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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 14, 2005 20:06:55 GMT -5
Hey! New story, everybody! I really hope you like it! It might be a little slow at first, but it'll pick up.
Oh, and btw, I have absolutely NO clue where this'll be going. So, on that note, read and enjoy! ;D ************************** PT. 1
Billie Joe hastily scrubbed away at a tear as he scrambled up the stairs. He’d just managed to keep in his sobs before his stepfather sent him away. He hated showing weakness in front of that bastard his mother called her husband. It just showed that he’d managed to crack Billie Joe’s emotional defenses.
Billie entered his room and slammed the door―hard―behind him, ignoring the holler his stepfather emitted from downstairs. He threw the lock on the door, shut off all his lights, and crawled beneath the covers, lying still on his bed and breathing hard. Now that he’d finally stopped moving, or, to put it a better way, finally stopped running from his stepfather, Billie Joe could consciously feel the new cuts and bruises he’d received over the old ones.
The fifteen year old gently ran two fingers over a rather large welt, wincing as he did so. He then flexed the finger his stepfather had bent backwards, testing it to make sure nothing was broken. His finger was fine, but it hurt like a bitch. Billie scowled through his few tears. Bastard. He wouldn’t be able to play guitar for a week.
Billie Joe sighed and pulled the covers over his head, curling into a tight ball. He hated his stepdad. He hated his life. Why did his mother marry that son of a bitch? It’d been fine the first few months, and, aside from hating him, Billie Joe hardly showed his stepfather any recognition whatsoever, and vise versa.
But then the man had started drinking, and he loosened up around the family. Before, he hadn’t touched Billie or his siblings, for some reason thinking them not exactly ‘his’ kids yet. Then he grew more confident around them, he cursed at them, even gave them small cuffs on the arm or head. Billie’s mother, Ollie, never found out about this.
The ‘real stuff’ started when the family was all eating dinner. When Billie Joe’s stepdad had addressed him about the way he was slouching, the boy mumbled something into his food. He didn’t even remember what he’d said, but before his mother could open her mouth to chastise him, his stepfather had simply reached out and smacked him on the back of the head, hard enough for Billie’s neck to snap and his nose to almost crack on the tabletop.
“Don’t be a smartass,” the man said sternly, and simply went back to eating, as if the whole thing hadn’t happened. Billie Joe stared at him, at the same time rubbing the back of his head. He could feel the astonished stares of his siblings on his back, but didn’t acknowledge them.
Finally his mother spoke. “Steve!”
Her husband looked up with an innocent expression, as innocent as he could make his abhored face look. “What? He was talking back. I’m not going to tolerate it.”
That was the first time he’d ever hit Billie Joe. But it wasn’t the last. Steve found Billie to be the perfect punching bag, and the beatings slowly grew, happening whenever Steve was drunk or in a blind rage about something. The abuse took place in an extra room of the basement, or anywhere else in the house, if no one was home. Billie’s mother was usually at work late, and three of his elder siblings had long moved out. The other two, Holly and Anna, turned their heads away and pretended not to hear the shouts and crashes coming from downstairs, feigning ignorance in order to make their own lives better.
Billie Joe’s thoughts were interrupted as he heard someone trying to get into his room. He tensed beneath the covers, listening to the sounds of the doorknob jiggling and the door thumping loudly against the frame.
“Billie Joe Armstrong, open this door!” his mother’s voice demanded firmly, and, to emphasize her point, she gave the wood a hard bang with her fist. Billie forced himself to move and clambered out of the bed, unlocking and opening the door to see his mother standing on the other side, looking both tired and angry at the same time. She let out a deep breath.
“Steven tells me you were being rude to him earlier,” she said. Billie knew it was a lie, but nodded anyway. “He tells me you were talking back.” Another sullen nod. “He tells me you were being cheeky.” Nod. “He tells me you almost hit him.”
Billie Joe nodded again, hardly listening. Always, whenever his mother came home, Steve ranted off fictional wrongs the boy had done, and Billie Joe just found it so much easier to just accept whatever was being said about him.
His mother sighed. “Billie, why can’t you just…try to listen to him and be nice? It would make it so much easier to get through the day.” Billie Joe shrugged, looking down. There was a moment or two of silence, and then she sighed, turned, and walked away.
“Forget it. I’m too tired to argue with you.”
Billie Joe watched her disappear down the stairs, then closed his door to return to the comforting darkness of his room. ********************* Yes. Very slow. And short. But it shall get better. And, just to add, I got this idea from Billie Joe's songs, "Platypus" and "Desensitized". My mom heard some of "Platypus" when I was playing it, and she said: "Wow, that sounds like something you would say to a father that's been abusing you." A plot bunny perked its ears. Then, as I listened to the first couple seconds of "Desensitized", you know, the part where there're the sounds in the background of crashes and yells? I imagined that to be.....ya know. So, that's where this idea popped up from. No idea why I decided to tell ya that, but...*shrug*
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Post by TABBY on Oct 14, 2005 21:26:53 GMT -5
yay! new story!. abuse. billie.stepdad. drama!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 15, 2005 8:40:18 GMT -5
Heh. Total drama. More coming soon!
