|
Post by [...whatsername3...] on Nov 22, 2005 18:07:11 GMT -5
^yeah me too.... cause tehy are still the same they were when they were like 18.. only now the junk they joke/talk about is with KIDS. lol........
|
|
|
Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 22, 2005 19:40:02 GMT -5
lol, totally.....I think they're really five year olds on the inside, just in 33 year old bodies.....heh....that was random....
*pokes you all and runs away*
|
|
|
Post by [...whatsername3...] on Nov 22, 2005 19:42:43 GMT -5
lol that WAS random. well not SO random, we ARE on a green day forum.. lol
**claps and blows sherbet everywhere**
update??? I MUST KNOW WHAT THE HECK IS WRONG WITH BILLIE!!!!!!!!!!! **goes on mad rampage**
|
|
|
Post by whatsername on Nov 22, 2005 19:43:19 GMT -5
HEY! COME BACK HERE! *runs after Ally, tackles to the ground*
Ha ha, I win.
Do you have the next part already written??? If you do, PLEASE post it. I don't see how you can torture us like this, all we want to do is enjoy your writing.
So, POOOOST! Pwease?
|
|
|
Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 22, 2005 19:43:27 GMT -5
Hey now! I'll update! I promise! I just need to find the right time....
|
|
|
Post by whatsername on Nov 22, 2005 19:44:44 GMT -5
THIS is the RIGHT time!!! Come on now, Ally!!
|
|
|
Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 22, 2005 19:52:24 GMT -5
Okay, you were all just BEGGING for an update, so I relented....here ya go, hope you like it. ^_^ *************** PT.3
Mike sighed as he folded the corner of the page down, closing the book and placing it on the desk. He really couldn’t concentrate on the words anymore. He spun around in the chair, looking over at Billie Joe, who was sitting on the bed and watching TV. The black-haired man was leaning against the wall, his feet propped up in front of him and his ankles crossed. On the other side of the bed, Tré was huddled beneath the covers, breathing deeply in sleep. Estelle was slumbering peacefully in a nest of blankets on the floor.
Billie was still staring at the television screen, but his fingers began to fidget with the edge of the bedsheet, so Mike knew the other man was aware of his eyes resting pointedly on him. After a few moments, Billie Joe looked over at him and met his eyes.
“What?” he whispered, so as not to wake the other two in the room. Mike raised an eyebrow. Despite the lighthearted joking they’d done in the remainder of the car ride to the hotel, he still hadn’t forgotten what had happened.
“You know damn well what,” the bassist said. He stood up, crossed the room, and irritably turned the TV off. The constant prattle in the background had been getting to him. He sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. “I want to help you, Billie Joe. You know that. If you’d just tell me what was wrong―”
“There isn’t anything wrong with me,” Billie snapped, cutting the other man off. “Why do you keep insisting that I’m hiding something? I’m not, okay? So leave me alone.” Billie crossed his arms over his chest, then dug in his pocket to pull out a packet of cigarettes. He put one in his mouth, but Mike leaned forward and snatched it from his lips.
“Not around my kid,” he said firmly, snapping the tobacco stick in half between his fingers. The elder man glared at him, but consented, although it was reluctant. Mike didn’t want Estelle breathing in any of the smoke because of her asthma.
“And you can’t hide anything from me, Bill,” Mike said, dropping the broken cigarette onto the bed cover. “I’ve know you for too fucking long to believe that type of shit. So bite the bullet and tell me what’s bothering you.” Billie let out a groan and stood up.
“I’m not gonna stick around to be harassed anymore,” he said coldly, grabbing his jacket from where it hung over the back of the chair. “I told you the truth, and the fact that you won’t believe me makes me wonder how much you actually trust me after I’ve been there for you so many times.”
He turned to leave, but Mike leapt up, rammed his hands against Billie’s chest, knocking the other man against the wall, and pinned him there with his much taller frame. He glared into the first shocked, then infuriated emerald gaze only two inches away from his own.
“DON’T even GO there with me, Billie Joe fucking Armstrong!” Mike snapped. “I am NOT going to deal with your lies anymore, you hear me? So tell me whatever the FUCK is wrong!” Billie opened his mouth, about to retort, but Mike shook his head sharply and slapped his friend’s shoulder, cutting the smaller man short. “Don’t give me bullshit! I’m sick and tired of you keeping secrets from me! You won’t tell me ANYTHING anymore, Bill, and I’ve just about had it! I don’t think it should be you questioning who trusts who here!”
The bassist’s strong vocal voice made Tré stir on the bed, and the drummer rolled over, blinking tiredly. “What―” He didn’t get to finish whatever he was saying, for then he was too appalled at what happened next.
