Mr. B. Urie

12

Taya leaves around nine o'clock, and as soon as I close the door, Brendon turns me around and kisses me. "Oh my God," he laughs, "I thought she'd never leave!"

"You're the one who suggested watching a movie," I smirk, leaning against the door.

"I was trying to be a nice host," he leans in, locking the door in a seeming excuse for his closeness. Except he stays close to me, and all I can think about is the way his lips feel on mine.

"Oh really?" I ask breathily, running my hands over his shoulders. He nods, and I can see his Adam's apple bob as he swallows hard. Before I know what's happening, he kisses me passionately, throwing his arms around my waist. My hands slide through his hair and I find my legs comfortably latching around his hips.

Somehow we make it up the stairs and into my room, where Brendon no longer sports his button-down shirt and I find myself staring at him. "We can slow down," he pants, laying on my bed. I lay beside him and nod silently, letting him twirl my curls around his fingers. Soon I move my head to his chest, where I can hear his erratic heartbeat. Even through the uneven rhythm, I find myself drifting off to sleep with his hands in my hair and his shallow breathing calming me.

"Ariella!" I shoot up suddenly, looking at Brendon with wide eyes. My dad is home.

"Hide!" I whisper, finding his shirt on my floor and throwing it at him. "This time I'm serious," we don't need a repeat of the Taya incident. I rush out of my bedroom and down the stairs to see my dad. He looks somehow different, but I can't pick out what's wrong.

"There you are!" He smiles, but it's not one of his normal smiles. It's sadder like someone shot his dog . . . Or someone invaded his home? I hope he doesn't know.

"Yeah, sorry, I fell asleep." I lie, taking his suitcase from his hand, as always. I move it to near the stairs and stay turned around, attempting to hide the panic on my face.

"Did you get new shoes?" He asks. I quickly turn around and stare at the pile of shoes in the main entrance. Brendon wore converse, thank god.

"Oh, yeah. Do you like them?" I smile, leaning against the railing.

"They'd be nicer if they didn't belong to the same person who owns the black BMW that's parked in my garage." He retorts. Shit! I guess I have to come up with a lie, and as I'm thinking I hear the stairs creek behind me. I spin around to see, you guessed it, Brendon fucking Urie. I give him the death stare and he ignores me, smiling at my dad.

"Sorry, I was using the washroom. Nice house you've got here, Mr. Alvos." He says, stretching out his hand to shake my dad's. Dad cautiously accepts and looks at me with a raised eyebrow. "Oh, right! Don't know if you remember me, I'm Boyd Urie's son."

"Oh! Well, if you would've led with that . . ." My dad chuckles, pointing at me and then at Brendon. "You remember Arie?"

"Of course! She didn't remember me at first, but can you blame her? It's been what, ten years?" Brendon laughs as if he and my dad are great old pals from back in the day. "See, I told you that my dad did business with your dad." He says to me, then turns back to my dad. "I hope you don't mind, I'm actually teaching Arie English and when I heard you weren't home, I thought I should come give her some company. We cleaned up, then she fell asleep, so I was just about to leave after I went to the washroom."

"No, Brendon, right? Stay as long as you like! In fact, it's getting late, take the guest room tonight." My dad says, patting Brendon on the shoulder and leading him back towards the stairs. I can't believe he fell for that, but what I really can't believe is that Brendon wasn't lying about his dad knowing mine. So why don't I remember him?

*****

It's the middle of the night and I am so incredibly wide awake, thinking about my childhood memories. You'd think I would remember hanging around with a guy that's five years older than me, but I really don't. Half of me thinks that it's because I blocked out everything about my mother, but the other half thinks it's a bit more complicated than that.

I do remember my dad having people over for dinner, some of which being a family with five kids that were all much older than me. Even still, I vaguely remember the youngest boy being extremely hyperactive and immature, sometimes more than myself; I was no older than seven. Was that Brendon?

Instead of trying to sleep, which obviously isn't working, I get out of bed and tip-toe out of my room, quietly across the hall. Here's the thing about my house: the rooms are set up weirdly. My room is directly to the left of the top of the stairs and across from it is one of the guest rooms. Then the washroom is on the same side at the end of the hallway. My dad's room is all the way on the right, about fifteen feet away, with his own private washroom; plus there's a whole other bedroom in between, and an office on the opposite side. So sneaking over to where Brendon is staying is not the hardest thing I've ever done. Actually, it's closer to the easiest.

Rather than knock on the door, I turn the knob and walk in quietly. I close the door behind me and pad over to the bed where Brendon is sleeping, breathing deeply. I pull back the covers and crawl under, trying not to wake him, but I feel his warm body turn to me sleepily.

"Hey, beautiful. Everything okay?" He whispers, making his voice sound deep and raspy. I almost don't answer, hoping he'll keep talking because I love his voice when he's half asleep.

"I thought you made all that up. You know, about knowing my dad, and I guess me too." I hear him groan lightly and then his lips press to my forehead.

"I may have been an annoying little twelve-year-old, but I was perceptive. I knew you didn't remember me, and I figured it was probably for the best. After all, it's only in the last five years that I've been able to control my ADHD, without the use of any drugs. I'm a lot less . . . Frantic than I was when you knew me."

"Well then, if I've known you that long, it's not too early to say this; and to mean it. I love you, Brendon Boyd Urie. Since the moment I first saw you . . . Or I guess the moment I first saw you again."

"I love you too, Ariella Garcia Alvos. Since I was a shitty ten-year-old pulling your hair and stealing your barbies. Which, by the way, I'm sorry about. Your barbies didn't deserve decapitation." I laugh lightly and plant a kiss on his lips, which are surprisingly easy to find in the dark.

Brendon Urie: not just my English teacher, not just my boyfriend, but my annoying childhood 'friend'. This just keeps getting deeper and deeper . . .