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Post by whatsername on Oct 15, 2005 12:48:32 GMT -5
yay! like tabby said, new fanifc! awesome so far, very well written!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 15, 2005 12:56:46 GMT -5
Thanks! There's more to come soon!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 15, 2005 15:18:47 GMT -5
'Kay, this one's a bit longer than the last one. I hope you all like it! *************** PT.2 “Are you feeling okay, Billie?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied curtly, swatting away his mother’s hand. He winced as his injured finger flexed the wrong way, sending a stab of pain all the way to his elbow. His mother withdrew her heat-seeking hand and shook her head, at the same time moving to the other side of the kitchen to pull two pieces of toast from the toaster-oven.
“You can be so difficult sometimes, Billie Joe,” she said, a sigh in her voice. The fifteen-year-old rolled his eyes to the ceiling, remaining hunched over his cereal bowl. There was silence as he continued eating his breakfast and his mother bustled around the room, preparing lunch for everyone. Billie heard someone come into the room, and he almost visibly flinched back when he saw Steve’s face glaring down at him. He held his ground, though, and glowered back.
“Why do you wear that shit?” Billie Joe’s stepdad suddenly asked, and he extended a hand towards Billie’s eye, which was outlined with a heavy layer of black eyeliner. Billie Joe scooted back, away from Steve’s hand, his green eyes still glaring at his stepfather. Steve pretended not to notice Billie’s apparent unease, but a satisfied smirk crossed his face. “It makes you look dead. Besides, it’s fucking queer.” The last sentence was said quietly so Billie’s mother wouldn’t hear.
Billie Joe didn’t say anything, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Steve’s, and his slim body remained tense in preparation for anything his stepdad would throw at him. Steve countered the young boy’s stare with one of his own, and the tenseness grew within the kitchen. It was finally killed when Billie’s mother sidled over to her husband and wrapped her arms around his waist.
“Honey, he’s permitted to try his own styles,” she said, trying to draw the two men’s attention off of each other. “I think it looks fine. It’s alright, sweetie,” she said to Billie Joe, who nodded quietly. Steve snorted in disgust and stomped over to where the steaming toast was on the counter and snatched one off the plate.
“I have to go,” he mumbled, and kissed Ollie as he grabbed his lunch, packed in a plastic grocery bag, and opened the kitchen door. He paused on the threshold and looked back at Billie, a threat and a promise lying within his dark eyes. Billie Joe kept the stare as long as he could before he had to look away. With that, his stepfather left, slamming the door behind him.
“Well,” his mother said cheerfully, trying to brighten up the room. Whatever success she was granted was instantly doused by Billie’s own melancholy. She pursed her lips, staring at her slouching son, thinking, not for the first time, of how different he was from what he used to be. He’d been energetic, outgoing, and spontanious before, and it hadn’t been rare that she found teacher’s notes complaining of his crazy antics tucked away in a hidden pocket of his bookbag. But now....the notes were about his lack of participation or the attitude that was hardly ever seen in him anymore. And the attitude that had once been happy-go-lucky and energetic was now bitter and somber.
Her thoughts were interrupted as her two remaining children, Anna and Holly, entered the room. Anna went to the counter to claim the last piece of toast while Holly sat down next to Billie Joe, prodding him gently on the arm. He looked up at her and offered a small smile of reassurance, which she returned. Something seemed to pass silently between the two of them, something their mother couldn’t quite comprehend.
“Oh, Mom,” Anna suddenly said through a mouthful of toast, “you need to sign my test.” She pulled out a dirtied, crumpled piece of paper, which she handed carelessly to Ollie. Her mother took the test and flattened it out on the counter, grabbing a pen from a mug sitting in the right hand corner. She signed without really seeing her daughter’s grade and handed it back to see it being stuffed back into a random pocket, probably never to be found until late spring.
There was a loud knock on the door, and Billie Joe’s head snapped up. A rare grin spread across his face. He stood from his chair, leaving the rest of his cereal (which was a rather large amount) behind, and grabbed his bag. Ollie leaned over to see Mike standing on the other side of the glass door, waiting for Billie to join him.
“Do you have everything?” she asked, the typical morning-mother question. Billie Joe nodded distractedly as he packed his lunch away in his bag.
“Yes.”
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“Alright, have a good day,” Ollie said, kissing him on the forehead. She backed away and watched as he left the house, saying hello to his best friend before making his way down the porch steps. She kept her eyes on him as he made his way down the driveway, Mike at his side, the two having what seemed to be a serious conversation. She shook her head in absolute bemusement.
He really was changed, for some reason. He wore eyeliner, painted his nails black, and wore dark clothes. He even dyed his hair. She remembered when he first came home from Mike’s with obsidian-black hair, causing her to screech in alarm, “What did you DO to your HAIR??!!” He used to have it a dark bronze color, which always reminded her of his biological father, since he’d gotten that trait from his deceased dad. But now…she really didn’t know who he was anymore.