Clenching his fist, Billie brought his arm back, then rammed it into Mike’s stomach. The breath getting knocked abruptly from his lungs, the taller man stumbled back, coughing, and almost stepped on Estelle. Luckily, he managed to dodge her, but he lost his balance in the process and fell heavily against the desk. The loud bang caused on impact woke her up.
Billie Joe stood on the other side of the room, having pushed himself away from the wall. His body had fallen into a defensive stance and his fist was still raised. But most threatening of all was the complete and utter fury in his glinting green eyes. Stella whimpered and huddled beneath the blankets.
“Don’t you ever touch me like that again, Michael,” Billie Joe said in a deceptively calm voice. “Or I swear to God I will fucking break your nose.” With that said, Billie spun around and marched from the room with long, snapping strides, slamming the door on his way out. Mike pushed himself away from the desk and found his balance again.
“I thought you fucking trusted me!” the bassist screamed at the closed hotel door. “You ASSHOLE!!” Mike whirled around and kicked the radiator, forming a dent and causing it to steam in protest, then marched to the bathroom and slammed the door so hard it shook the walls. Tré heard the small click of a lock and the place was thrown into silence.
Estelle slowly brought the covers down from over her head now that the coast was clear, sniffling miserably. “Uncle Tré?” she whispered fearfully. Tré, who’d been leaning back on his elbows, staring at the closed bathroom door with an expression that betrayed his absolute confusion, turned his head to look at the small girl. He then threw off the covers and went to kneel beside Mike’s daughter, drawing her shaking body into his arms.
“Why…why is Daddy so mad?” Stella whispered, burying her face into Tré’s broad shoulder. The drummer tore his gaze away from the door behind which Mike was concealed, turning his attention to the crying child in his arms.
“I’m not sure, sweetie,” he told her softly, stroking her hair. “I don’t know what happened.” He took a deep breath, and Estelle looked up at him, her face wet and eyes glistening. “I think your daddy and Uncle Billie had a disagreement of some sort. They’ll be able to figure it out, don’t worry. They love each other too much to be mad at each other for long.”
Stella nodded, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand. “Un-Uncle Billie…he hit Daddy,” she murmured innocently. “That…that’s bad, isn’t it?” Tré nodded sadly. “Then why’d he do it?”
“Uncle Billie was really angry,” Tré whispered to her. “But that really doesn’t give him a right to hit people.” Estelle sniffled again and snuggled closer to Tré, feeling protected in his embrace. She stuck her thumb in her mouth, a habit she only returned to when she was scared or nervous, her eyes beginning to droop from fatigue. Tré kissed the top of her head.
“Go to sleep, honey,” he whispered. “I’m going to go talk to your daddy and see what’s wrong.” Stella nodded tiredly, laying down on her pillow again and closing her eyes. Tré rubbed her back soothingly before standing up and going to the bathroom door. He rapped on the wood with his knuckles.
“Mike, open up,” he commanded. There was no answer. He knocked again, this time louder than before. “Mike.” His voice was firmer now. “Open the dam―e-ah―darn door,” Tré corrected himself, glancing at Estelle’s small form to see if she was still awake.
“Not now, Tré,” Mike’s voice wafted from behind the closed door, tight with anger and frustration. The drummer chewed on his tongue a few seconds before knocking on the door again.
“Open it,” he demanded again. There was a thump.
“Go away,” Mike snapped.
“No. Open the door.”
Much to Tré’s surprise, the door opened, and Mike’s face appeared. “Dammit, you bastard―” the bassist began, but he cut himself off when Tré barged his way into the bathroom without warning. The door closed again, this time by Tré’s hand.
“Okay, first off, you can tell me what the fuck happened between you and Billie,” Tré said immediately, pinning Mike with a unusually serious stare, his blue eyes shining in the bright light. The bassist sighed and sat down on the toilet.
“What is there to say?” the blond sighed, rubbing his eyes wearily. “You saw what happened.” Tré made an impatient motion with his hand.
“Correction, Michael. I saw the result,” he said. “Before the action, there were words, I know it. Bill didn’t just hit you for no good damn reason. What did you say to him?”
“Hey, it’s not like I called him a queer,” Mike shot back, and Tré winced at the reference. He’d once called Billie Joe ‘queer’. It’s not like he meant it; it had sort of slipped out of his mouth without thinking. But Billie hadn’t taken it that way. The black-haired man was small, but he certainly threw one hell of a punch.
Of course, Billie had apologized for Tré’s bloody nose after he’d cooled off, but both other band members had learned not to call their frontman a name that brought up memories of HIM.
“I’m not saying you did,” Tré said to Mike, to try and calm the other man down a bit. “I just want to know what you did say.” Letting his body deflate, his head dropping into his hands, Mike heaved a great sigh.
“He’s hiding something,” Mike mumbled at the floor. But, it being a small bathroom, the words echoed loudly in Tré’s ears. The drummer leaned against the sink, crossing his arms over his broad chest.
