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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 2, 2005 20:13:20 GMT -5
*laughs evilly* Oh...you'll see...YOU'LL SEE!!! ..................*cough*
Sorry. Lost it. I'm actually pretty excited about the story's climax and its ending. *squee*
I'll update as soona s I can get over this massive homework block......that I'm actually supposed to be working on now....heh........
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 2, 2005 21:49:24 GMT -5
Drama! Thank you all for your support! Luv ya all! *mwah!* ************************************ PT.9 (I think...don't feel like checking)
Tré looked around as he came to the bottom of the stairs, taking everything in. Mike followed close behind. Tré poked around here and there, checking out the things Mike had in his room, looking at the posters. Then he saw the bass guitar leaning against the wall next to an amp, and he was instantly attracted to the instrument.
“You play bass?” he asked, pointing to the guitar, though it was already obvious. Mike nodded, sitting down in a worn armchair. Tré observed the guitar from a few different angles before turning to Mike again. “May I?”
“Sure,” Mike said, waving a hand. “Just don’t break it.” Tré smiled and picked it up, placing the strap over his head. He turned on the amp, plucking a few mellow strings and tuning it.
“I haven’t really played with bass guitars that much,” Tré admitted, as the dull roar of the instrument rang throughout the basement. “I messed with a few before, especially when I was in the ‘Lookouts’, but that was about it.” Mike opened his mouth to reply, but instead laughed when Tré began plucking a giddy tune that sounded completely foolish on the deep bass guitar.
As soon as the laughter started, however, it suddenly stopped. Mike lifted his head, seeming to have heard something. He vaulted out of his chair and sped up the stairs, leaving Tré utterly confused. The young drummer lay his hand flat over the vibrating strings, halting the sound. He pricked his ears and heard the faint noise of the front door opening, then hurried mutters that were coming closer.
Mike came down the stairs first, looking behind him frequently. When he reached the bottom, he turned fully around and helped a smaller boy, who seemed to be having trouble standing up straight, down the last few steps.
Tré could instantly recognize Billie Joe, but his eyes widened in horror when he saw the blood. It was all over Billie’s hands and left forearm. There was a rather large puncture on the inside of his arm, near the elbow, and the blood was still steadily seeping out.
Billie looked like a gruesome Halloween costume. His face and arms were covered with bruises, and the whole front of his shirt was covered with blood, since he’d tried to slow the bleeding from his wound with it.
Tré could only stare, the bass guitar clutched tightly in one hand.
Mike seemed to have forgotten Tré’s presence in his deep concern for Billie. And Tré was standing so rigidly still, Billie Joe didn’t even notice him. The two went into the adjoining bathroom, Tré still standing in the corner, silent with confusion and slight fear.
“What the fuck happened?” Tré heard Mike whisper from the bathroom, his voice echoing quietly off the tile. There was a banging noise as he opened and closed a cabinet, obviously taking out the supplies needed for cleaning such injuries.
“I…I don’t know,” Billie’s shaking voice replied breathlessly. “He…I…it…”
A small clink.
“Hey, man, calm down, it’s fine. The gash doesn’t look too bad.”
The sound of breathing quickening.
“I…I’ve never seen him like that before, Mike. He’s been bad before, but tonight…he was…” Silence, save for the erratic breathing that was steadily getting faster.
Tré slowly slipped the guitar’s strap from around his head, making sure to keep silent as he placed it on the floor. He crept closer to the open bathroom door. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping, he knew it was bad. Billie and Mike had their own secrets he didn’t deserve to be a part of yet. But concern overcame the side that told him to crawl back into the corner and wait until the other two boys addressed him on the matter.
Sidling up to the door, his back against the wall, Tré listened intently for a moment, then leaned forward until he could peer past the doorframe.
Billie Joe was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, his left arm supported on his knee. He held his head in his other hand, his breathing irregular. Mike was leaning across the bathroom while seated on the toilet, trying to calm his friend down.
“Relax, Billie,” Mike whispered, rubbing Billie Joe’s arm reassuringly. “He can’t get you here. Honest. You’re safe.” Billie raised his head, his chest heaving.
