Strictly Business // Brendon Urie

-52-

Day 3-

So, I've gotten five house from my house without rest. I'm not tired, either, but for my own sake I've decided to stop at a crappy little motel on the outskirts of Vegas.

It didn't seem like the safest place checking in, the front desk lady was high out of her mind and she gave me four different keys before giving me the right one. There was a creepy man staring me down in the lobby and another doing the same, but he was leaning against the walls out the outdoor halls to my room.

As I approached my room the fifth time, checking the key, and to my luck finding it being the winner, I got a nose full of smoke, which made me a little nauseous.

I got in the room, quickly locking the door and bolt twice, just to be sure. I set my stuff down and sat on the bed, starring at the shitty little box TV that was sitting on top of a small mini fridge. It was placed so close tot he bed that my knees were almost touching it. It was off, but I could see myself in it, which was the most pathetic show you could put on anything.

My eyes wandered up the bland, beige wall to a small painting above the TV, aside a mirror. It was quite a weird picture, too. It was a painting of a dark desert with people all kneeling before a huge lit up exclamation point. The weirdest part was the headless lady in the middle of the whole thing, smoke coming from the place her head should have been.

I would sure hate to be her.

I stood and took a peek out of the curtains of the motel, looking into a parking lot with about two cars in it, and then the cloud of smoke from the man that I saw before I came in.

I don't know what came over me, but I unlocked the door, opening it to the old, homeless looking smoker. He was leaning against the wall, a couple doors down from me, so I close the door and walked slowly to him, my back laying itself on the wall space next to him.

"Can I get one?" I asked, my brow cocking to the poorly shaven man. He chuckled and shook his head, "Hun, you've got real pretty face. No way you can be a smoker."

I saw the pack in his pocket and grabbed it, taking one out with my teeth to make it seem like I knew what I was doing. "There's stuff you don't know about this pretty face. Give me a light." I said, the stick balancing between my two rows of teeth.

He seemed surprised, but he lit the cigarette and took his pack back, letting me suck in the smoke, but not inhaling it. I'm not dumb, you know.

"Thanks. See ya' around" I said before taking my cigarette between my fingers and walking to my room, closing the door quickly behind me before the man could say anything else.

~~~

I went to sleep in tears, of course. The grief of me leaving hit me after I used the cardboard carpet for an ash tray, oddly enough. I can't go back, though. I made a pact with myself on the way here, that I wouldn't go back.

I walked into an office and my life changed. It was never the same, and I wish it didn't happen. I just wish I wouldn't have gotten that job or some prettier girl walked in before me or something that would have completely changed my terrible fait of meeting Brendon Urie. It was fait, and I'm sticking to it.

I walked into that office. All I had to do was walk into an office and have my heart broken, my face beaten, chased, and my boyfriend shot. It's not all entirely his fault, if that's what you think I'm getting at, because some of it is mine, but none of it would have happened if he wasn't in my life.

I slung my legs over the made bed, my hair frizzy and makeup a mess. Something about waking up in a motel, probably were a number of murders have taken place, isn't the most settling feeling.

I brushed my teeth and packed up quickly, walking out of the room and immediately heading to my car. I thought that during the day time this place would be more crowded, but it was emptier than the night before. My step quickened as I approached my car, opening the trunk and tossing my bag in it and closing it.

I was back on the road shortly, still not having a clue as to where I was going.

I decided to stop at a gas station, as I and the car needed to fuel up.

"Hi ma'am, how can I help you today?" I extremely happy cashier asked me. He was a bony little kid, dark skinned and his glasses practically swallowing his face whole.

I smirked, glancing to the wall of cigarettes behind him. "I'll take a pack of Newports, and add a gallon of gas onto the card." I spoke, placing the bag of chips and Coke on the counter.

He smiled girlishly, "You don't strike me as much of the smoker." I started to fish through my purse, looking for my wallet. "You don't strike me as someone to be nosy. I guess we are both surprised." I snapped back, handing him my card. He quickly cowards back, giving my puppy dog eyes while swiping my card in.

"Oh, and this lighter. I probably lost mine." I said, tossing a lighter on display in front of me to the rest of my things. He nodded, his face still showing a tremendous amount of fear. I almost felt bad for him.

He put everything in a bag, "14.87 ma'am."

He handed me back my card and a pack of cigarettes. I winked, "Have a nice one, hun."

The kid stumbled a little, then waved to me as I exited the small store. Then, I was on my way again.

He was right, I probably didn't look like a smoker, because I wasn't. Not until now at least. I flipped open the carton and one out with my teeth, balancing it whilst searching for the lighter.

I lit it and turned up the radio, not particularly caring about the road before me. It played one kof the crappy pop songs that poison today's radio while I smoked from my cigarette. I felt cool, but gross all at once. My lungs hurt from the toxins I was putting in them and the way the cigarette ashes fell from the stick burnt my foot.

And then I swerved, and laughed at how I almost died, and then had another great thought.

Why don't I get drunk?