“Lord Almighty, what is happening to my baby?” ~*~*~
“You okay, man? You look pale,” Mike observed, peering closely at his friend’s face. Billie Joe rolled his eyes, replying in a sarcastic voice,
“Not you, too. First my mom, and now you telling me I look sick. Doesn’t everybody have a day when they’re down?” His snappish voice echoed in the quiet, foggy morning air. He kicked an empty soda can as they passed, sending it skittering along the road in front of them. Mike stayed silent and dealt with Billie’s grumpy manner. He knew what was happening, what his stepfather did to him, and he never pushed Billie Joe farther than he wanted to go.
There was another minute or two of silence as the pair trudged along, Billie glaring at the ground and Mike waiting patiently for his friend’s sudden temper to cool. Finally, Billie Joe sighed heavily, his breath steaming in the chilly winter air. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he murmured, turning apologetic eyes to the other boy. “I…I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I’m not feeling too hot.”
“It’s okay,” Mike said.
“No, it’s not,” Billie argued.
“Yes, it is.”
“But―”
“Billie,” Mike said firmly, and he stopped walking and stared Billie Joe straight in the eye. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t mind. Yeah, everybody has a day when they’re down; I’ve had a few of them myself. I don’t blame you.” Billie sighed again and looked down at his sneakers. He looked up when Mike touched his arm.
“What’d he do last night?” the taller boy asked softly. Billie hesitated, but then rolled up his sleeves, baring the new bruises and scabs from the night before. He shivered in the cool air as Mike gently enclosed his wrist within his long fingers. “Shit,” Mike swore quietly, looking at the marks. “You’re gonna have to have these cleaned.” Billie nodded as he took back his arm, tugging his sleeves down and shuddering with cold. If the pair arrived at school early, they usually sat outside the fence, enjoying a last cigarette, or, as Mike had suggested, cleaning out the wounds Billie had received from his stepdad the night before. Mike carried cleaning alcohol and gauze in a pocket of his bookbag, always watching out for the wellbeing of his friend.
“But that’s not the worst part,” Billie muttered as they began walking again. Mike eyed him curiously.
“What’s the worst part?” He was almost afraid to ask. Surely getting your ass kicked by your stepfather was as bad as it could get…?
Billie Joe raised his right hand and extended his forefinger. “The bastard bent it backwards. I can hardly move it. I don’t think we’ll be able to practice tonight.” Disappointment lined his voice. Music was possibly the only thing important to him, besides Mike. Putting practice on a hold for a while made his already low spirits drop even more.
Mike took his hand and gently tested his finger, checking for anything sprained or broken. He stopped his investigation when Billie hissed in pain, instantly yanking his hand from his friend’s hold. “Sorry,” Mike said. “But it’s okay. Nothing’s broken or anything, at least.” Billie Joe rolled his eyes.
“I think I would have known if it was broken,” he said. “I’m just pissed because the bastard took away my music time. I thought I vowed he would never take that away from me.” Mike shook his head.
“He can never do that, Billie,” he said reassuringly. “It’s just not possible to take music away from you.” Billie Joe glanced up at Mike before smiling softly, and the two friends continued their trek to school. **************** Woo! That was a lot for me. Tell me what you all think!
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Post by whatsername on Oct 15, 2005 19:07:51 GMT -5
wow. thank god someone else my age can write out there. i'm feeling terribly content right now.
wondefully written. you can really feel the friendship between mike and billie.
billie seems like such a softy, aaawww. i wove him.
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Post by TABBY on Oct 15, 2005 19:42:21 GMT -5
awww, mike and billie are such good friends. GUYS IN EYELINER IS NOT QEER!!!!!!!!! ITS FUCKING HOT!!!!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 16, 2005 8:18:36 GMT -5
Thanx, guys! And TABBY, I know, it is hott!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 16, 2005 9:33:00 GMT -5
Hey! Yet another long one! And I thank you for the responses! It means a lot. *********************** PT.3
“Fuck, that hurts,” Billie Joe muttered softly, wincing. Mike pursed his lips and gentled his movements, trying to make it less painful for Billie. The two were sitting on the curb outside school grounds, Mike hunched over Billie’s left arm, dabbing at an open cut with a bit of gauze soaked in alcohol. Billie Joe was turned away, writing in a journal that was balanced on his thigh, scribbling furiously, at the same time smoking the cigarette that dangled between his lips. Talk about multitasking.
“You done yet?” Billie asked, pausing in his writing to remove the cigarette from his mouth and grind it into the asphalt. Mike cleaned the last cut and straightened, packing the roll of gauze and bottle of alcohol away in his bag again.
“Yup. What did you write?” Billie Joe passed his notebook over to Mike’s hands.
“Why Do You Want Him? Why Do You Want Him?
Now many days have gone by And you still just sit there and cry You're feeling bad for yourself His memory will always dwell….”
Mike raised his eyebrows and handed the journal back. “Not bad,” he said, as Billie tucked the notebook away, along with the pen. “Bit gloomy.” Bille Joe smiled grimly.