“What?”
“You think I would know if it’s hidden, Tré?” Mike shot back, glancing up angrily. Tré riased his hands, palms out, as if he were trying to calm down an irritated rottweiler.
“Alright, fine, sorry for being slow,” Tré grumbled, crossing his arms again. “How do you know he’s hiding something?” Mike paused at this question, thinking hard.
“He’s…more distant,” the bassist finally comfirmed. “Like…he never really shares what’s bothering him anymore. I mean, he jokes around with us and everything, but for a while I haven’t heard him say anything that’s related to how he feels or what’s going on with him emotionally.” He let out another breath.
Tré was staring at the floor. “I think you’re right,” the drummer suddenly said. “Now that I think about it, he hasn’t said anything close to what he’s feeling for a long time.” He shifted his position slightly. “So…what should we do, then?”
“I don’t know,” Mike said truthfully. “I’ve tried about three times to get him to fess up, but he was in denial for all of them. What you saw out there, that was the result of me trying to find out what’s wrong with him.” Tré winced softly.
“Oh,” was all he said, was all he could say.
Mike sighed again and let his head fall into his hands again. “Dammit,” he mumbled. “What the hell am I supposed to do?” Tré bit his lip.
“Well…for starters, there’s a little girl out in the other room wondering why her daddy’s so upset,” he said. Mike instantly hopped up upon hearing this.
“Shit! Estelle; I forgot all about her!” he exclaimed, wrenching open the door and rushing from the room. Tré peered around the doorway to see the bassist going to kneel beside his daughter, shaking her slightly to wake her up.
“Daddy…?” she murmured, rubbing her eyes. Mike lifted her into his arms.
“Shh,” he whispered. “It’s alright, Stella. I’m here.” Tré smiled from where he was standing, watching Estelle curl up in her father’s arms. Sometimes Tré felt like such an amateur in parenting when it came to the other two.
Quietly, so as not to disturb the father and daughter, Tré withdrew into the bathroom and closed the door. He’d wait until they were done to come back out. **************** Stubborn stubborn Billie.....*shakes head sadly*
|
|
|
Post by [...whatsername3...] on Nov 22, 2005 20:01:58 GMT -5
ahh dljfdlksjflk goooood. poor estelle. she does not like mean mike. (none of us do... well.. I don't...) .. and.. I don't mean to sound critical, but would an eight-year-old sleep on the floor on blankets? just wondering.. =)
|
|
|
Post by whatsername on Nov 22, 2005 20:02:38 GMT -5
OMG! I was biting my finger the entire time! Holy shit, and then when Billie Joe punched Mike, I was thinking:'..............Uh, what jsut happened???'.
Tre and the queer comment was very good, lots to think about there.
Nicely written, very nice.
Poor Estelle though, seems to be caught in the middle.
Now where has Billie gone?
.........hmmmmmmm.
I'm not gonna ask for an update since you *just* did. But thanks though!
|
|
|
Post by whatsername on Nov 22, 2005 20:03:46 GMT -5
HEY! I'm 14 and I sleep on the floor with blankets. *sniff* Estelle and I are in the same boat, thank you very much.
|
|
|
Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 22, 2005 20:07:00 GMT -5
Another update will most likely come on Saturday or Sunday, cuz that's when I get back from my grandparents' house. Keep an eye out! I'm really glad you liked it! You're welcome, too. And you'll have to read the next part to find out where Billie has gone....and what bad stuff befalls him....*squeak* Did I just say that? Don't wanna give too much away now, huh? And yeah, eight year olds can sleep on the floor in blankets, Abby. Basically, she was sleeping on the floor because there weren't enough beds in the room. I used to have to sleep on the floor in hotels all the time.... btw, why do you keep having these doubts about what she can or can't do? lol.
|
|
rosiejoe
American Idiot
Tre's Faces!!! <333
Posts: 35
|
Post by rosiejoe on Nov 23, 2005 1:35:02 GMT -5
Omg that's awesome! Me love!
Is Stella actually an asthmatic or are ya makin' it up? Lol.
Mike makes the best dad, damn.
But I kinda couldn't picture Tre putting on the father role, but that's just me...Lol. It's still really really really brilliant!!
ajfnosefhweowejwnfgnief bye
|
|
|
Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 23, 2005 9:38:48 GMT -5
I actually made that up. I don't know if any of their children are asthmatic. Yeah.
And I very glad you liked it! ;D
|
|
|
Post by whatsername on Nov 23, 2005 11:38:07 GMT -5
*sigh* Makes me wish I had a father like that.
|
|
|
Post by stefanie on Nov 23, 2005 17:23:36 GMT -5
you got me so curious about what's up with billie..... damn it's gonna be a long wait !!! haha
|
|