“Just because he can’t get me here doesn’t…” he had to pause for breath, it was coming so short now, “…doesn’t mean that his memory can’t.” He clenched his fist, his eyes squeezed tightly closed. “You didn’t see him coming at you, Mike,” he whispered brokenly. “You didn’t see him pull out a knife, you didn’t hear him say things…promises of torture…oh, God.” The last statement was a choke. He then couldn’t speak; his breaths were coming too quick and none of the air was entering his lungs.
That was the first time Tré ever witnessed one of Billie Joe’s panic attacks. And not knowing what was happening, what had happened before, was a rather scary thing. Tré began to tremble, not really knowing what he should do.
Luckily, Mike had it covered. The blond twisted around, turned on the faucet, wet his hand, and flicked the water onto Billie Joe’s face. That got the elder boy’s attention.
“Billie, calm down,” Mike said soothingly, his voice utterly controlled. Tré wondered how he wasn’t freaking out. “Billie, follow me now…one…two…three…” He met Billie Joe’s frightened eyes, trying to get the other boy to mimick his breathing. “One…two…three…easy now…one…two…three…”
Billie, slender frame trembling, eyes wide, nodded and struggled to bring his breathing under control. Slowly, gradually, his lungs opened wider, allowing oxygen through.
“One…two…three…”
“One…” Billie whispered, completely breathless, “…two…th-three…”
“Good,” Mike murmured. “Better now?”
Billie nodded.
Mike picked up a slip of gauze and cleaning alcohol. “I’m going to clean the cut now, okay?” he asked, his voice soft. Billie nodded again, closing his eyes tiredly. Mike leaned over the injured arm, his movements slow and smooth.
Other than a wince, the black-haired boy barely registered Mike pressing the alcohol-soaked gauze to the wound. There was silence for a few minutes while Mike cleaned the large cut and wrapped it in bandages. He then helped Billie stand up and led him through the basement and up the stairs, passing Tré along the way and not noticing him at all.
Tré waited in the silence, trying to piece together what he’d just witnessed. It was like a rough slap in the face. He wondered who could be beating Billie that bad and why. He also wondered how long it had been happening. Mike hadn’t really been too shocked seeing his friend in that state. If this had been the first time Billie Joe had been beaten, Mike would have wigged out, demanded who’d done it, then run to the phone and tell the police so the guy could be arrested. At least, that was what Tré would have done in that kind of situation.
There was also no names mentioned, and they both had seemed to know who the other was talking about. Something was going on. Tré might act foolish and careless most of the time, so people percieved him as daft, but he really was an intelligent boy.
Tré’s thoughts were interrupted as Mike came trudging back down the stairs. Billie was absent. Mike came to the bottom of the staircase, paused, and heaved a giant sigh, placing a hand over his eyes. He muttered something along his breath, but Tré couldn’t hear it.
Only when Mike’s hand fell away from his face did he notice the other presence in his basement. The blond jumped, startled, then looked guilty, worried, and suspicious at the same time.
The two stared at each other for what seemed like forever.
“How much did you see?” Mike asked softly. Tré didn’t remove his blue eyes from Mike’s own.
“Everything,” came the shaky reply.
“How much did you hear?”
“All of it.”
Their voices were terribly soft in the empty silence.
“How much did you understand?”
“None of it.”
Mike inhaled deeply, his body shaking in a way that mirrored Tré’s own.
“What’s going on?” Tré finally asked. “What happened?” There were so many more questions, but those two were the ones biggest on his mind. Mike kept his eyes glued to Tré’s, but they seemed to be looking straight through him.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Why not?”
“It’s for Billie Joe to tell you, when he’s ready.”
“I’m worried for him, too,” Tré said determinedly, his breath still shaky. “He’s too good for that kind of treatment. There’s something wrong.” He paused, his eyebrows drawing a little closer over his eyes. “I want to help.”