“And doesn’t that just fit my mood?” he asked softly. “My life?” Mike stared at him for a moment, and then the last bell sounded from within the school. They grabbed their bookbags and hopped back over the fence, trekking slowly over the grass. By the time they walked inside, nearly everyone was inside their class, and only a few people were left, still gathering things from their lockers or rushing down the halls.
“Well, this is goodbye for now,” Billie said with a small sigh, turning to Mike. They tapped their fists together, then, with a last farewell, went their separate ways. Billie had math first, and he really wasn’t looking forward to it. He’d never been good at algebra.
“Mr. Armstrong,” came a voice, and the freshman spun on his heel, startled, to see Mr. Damn walking slowly towards him, a clipboard under his arm. (His real name was Mr. Dael, but kids had a tendency to utter “Damn!” whenever he caught them out of the classrooms late or without a hall pass, hence his name.)
“Shit, just what I need today,” Billie grumbled quietly to himself as Mr. Damn approached. The vice principal stopped two feet away from him, staring sternly down at him with a sharp glare. Billie Joe didn’t even flinch. There was only one man he was afraid of, and it wasn’t Mr. Damn.
“Hm, late again, Mr. Armstrong?” Mr. Damn said, almost lightly, lifting a few pages from the clipboard and staring at the list. “That’s almost sixteen detentions, and it’s hardly December. Tell me, Mr. Armstrong, why is that?”
‘My name’s Billie Joe, bastard,’ the boy thought, but didn’t say it out loud. Instead of answering, he shrugged silently. Mr. Damn intensified his glare.
“The silent treatment will get you nowhere,” he said. “Where have you been these past mornings? You’re always coming into the school last, you and that Pritchard boy. Why are you always late?” Billie Joe focused his eyes on a certain tile on the floor, not answering. There was a few seconds of tense silence. Finally, Mr. Damn just growled, whipped a pen out of his pocket, and sribbled furiously at a detention slip. “Let this be a lesson to you, Armstrong,” he said, shoving the paper into Billie’s hands, “I never want to catch you out here again.”
Billie Joe watched as Mr. Damn turned and strode briskly away, uptight and as annoying as ever. He gave the vice principal’s retreating back the finger and stuffed the slip into his jacket pocket, his mood simply darkening more, then moved off to his class.
The day did not go well. As soon as Billie Joe walked into algebra, the bitch of a teacher gave him a load of shit for being late and gave him extra work to do. Not that he did it. He stared out the window the entire class, which only got her more pissed off, so she held him back after the class was over to ‘discuss his grades’. Really all she did was nag and whine about how he had a ‘D’ that was rapidly slipping into an ‘F’. As if he didn’t know. It was one of the main reasons Steve beat him. Not that his stepdad cared whether Billie aced school or not, he just wanted an excuse to justify what he did.
The math teacher holding him back made him late for his next class, history, and he got shit from that teacher as well. History was one of Billie Joe’s least favorite subjects, as well as one of his least favorite teachers, so he zoned out, working more on the lyrics in his notebook. He was caught not paying attention, and his journal was taken away from him, a worksheet in its place. By now Billie felt like screaming in frustration and crying at the same time. Why did the world give him such lousy shit to deal with?
By the time lunch came around, he’d been given another detention as well as a note ordering him to go to the counselor’s office. He stuck them all in his pocket and made his way to the cafeteria. Along the way, he was intercepted by some punk that needed lunch money. Billie Joe normally would have objected (he’d done so in the past, resulting in a few nasty fights), but this guy was nearly three times bigger than he was, and he was already sore from his stepdad’s beating yesterday. He consented and handed over the proper amount. The guy then laughed and shoved Billie back against the lockers, causing his head to strike the metal with a loud bang.
“Thanks, queer,” he said, and tromped off. Billie Joe was broiling when he got to the lunchroom. Without money, he had no lunch, and he was fucking hungry since he hadn’t eaten much that morning. He found Mike sitting alone at what they considered to be ‘their’ table, eating from a bag of potato chips and reading a book. Billie marched between the tables, and, when he got there, he slammed his bookbag down on the top of their own and sat down heavily, causing the table to shake and catching Mike’s attention.
“Fuck, man, you okay?” he asked, closing his book and eyeing Billie concernedly.
“Do I fucking LOOK okay, Mike?!” Billie Joe snapped. He crossed his arms and laid his head down on the tabletop, trying to calm his breathing. There really was no use having a panic attack in the school cafeteria. Mike was silent, and Billie thought perhaps he’d hurt his friend’s feelings, so he lifted his head. “Sorry,” he whispered. Mike shook his head, got up, and sat down next to him.
“What happened?” he asked. Billie sat up and drew the three slips of paper from his pocket, slamming them down onto the table and causing it to ring from the hard impact. Mike only glanced at the detention slips, knowing from experience what they were, but the counselor’s note caught his eye. He picked it up with a perplexed expression and read the first few lines.
“They believe you to be ‘suicidal’?” Mike asked incredulously, scanning rapidly through the rest, which said what room Billie had to report to and what counselor he would be meeting.
