A Series Of Brendon Urie Imagines

Alcoholic; Part One

"Brendon, you can't be coming home drunk every fucking day!" I snapped.

Brendon rolled his eyes at me. "I can do whatever the hell I want." He took another swig of his beer.

Angrily, I stood, snatching his beer out of his hand and tossing it in the trash can in the kitchen.

"What the fuck what that for?!"

"That, my dear, was for me having to drag your drunk ass home every day for the past week. What the actuall hell is wrong with you? Why are you getting wasted all the time?"

"It's my escape, Y/N," he slurred.

"Escape from what?!"

"Your constant nagging and always telling me what to do."

"Maybe you should've thought of that before you married me!"

"I really should've. It was clearly a mistake."

I gaped at him, shocked by what he'd just said. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. It was a mistake."

I screwed my eyes shut, trying to prevent the waterworks. "Thanks, Brendon. It's good to know that I was a mistake. Like people haven't been telling me that my entire life."

"A huuuge one."

"Well, if I was such a mistake, why'd you marry me?!"

Brendon shrugged. "Why not?"

I made an angry sound of frustration. "Glad you're finally telling me how you feel."

I stomped upstairs and yanked a suitcase out of our closet. I shoved in some blouses and jeans, as well as sweeped all the knick knacks I had on my nightstand into it, then stomped back downstairs. My hand was on the smooth, dark, polished handle of the front door, ready to open it, but Brendon stopped me with a question.

"Where do you think you're off to?"

I turned around and glared at him through my tears. "Anywhere but here."

A/N: That HURT to write, especially because I know Brendon would never be this way.