“We hardly know you,” Mike replied. “We met only yes―”
“I don’t care,” Tré cut across Mike’s sentence, his voice rising to be heard. “I want to help. It doesn’t matter if you know me or not. This isn’t about me. It’s about him. And he needs help.” His eyes softened a bit. “Something’s wrong. I can tell. It would take a fool not to.”
“Tré, you can’t,” Mike whispered.
“Stop trying to deny me!” Tré snapped. “I’m frightened, Mike, I admit it. What I just saw―” He cut himself off, swallowing hard. “That frightened me. I’m dragging myself into this, I know that. I want to help.”
Mike remained silent for the longest time. Tré could hear his heartbeat in his ears. It was fast and hard, almost too loud in the tense quiet. Finally, Mike opened his mouth.
“You should leave.”
Tré stared at the other boy incredulously for a few moments. His mind couldn’t form words. But then he grew angry, and his blue eyes glinted dangerously. Instead of saying anything, he marched towards the stairs. When he was passing Mike, he stopped, the two shoulder to shoulder. Mike didn’t look up, only stared at the floor.
“Expect to see me tomorrow,” Tré whispered. “I’m not going to give up. People know me as being extremely determined.” He paused for a moment, glaring at the side of Mike’s bowed head. Then he shouldered past the other boy and went up the stairs.
Mike heard every single one of Tré’s steps until the front door slammed. *********************** Ooh...now we got Tre into this... ;D
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 3, 2005 15:06:25 GMT -5
lol, luv ya, billie4me. You're just fuckin' awesome! I promise that when I'm done with this fic AND the sequal, you can really kick some Steve ass.
Live long, live strong! *pumps fist* (No idea where that came from....)
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 3, 2005 19:25:23 GMT -5
Again, this update came a lot faster than I had expected. Well...hope y'all like it! *********************** PT.10
As promised, Tré appeared the next day and made his place on the other side of Billie Joe, wearing a bright grin. Mike couldn’t meet the young drummer’s eyes. Billie, however, welcomed Tré, and the two got off to talking. Mike didn’t say anything, only sat off to the side, quiet as can be. Tré didn’t acknowledge him either. The two of them weren’t ready for that.
Tré noticed that Billie seemed to be fine, recuperating nicely from what had happened the night before. There was a bloodstained bandage wrapped around his arm. Though he kept it covered with sleeves, Tré was probably the only one besides Mike who noticed it when it was exposed as Billie was putting his books back in his locker. The small fifteen year old was quick to cover it back up, anyway, and he shot Tré a furtive glance. Tré pretended that he hadn’t seen it, and Billie instantly relaxed.
About three weeks passed. The three boys got to know each other better and Tré was more often seen with Mike and Billie Joe. Billie had taken an instant liking to Tré, and appreciated the drummer’s comic, carefree (not to mention totally goofy) manner. Mike took a little while to warm up to what seemed to be the new addition to their pair, half because he was a little protective of both Billie and their secrets, half because of what had happened the first night Tré came over his house. And other than a meaningful glance between them every now and then (that normally occurred when Billie refused a food offering or any help whatsoever), they didn’t address the memory. They were happiest that way. Yet sometimes being happy doesn’t mean it’s necessarily right.
Tré could see things getting worse with Billie. He had no idea who was doing it, but it seemed that every day, the black-haired boy was coming into school with more bruises, more cuts, and more reservation layers. He was quieter, he was getting thinner, and the dark circles from lack of sleep under his eyes were only getting darker. Tré felt so helpless. It was like watching someone deteriorate right before his eyes.
He hated the feeling of helplessness; he hated what was happening. He’d grown to like Billie Joe over the weeks they hung out together. He’d grown to consider the other boy a friend. (He’d been really moved one day before school, when Billie Joe offered his most-guarded notebook over to Tré for the drummer to read. Both Tré and Mike had been surprised at the trusting gesture, for they knew that Billie’s soul was inside the pages of that journal, and his soul was something the small boy protected fiercely. Tré would never admit it, but he’d almost cried, he was so moved.) Billie had a good heart and a good head on his shoulders.