“Is that the lamest bullshit you’ve ever heard?” Billie Joe raged. “And they took my notebook away. I can’t get it back until after detention. This sucks!” He let his head flop back down onto the table. “Not only that, some bastard took my lunch money, so now I’m stuck.” Mike glanced at the bag of chips and tugged them across the table.
“I had only enough money to get this, but you need it more than I do,” he said, offering the small amount of food. Billie lifted his head to see the chips only a few inches away. He sat up and pushed them back, shaking his head.
“I can’t take your lunch, man,” he said. “That’s all you have to eat.”
“You need it more. You hardly ate anything this morning, don’t think I didn’t see. Go on, take it, Billie Joe. I insist.” Billie stared at the bag for a few moments, wondering whether he should take them or not, but he finally grabbed it and pulled it forward.
“Fine, I’ll take it,” he mumbled. “But only if I’m allowed to share it with you.” Mike paused, then smiled, and the two shared what was left in the bag.
“What were you reading?” Billie Joe asked, before he placed a chip in his mouth. Mike rolled his eyes and dragged the closed book across the table, letting Billie read the title. “Oh, God, you can’t be serious. ‘Romeo and Juliet’?”
“Does that suck or what?” Mike grumbled, reaching into the bag to take another potato chip. “And you can’t even understand anything they’re saying. It’s supposed to be English, but it looks like fucking martian!”
Billie opened the book and read through a few pages. He closed it not long after and passed it back to Mike. “I didn’t understand a fucking word,” he reported. Mike sighed and placed the book back near his bag.
“I know. And then we have to write an essay about it!” he complained. The bell rang out in the hallway, and all the students began cleaning up their things and gathering their supplies. Mike crumpled up the now empty chip bag and threw it out as they exited the cafeteria.
“That really does suck. But I’d really rather try and make sense of Shakespeare than go to the fucking counselor. ‘Suicidal’? Do I look suicidal to you, Mike?” He stopped walking and fully faced his friend. Mike scanned his eyes over the shorter boy. He could see where those teachers were coming from. Dyed, spiky hair, black eyeliner, dull emerald eyes. He looked a bit uncertain, and Billie rolled his eyes and shoved his friend away.
“You do think I’m suicidal, don’t you?” he asked, starting to walk again. Mike hurried to catch up. “Just like everyone else who just doesn’t understand.”
“Don’t tell me I don’t understand!” Mike snapped, grabbing Billie’s arm and pulling him to the side of the hallway. “I do understand, Billie Joe. I do. I see it every day. I see the new bruises he gave you, I see the new marks on your skin. I see a part of your soul die every fucking day, Billie. I SEE it happen! So don’t tell me I don’t understand, because I do, Billie, I do, better than you think.” Billie Joe couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.
“Jesus, Mike,” he finally murmured. “You take all this shit from me, and yet you’re still here. Why?”
“Because you’re my friend, Billie,” Mike replied. “We’ve been best friends since we were ten. Just because five years have passed doesn’t mean I’m less of a friend to you. And I guarentee that I’ll be here for you when we’re adults and having kids of our own.” Billie blinked, then smiled slyly.
“That’s a scary thought, having kids,” he said, and his grin mellowed. “But thanks anyway, man.” Mike nodded and the two of them reentered the flow of students in the hall. ~*~*~
Billie tapped his pen against the desk and glanced at the clock above the door, sighing silently to himself. He rested his chin in his hand and gazed out at the sky from the window. Mike was resting just below it, out of sight, waiting for Billie Joe to be freed from detention. It’s what he did every time his friend got a detention slip, and it’s what Billie Joe did every time Mike got one.
Inside, Billie’s heart quailed at the thought of returning home late. Steve had already been pissed at him the night before, and he wondered what his stepfather would do to him tonight for being late. He really didn’t want to think about it.
Billie glanced at the clock again. Not much longer and he’d be free. Every student now was watching the second hand tick around the clock’s face, slowly inching its way across the numbers until…it hit home.
As one, the kids picked up their bookbags and shot from the room. The clamor woke Mr. Damn, who’d been asleep in his chair. Billie was the last one from the room, and he heard Mr. Damn trying to be heard over the whoops and noise of the liberated students. “Let that be a lesson! To all of you!”
Billie Joe raced from the school, where Mike was waiting outside, having heard the commotion that could only mean that the detention was over. “Come on, I have to get home,” Billie said hurriedly, rushing by. Mike scrambled to catch up and matching his pace to Billie Joe’s. “Shit, Steve’s gonna kill me…”
“Please don’t say that,” Mike pleaded. Every kid says that now and then about their parents, whenever they’d done something wrong or something their mom and dad didn’t approve of. But whenever Billie said that, Mike knew it was possible. Steve had the traits of one who thrived on pain, and killing was just another step up. Mike didn’t like the thought of losing his best friend.
“Sorry, I forgot you didn’t like it,” Billie Joe muttered as they crossed the street, hardly paying attention to what he was saying. Mike followed silently, and they continued their way home. They didn’t talk along the way, but Billie grew more and more agitated as they drew closer to their neighborhood. When they reached Billie’s street, normally he would turn left while Mike kept going straight, to his own house. But today Mike offered to walk Billie Joe to his house, to offer as much consolation as he could.
