Creep || Brendon Urie

3 • Alerted ; Invested

She couldn't stop thinking about him, and that was a shame. He couldn't stop thinking about the way he thought about her, and he was ashamed. It had been exactly seventeen hours since her cold, endearing hands wrapped themselves around his own; shaky, sweaty, and warm.
He could almost still feel her touch in his palm, as if a ghost of her stood beside him, drawing away his energy by the grasp of his hand. He drew his fingers inward, making a fist to almost capture the feeling, and lock it away. But all that did was make it disappear completely. And now that the last remains of their first encounter together had vanished, he craved to replace the feeling with something more.

He hadn't realized until then, how how much he wanted her. Needed her. He wanted to run his fingers through her thin, silk-like hair. Draw his fingertips across her plump, pale lips. Catch every breath that escaped her lips, and use it to replace his own because, boy, she was breathtaking.
He wanted to feel her. To feel her presence, her intoxicating energy. Brendon no longer felt his attraction to her through mourning a lost love, but now, through nothing but numbing infatuation laced with a growing hint of lust.

But he would have to wait. And waiting was something he was used to.

So, to occupy each droning second of his pitiful days, he did as he usually did, and took a seat in the chipping wicker chair, and plucked his binoculars off of his side table.
The groan that the chair emitted as he lowered his weight onto it could no better describe his feelings at this particular time.
Brendon found himself practically sick at his stomach, as he brought the black lenses up to his eyes as usual.

Everything was achingly familiar, and after three months of getting used to his ritualistic behaviors, he found that after what had occurred yesterday, this would never feel the same again. What was once exciting, was now dulling and exhausting. An exhilarating, time-passing hobby was now merely time-passing, and nothing more.
Time-passing before he could find himself nose to nose, chest to chest, hip to hip with the girl he was strictly infatuated with.

Luckily, though, there was one thing, Brendon found, about today's spying that was unlike any other day before. And that was the pair of enticing, icy blue eyes that met his bewildered brown through the thick lenses of the binoculars.
His trembling hands immediately lost grip, sending the borderline-heavy object plummeting into his lap. But, although he was sure he'd have an unmistakeable bruise there, he paid no mind to the pain, as he rubbed his eyes, and focused them back onto the window across the street.

Sure enough, there she was, her body standing statue-like behind the glass. And for the first time in three months, he feared that she was aware of what was going on.

_

It had been seventeen hours, Sabrina counted on her fingers, since she had picked both halves of her skateboard out from under Harris' tire and scurried away from the scene, ignoring both men's apologetic pleads.
Seventeen hours since she had implanted her poison into the wrong victim. And she was disgusted in herself for allowing it to happen. Because for once, Sabrina didn't get what she wanted, which, in bluntest terms, pissed her off to no extent, because that was the one thing she hated most.

She wanted to convince herself so increasingly badly that she was not, in the least bet, apt to let her mind linger on her target's uncle, but nonetheless she found that every time her mind wandered, it found a way back to him. His eyes. His face. His hands. His lips. His alluring presence that sparked the strongest of curiosity within her.

"Fuck." she exclaimed, throwing herself face-down onto her mattress.

She just couldn't get that deer-in-the-headlights look of his, out of her mind. She couldn't scrub the feeling of his soft, warm hands off of her fingers. She couldn't forget the sensation of the moment where their eyes had met, had brought upon her. So, stopping herself from growing even more curious was challenging to say the least.

It was a mystery to Sabrina as to why they had acted so particularly strange around each other yesterday. Almost, cautious. Almost, awestruck.
It was like those scenes in the movie where the man and woman meet, and the audience can just feel that it was meant to be, and fuck was that thought rising bile inside of Sabrina's throat.
She hated it. It disgusted her. She didn't want to think of him in that way. But no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop herself from letting every detail of him circle her mind like a go-kart on a racetrack.

The sudden roar of a motor across the street waded through the air, sparking Sabrina's interest. What better to distract her mind than the boy who was supposed to be occupying it. She lifted her head from her pillow and ran over to the window just in time to see Harris' vehicle roll down the driveway in an awkwardly slow manor. She was sure that he'd take extra caution in backing out, from now on, due to her mischievousness.

Only the smallest glimpse of his face could be seen before he sped down the street and out of her view. But although Harris was gone, Sabrina did not yet retreat from her stance at the window. Instead, she allowed her eyes to drift onto the house across the street, and land on the large window at the very top story of the house. Because a glimmer of light reflected against something behind the glass, a pair of binoculars, although Sabrina was unaware, and bent the sunlight right into her eyes.

But directly a moment after she spotted the annoying reflective ray, it was gone, because Brendon had dropped his binoculars. And as her eyes adjusted, she was finally able to see who sat behind the glass, in a dingy wicker chair, staring directly back at her, and no longer was there overwhelming disgust, but an itching to create some exciting, torturous, fun creeping up Sabrina's spine. Because at last, she was aware of what was going on.