Weight In Gold (Brendon Urie)

The Storm

The next few days are pretty uneventful. I've been getting to know Ryan better, and I really like him. Aunt Jodie and Uncle Rick took me to get new clothes and things for my room too. As for Brendon, we get along fine, but we haven't talked very much since my first night here. School starts tomorrow, and I'm having an impossible time falling back asleep. I've had bad dreams every night that I've been here, and tonight it was particularly bad.

Just as I'm about to fall asleep, a flash of lightning and a giant crack of thunder booms through the house. I'm terrified of thunder and lightning. It isn't the sound as much as it is the thought of getting struck. I know how unlikely that is, but it's one of my worst fears.

I continue to try and sleep, but between the loud thunder and dark thoughts wandering through my mind, it's nearly impossible. I can feel my eyes starting to get wet. I have cried more at night in the time that I've been here than I did in 3 years back home. I used to be so much tougher than I am now.

It eventually gets to be too much, and I crawl out of bed. I consider knocking on Brendon's door and asking if I can sleep with him, but that seems like a stupid idea. I tip toe downstairs and go to get a glass of water to calm me down. I open the pantry and get my glass, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the door to the back yard open. I figure someone just forgot to close it earlier today so I walk over to do just that. When I do, I see Brendon sitting on the steps with a bottle of whiskey in his hands. He looks a million more times tired than I am, and he's soaking wet from the rain.

"Stealing probably won't fair too well with management," I say jokingly referring to Jodie and Rick. He forces a quiet laugh. I walk over to him and sit down, hesitant because of the storm. "I take it you aren't afraid of lightning?" I ask him. "No," he says, "are you?" I nod and cross my arms to try and conserve heat. "You ok?" I say, concerned with his current state. "Eh, I've been better. This seems to take the edge off things a bit," he responds, lifting the bottle in his hands. "You find yourself like this often?" He nods at this. "I'm sorry." I try to be empathetic, but I have no idea what it's like to be in his situation. I may not live with my parents, but at least I have them.

"Look at it this way," he says, "If I drank whenever I was happy instead of when I was upset, I would be wasted a whole lot more." This makes me smile a bit. He leans the bottle towards me, and although every instinct I have is telling me to politely decline, I take it from him and take a couple gulps. I've never been too much of a whiskey person, but he's right about it taking the edge off things. I'm a total light weight, and I can already feel the alcohol taking it's toll on me. My head get's a little cloudy, and the storm doesn't seem so bad anymore. The rain starts to let up a bit, and I remember something funny that makes me giggle. Before I know it, Brendon is laughing too. "What's so funny?" He asks. "Remember when Ryan fell down the stairs?" I say, laughing more at the thought of the incident. "You mean yesterday?" He asks. I nod and continue to laugh. "Alright, no more of this for you," Brendon says, taking the glass bottle out of my hands and replacing the cap. I try to frown, but I can't because the thought of Ryan flying down the stairs is making me laugh. All of a sudden, I remember my question from the first day I got here.

"Why do you eat so much?" I blurt out at Brendon, my speech a bit slurred. "You eat," I stop to giggle, "like a pig," I finish. Brendon get's jokingly defensive at this. "Hey, I'm a growing boy." I laugh some more and poke him in the belly. "No, you're skinny fat." He looks confused at this. "Skinny fat?" He says. "Yeah, it means you're skinny, but you eat like your fat." He looks unconvinced. "You just made that up didn't you?" He questions. "No, it's a real thing." I try to be serious but I can't help but laugh a bit. "Whatever that means, I'm not it." He says.

"Whatever you say, Beebo." I respond after a short pause. "Who's Beebo?" He asks. "Brendon Boyd Urie: Beebo!" I say a bit too loudly. Brendon shushes me and I drunkly giggle. "I think it's time we get you back to bed." Brendon says. On our way back in, he puts away the whiskey and then helps me up the stairs.

I feel like now is a good time to tell him about the time I lost a tooth in first grade, but he keeps telling me to be quiet. When we get to my room, Brendon tucks me in and starts to leave, but I don't want him to.

"Beebo?" I whisper. Brendon turns around and meets my eyes. "Can you sing to me?" I ask. "Sing?" He says, confused. I nod. "You have a nice voice." He looks like he's going to say no, so I continue to argue. "Please, it will help me sleep." I plead. Brendon sighs and gives in. I close my eyes as he comes and sits next to my bed and starts to sing.

I recognize the song immediately. It's called creep, it's by radio head. My dad and I used to dance around the house to it when I was little.

A couple times, I think he's going to stop, so I make sure he knows I'm still awake by popping my eye open.

He sings the song so well that eventually I do start to drift off. The last thing I hear before I'm out completely are the final words of the song.

After that, I sleep dreamlessly and uninterrupted.