“Thanks man,” Billie murmured, clutching at his friend’s hand tightly before letting go. “I’ll...see you tomorrow, then.” Mike nodded silently. Billie Joe met Mike’s eyes for a moment and paused, but then turned and walked up the driveway, not looking back. Mike waited until Billie entered the house before heading slowly back to his own home. ************************* Uh oh, what's gonna happen to Billie Joe? (A rhyme! ;D) Don't worry, I won't wait long to post the next chapter. It's just something about this story that makes me want to keep going and going and going....
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 17, 2005 15:33:08 GMT -5
No problem. I'm working on the next part now. I most likely will be posted tonight. Thanx! And yes, damn Steve to the very depths of hell.
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Post by whatsername on Oct 17, 2005 21:14:12 GMT -5
ooooooooooh, god, i love it.
billie's day at school sounds like mine did today........*x-files theme* scary..... stop stalking me lorelowell!!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 18, 2005 7:00:07 GMT -5
LOL, omg, that just made my morning.
But you're right...I'm following you around wearing an overcoat and sunglasses, taking notes on a little pad. I know everything about you.
lol, j/k. Maybe....
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Oct 18, 2005 7:12:55 GMT -5
Yay! Another update, or, the new word I've learned while I was here, UPDATION! Yes!
WARNING: THIS CHAPTER IS VERY INTENSE. Emotional intense and physical intense, all rolled into one. Drama! Just tread carefully.... ************************ PT.4
Billie Joe crept stealthily down the stairs and into the basement, his feet soundless on the carpet. He leaned over the banister as he came down, checking for any signs of Steve. The only sounds were those coming from the television in the other room. The basement was immensely dark, and flashing lights coated the walls and floor from the TV. Billie paused on the stairs for a moment, listening past the loud bangs and yells of a gunfight on Steve’s favorite (not to mention violent) show. He couldn’t hear any other noises coming from the living room.
Billie crept down the remaining stairs and made his way toward the television sounds, trying to keep as silent as possible. He clutched a cold bottle of beer from the upstairs kitchen, and the temperature of the alcoholic beverage contrasted with his sweaty palms. Billie Joe carefully peered around the corner, and, upon seeing the empty room, he entered as cautiously as a deer heading into a brightly lit backyard. He placed the beer on the small table beside the armchair, then glanced at the TV set before turning to leave.
The boy gasped as he saw what was once an open doorway blocked by a thick, dark form. Billie Joe stumbled back instinctively as Steve marched heavily into the room. His stepfather quickly caught up with him, however, and backhanded him hard across the face, sending the younger being sprawling.
“Where the hell were you?” Steve asked viciously, giving his stepson a harsh kick to his side. Billie yelped, but kept his mouth clamped shut to muffle the sound. He buried his head in his arms and didn’t answer. He was only rewarded with another blow to his ribs. “Where were you? You’re late! Why…are…you…late?!” Steve growled between more kicks to the boy lying at his feet. “Answer me!” He hauled Billie Joe up by the neck of his shirt.
“I…I had detention,” Billie admitted, his voice barely heard over the gunfight still going on within the TV. Steve’s face hardened, and something feral glinted within his dark eyes.
“Son of a bitch!” he swore, and threw Billie roughly away from him, causing the slender frame to stumble and knock into the small table, toppling it. Billie’s stepfather marched over to where he lay on top of the table in a crumpled heap, his muscles already trembling with pain. Steve yanked him upright again.
“Why did you have detention?” he snarled, shoving his face close to Billie Joe’s. “What the fuck did you do?” He shook the boy in his grasp, causing Billie to gasp.
“I was…late for class,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to get caught, I―” He was abruptly cut off as Steve threw him again. Luckily he didn’t hit anything this time, only the hard tile floor. As soon as his body slammed down, he tried to get up and escape through the door. He managed to lift himself to his feet and stagger towards the only exit, his freedom from the pain, but Steve followed him. Billie was able to grab the doorjamb in his weak fingers before his stepdad grabbed him around his slim waist and attempted to drag him back.
“No!” Billie gasped, trying to pull himself through the door. Steve grew tired of this game quickly and instead of pulling Billie Joe back, he gave the boy a sharp kick on his spine, sending him tumbling through the door. Billie smacked his mouth on the floor and felt his lip cut against his teeth. He spat blood from his mouth as he scrambled to his feet and raced for the stairs, Steve not far behind him. His stepfather almost caught the back of his shirt, but he nimbly avoided the groping hand and dashed up the stairs, a hand held to his mouth to catch the blood steadily flowing out.
Steve didn’t bother to follow him, since he knew the two girls were home, so he settled for shouting curses and obscenities at Billie’s back. “Fucking queer! Get out of here, little bastard, go fuck your little blond friend! Queer!” This holler carried throughout the entire house, and Billie Joe ducked his head against the insults and tried to ignore them.
