinced me not to do anything.

“I’m blocking everybody who says anything remotely like that, Annie,” Brendon told me one morning when he found me sobbing the bathtub. “They’re all sick fucks, all right? I don’t want you to let them upset you.”

“Fuck them!” Hannah said another time. She had finally convinced me to get out of the house and took me to a Starbucks near her apartment. “After all the shit you do for those fans it is unforgiveable for them to say anything like that about you!”

“What if they’re right though, Hannah?” I asked her. “What if I can’t give Brendon a baby?”

She just snorted at me and swatted at my arm, almost making me drop my coffee. “Please. You and Brendon are more in love with each other than any sensible person on the Earth. I have no doubt that you two will make it happen, especially with all the sweet love you two are always making.” She patted my arm with a smile. “You guys haven’t even been married sixth months yet, goofball. Don’t stress yourself out over it. Just enjoy yourself.”

It felt good to smile again, even if it wasn’t big enough to bring out the dimples in my cheeks. “You’re right.”

She scoffed, “Of course I am. I’m always right. Even when I’m wrong, I’m right.”

I sighed and took a big sip of my mocha. “Well, I hope you’re not wrong about this.”

She smiled, the kind of smile that only a best friend can give. “Lucky for you, I’m never wrong.”

--

It was always sad sending Brendon off on tour. Even with knowing that I’d be following after him in a few weeks, the whole goodbye thing was never easy. I pouted the whole time he was packing his bags, and when Zack came to pick up his guitar and sound equipment. I pouted even harder when Zack gave me a sympathetic look; everyone was still tiptoeing around me, like I was some fragile porcelain doll just waiting to crack.

“It’s just ‘cause they love you,” Brendon told me as we loaded his bags into the trunk of my car.

“Yeah, but you love me and you’re not making me feel pathetic,” I argued, handing him my keys.

He chuckled and ruffled my hair. “That’s because I know you, and I know that if I did treat you like that then you would kick my ass.”

I sighed and leaned into him, puckering my lips. “Well, nobody can say you’re not smart.” He obliged my request for a kiss, keeping it light. Even if he didn’t flat out treat me like I was breaking, he sure was subtle about it. I don’t think I had gotten more than a peck or light humping in forever.

We held hands the entire drive to the airport, with Brendon tapping some rhythm on the steering wheel with his other hand and me mindlessly rubbing my hand over my stomach. I kept feeling Brendon look over at me, eyes flickering down to my hand in concern, but he didn’t say anything.

“Promise me you won’t let Pete drag you into anything too crazy,” I said once we got to the parking at the airport. I’d heard plenty of stories about the escapades Pete had gotten up to on tour, not to mention seen the videos. The man jumped through a hole in the wall, for goodness’ sake.

Brendon shook his head. “I promise,” he said, holding up his pinkie as an offering.

I moved to link mine with his but hesitated. “That includes anything could involve breaking bones.”

He pouted but linked his pinkie with mine. “Man, you never let me do anything.”

“Nice of you two to finally join us,” Zack said once we caught up to the gang at security. I wasn’t allowed any further without a ticket, and so we began all the goodbyes. Zack tugged me into a big hug, but it wasn’t nearly as tight as the ones he gave me usually were. Instead of saying anything, like I had been known to after the past month, I just rolled my eyes at Brendon. He seemed to pick up on what I was going to say.

“Jesus, Zack, let the girl breathe,” Brendon joked. Zack pulled back and noticed my glare; he flashed me a grin, which I’m sure was meant to appease me and failed miserably, before passing me off to Dallon and Kenny. They were smart enough to give me real hugs and refrained from the sympathetic smiles. Smart boys.

Brendon hugged me last, but the softness of his embrace didn’t make me feel like he thought I was going to break; it was more tender and intimate, like it was the closest he could get to making love to me in a public and busy airport. His hand gripped at my wrist and the other buried itself in the hair by the base of my neck.

“You call me if you need me, okay?” he murmured into my ear. It gave me chills to feel his breath against my neck, but this wasn’t the time or place.

“You know you’ll be the first person I call for anything,” I said. I wrapped my arms around him until they settled just above his butt. “You’re like my GhostBusters.”

“I’m serious, Annie.” His eyes were really dark, like the chocolate his mom had sent me after she heard the news, and they made me just as sad as though truffles had. “As long as I’m not on stage I will answer no matter what. I don’t care if you just need to cry over the toilet paper being out again; I’ll answer.”

“That was only the one time,” I muttered, but he ignored me and lifted my chin with his index finger until I looked into his eyes. I sighed; those eyes were always my undoing. “I’ll call you, I promise.”

“Good girl.” He kissed me then, harder than he had for a while, so hard that my knees felt weak. He was smirking when he pulled away, and I panted as I gripped onto his shoulders. “We’ll plan a fun reunion when you meet up with us.”

I grinned and straightened out his shirt collar. “I can’t wait.”

He gave me another swift kiss before Zack called for him to hurry it up. “I love you,” he said. He picked up his bags and headed towards security, looking back at me with a smile.

“I love you more,” I said, giving him a little wave. It was the usual deal—watch Brendon until his head disappeared past security and then dissolve into a depressed state that could usually only be cured by chocolate and some kind of marathon on Bravo. But I didn’t really want to be alone.

I dug out my phone on the way back to the car, dialing the first number that came to mind, the one person I knew would be able to comfort me. “Spence?” I said. “It’s Annie. Can I come over?”