He rushed down the hallway to his room. The door to Holly’s room opened, and she stepped out, looking concerned. She saw the blood on Billie’s face and hand and reached out. “Oh my God, Billie―”
“No!” he snapped at her, slapping her hand away. “Don’t even touch me!” He attempted to keep going, to disappear into his room, but his sister grabbed his arm.
“Billie, please, don’t do this,” she pleaded, resisting his efforts to wrench his arm free. “I’m trying to help you. Please―”
“You don’t give a shit!” he interrupted her. “You don’t care at all! Where were you? Where were you when he first beat me? When he first slammed my head against a wall? When he hit me hard enough to make me bleed? Where were you?!” Holly was sobbing now, tears streaming down her face. She shook her head feebly and tried reaching for him.
“I―I’m sorry, Billie,” he cried. “Please…don’t…”
“Don’t what? Shove the truth in your face? You never gave two shits about whatever happened to me, whatever went on down in the basement. Why would you start caring now?” Billie Joe said. “I know you’ve heard us. I know you’ve heard him. And yet you’ve done nothing. Why should I suddenly think that you care? And let go of me!” He gave his arm a harsh yank and finally escaped his sister’s grip. Once free, he bolted down the hall and into his dark room, slamming the door behind him. Breathing hard, he fumbled with the lock until it was thrown and backed away from the door. He could hear Holly calling for him on the other side, but he didn’t care.
He groped around his room until he touched his guitar case, “Blue” safely inside. Ignoring his sister’s shouts and bangs against the door, he went to his window, wrenched it open, and climbed out. His house was only one story high, excluding the basement, so it wasn’t very hard to escape when he wanted to. He was grateful about that.
Leaving the window open, he went around the side of his house and down his driveway. He slung Blue’s case over his shoulder and marched angrily down the street, beginning to shiver in the cold air. He had only a T-shirt on and he felt the goosebumps rising on his bruises.
By the time he’d reached his destination, his body was shaking violently and the blood had dried on his lip and hand. He knocked on the door and waited patiently on the step. Finally, it opened, light spilling out, and Mike stood on the threshold.
“Oh my fucking God, Billie,” he breathed, spying the blood on his friend’s skin and how he trembled viciously. He reached out and pulled Billie Joe into his house, closing the door behind him. “What the hell did he do to you?”
Billie’s mouth quirked in a sort of half-smile. “Knocked me around a bit,” he answered, as if it were nothing. Mike stared at him for a moment, then shook his head and took his hand―the clean one.
“Come on,” he whispered, and led Billie to the basement door. Mike’s house had pretty much the same layout as Billie Joe’s, and his room was in the basement. The two made their way down the stairs and into Mike’s area of the basement.
While Mike went into the bathroom to get cloths and water, Billie took Blue out of its case and plugged it into the amp sitting in the corner. He plucked a few strings, and the metallic roar of the electric guitar filled the air. After tuning it, Billie Joe started banging away at a random collection of notes.
“Here,” came a slightly muffled voice, and Billie turned to see Mike holding a damp washcloth and a cup of water. Billie Joe slapped his hand down on his guitar’s strings, cutting the notes short, and turned to Mike, who proceeded to wipe the blood from his face with the cloth. They’d done this so many times it was like a regular routine.
“That bastard deserves to rot in hell,” Mike growled angrily as he handed Billie the cup of water. The shorter boy took a sip, smiling slightly.
“Wouldn’t I know that,” Billie Joe stated, and, once he handed the cup back, he began strumming away at Blue again. Mike set the things on a nearby table and picked up his bass guitar. After tuning it in the same process Billie had done, he joined his friend in practicing. After a few seconds, Mike asked over the low rumbles,
“How’s your finger?”
“Fine,” Billie Joe replied distractedly. Mike wasn’t even sure he’d heard the question. When Billie got involved with the notes and strings of a guitar, hardly anything could pull him out of the daze.
The two continued to invent tunes at random, not speaking, simply letting the guitars speak for them. Billie Joe led while Mike followed. This was another way to find out what the other boy was thinking or feeling. Billie was incredibly good at hiding emotions from his actions or his expressions, but when he picked up a guitar, Mike could analyze everything he was feeling inside, even though his face was stoic.
At the moment, Billie was playing fast and hard, his hand flying up and down the neck of the guitar, his fingers plucking rapidly across the strings. Mike knew he was angry and frustrated, most likely at his stepfather and at his currently lousy life. After a little while, Billie Joe gradually slowed down and played a few lingering notes, and as Mike followed, he knew Billie was simply regretting the fact that he had to go home to an abusive father every day and that his mother had no idea. It was not self-pity. Billie Joe could never feel self-pity; he was too stubborn and prideful. After that, he quickened the pace a little bit, and a small frown appeared on his face. That was contemplative. The notes were going nowhere; they simply milled about in the air with no purpose, and, sometimes, not even a tune.
Mike continued to match his bass to what Billie was doing, but then Blue’s song was cut short. Mike looked up to see his friend raise his emerald eyes, appearing thoughtful.
“Can guys get raped?”
That was just about the last question Mike expected Billie Joe to ask. Billie liked asking questions, even if they had no answers, and though his curiosity had dulled ever since Steve began beating him, a spark of the old flame was sometimes rekindled. But it was rare, and only when Mike was around.
“Well…I think so,” the bassist stuttered, obviously confused about the inquiry. “Why do you want to know?” Billie Joe stared at the floor, not answering, and Mike felt a tremendous wave of horror flood over him, making his ears ring. He stood abruptly, his hand clenched tightly around the neck of his bass. Billie glanced up at his friend’s white face.
“He…he didn’t,” Mike croaked. “Are you saying he…”
“No!” Billie Joe said instantly, trying to calm the trembling boy. “No, no, he didn’t. Sit down, Mike. Steve didn’t rape me.” Slowly, Mike reseated himself, still shaking in the aftermath of such a horrid feeling.
“Then why did you ask?” Mike questioned softly. Billie looked uncertain again. He didn’t answer for a long time, and Mike waited patiently, trying to slow his breathing.
“I…I’m afraid,” Billie whispered. His shocking green eyes met Mike’s startling blue. “I’m afraid of him…one day….” He couldn’t get himself to say it. He swallowed hard a few times, then continued. “He’s…touched me before. I-It wasn’t that big a deal, just a pass of the hand…but it’s been happening more than once. Not that often, just…when he’s really drunk or…when I’ve completely pissed him off.”
Mike felt his breathing growing ragged. “Where did he touch you?” he whispered earnestly. Billie Joe closed his eyes and turned his head away. Mike sucked in a breath and felt rage welling up within him. “That bastard,” he said passionately, his voice trembling with anger. “That complete, motherfucking bastard. He has no right to touch you like that.” Mike stood up and paced to the other side of the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. Energy was garnering in his muscles, urging him to go, fight and win. Go to Billie’s house, fight Steve…and win.
Mike tried to calm himself down. Billie Joe was the brunt of so much rage, and adding to it wouldn’t help. They needed clear minds, they needed…
“You have to tell someone,” Mike finally said, turning back around. Billie was hunched over his guitar, testing the strings. At his friend’s declaration, he sat bolt upright and immediately began shaking his head.
“I can’t do that,” he replied, a bit flustered.
“What do you mean, ‘you can’t’?” Mike asked. “You have to, Billie Joe! He’s…” He waved his hand around, not able to find the right way to phrase what his mind was screaming. Billie carefully put his guitar down and stood up, still shaking his head.
“I meant exactly what I said,” he stated slowly. “I can’t.”
“Well why not?” Mike asked incredulously, feeling frustrated at his friend’s refusal.
“Because…” Billie sighed heavily. “He has my whole family hostage. I’m afraid that…if I tell, he’ll hurt Anna or Holly or even my mother.” Mike looked at the floor, not sure what to say. Then he threw his hands into the air.
“We have to do something to help you!” he claimed. “He’s beating the shit out of you! We have to stop it before it goes too far!”
“I can’t tell, Mike, and you know why!” Billie Joe ground out between clenched teeth. “Don’t you think I want to be safe from the pain that bastard gives me? I’ve dealt with it for a couple years now, and take my word for it, it gets old fast. But we don’t know who to go to, or what to even say to them! ‘Hey, my father likes to bash my head against a wall and scream in my ears until they bleed! Can you do anything about that?’” Sarcasm practically dripped from his words and Mike visibly bristled at the snarled comment.
“We can go to the police,” he said, trying to keep his ire cooled. “Surely they can do something―”
“The police?” Billie said, then let out a giant, mirthless laugh. “They would bash my head against the walls themselves sooner than arrest Steve! They do fucking nothing, Mike.”
“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any ideas!”
“I have none! Because I’m not telling!”
“Goddammit Billie Joe Armstrong! If we find the right person, then―”
“Shut up Mike! Just shut up! There are no ‘right people’! There is no one, do you hear me?! NO ONE. Nobody can help me with this, nobody ever will. And nobody will ever care if Steve kills me. There isn’t anyone who can help.” Billie Joe turned away and began packing Blue back into its case, his movements short and choppy with anger. He kept his back to Mike the whole time.
“I would.”
The voice was shaky and filled with tears. Billie turned back around to see Mike still standing in the saem spot, but his muscles had deflated and unshed tears sparkled in his bright blue eyes. Billie Joe relaxed slightly, sucking in a breath.
“I would care if you died,” Mike whispered. “And I can help you.”
Billie slowly packed Blue away and slung the case over his shoulder. He made his way to Mike’s side, and, after a moment, took the other boy’s shoulders in a tight embrace. Mike returned the gesture with every ounce of strength his had, pressing his forehead to Billie’s shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Mike,” Billie Joe whispered into his friend’s ear. He then released him and made his way up the stairs, leaving Mike standing alone in the basement and not looking back. ****************************** Aww...Mike cares so much. I wish I had a friend like him. Anywho, hope you liked it and next part shall come soon!
And, in other news, I decided that when I'm done with this, I'm making a sequal. *rubs hands together* Heh. If you'd like details on what the sequal will be about, ask when you review.
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Post by TABBY on Oct 18, 2005 14:55:24 GMT -5
awwwwwwwwwww
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