So what should he do? He wanted answers, everything was just too confusing. He hid his questions, though, behind a cheerful mask. He didn’t know when would be the right time to remove it and ask straight out what was going on. Billie and Mike might shy away from him, him and whatever help he could offer. He didn’t want that to happen.
Meanwhile, Mike was agonizing over anxiety. Steve was taking larger steps in his abuse of Billie Joe, who was now coming over his house with more stab wounds or slashes cut into his skin in the shape of a hieroglyphic design that usually meant ‘death’, ‘pain’, or ‘suffering’. This was no longer simple child abuse. This was torture. Steve was heading towards the edge with the treatment of his stepson. If he went over, it could end up with Billie dead. Mike wanted to tell someone, he wanted to so badly…but every time he suggested it, Billie Joe acted either frightened (sometimes even having panic attacks), frustrated or angry with Mike for saying such an idea.
And Tré remained in the dark.
Though guilty about keeping such information from Tré, who he now trusted completely after getting to know him, he thought it was absolutely necessary. Things like this couldn’t be handed out on flyers or posted on every bulletin board in the school.
It was just the way it was.
Billie Joe also continued to cut himself. Along with the scarring slices Steve dealt him, he added some of his own on his arm, which he hid with sleeves or wristbands. Mike kept trying to snap him out of it, but he was in far too deep.
He could see the sadness that lay in their eyes. Mike’s was hard enough to look at, but now Tré, who had actually gotten him to laugh like he used to before his real father died―it was almost too much to handle. It was all too much. Everything: Steve, the pain, Mike, Tré, his mother, school, counselors who knew absolutely fucking nothing….
He was going under. He was drowning in it all. And his mouth was too full of water to call for help. ~*~*~
Billie saw the flashing blade a moment before it was driven into his arm. Steve laughed cruelly, twisting it slightly, the blood welling from the wound and dripping onto the floor. Billie Joe bucked in pain, letting out a desperate cry, and tried to push his stepfather away. But the man was just too big. He was too heavy.
“Stop trying,” Steve whispered gruffly, still drilling the knife into his arm. Billie felt the metal scraping against his bone. “There’s nothing you can do; there’s nothing anybody can do. No one is here to help you. You’re all alone….”
“Billie!”
“NO!”
Billie snapped awake, breath heaving, cold sweat dripping down his face. Over him stood his mother, her concerned eyes wide in the dim light. Billie Joe sat up, looking frantically around him. He was lying on the couch in their upstairs living room, the TV blaring some deodorant commercial from behind his mother, who was watching him worriedly.
“What time is it?” Billie asked her, his throat raspy.
“It’s almost five in the morning,” Ollie replied. “Are you alright? What were you dreaming about?” Billie tried to get his breathing under control, closing his eyes. Steve now haunted his sleep as well, always with either replays of the times his stepfather tortured him or fantasies where no one would ever come to save him….
Billie opened his eyes with a violent shudder that ran down his slender frame. “Nothing,” he muttered, getting up. Ollie moved out of the way, still watching him closely.
“Billie, don’t lie to me,” she said, tears riding on her voice. “Something is going on with you, and I’ve watched you get worse and worse from a distance. I’m tired of watching, honey. I want to know what’s wrong.”
Billie Joe shook his head and went into the kitchen. Ollie followed one pace behind, obviously hoping to get answers from him. If he noticed her trailing after him, he didn’t give any sign that he did. He got a bottle of soda from the fridge, completely ignoring her presence. She was patient and leant against the counter, watching her son as he poured a glass of soda.
They both were silent.
Even after Billie had put the bottle away in the fridge again, he didn’t drink from the glass. He held it in one hand and stared at the fingers of his other resting limply on the countertop. He started when Ollie’s hand covered his own. But he didn’t look up.
“You’re my baby,” she whispered. “My youngest. It hurts when you never share any of your problems with me, and you used to before. Something’s eating at you, Billie Joe. Tell me what it is. You can tell me anything. Anything at all.”
Billie Joe still didn’t look up.
Come on, his mother thought to herself. Show me your eyes. Tell me what’s wrong.
Ollie reached up and stroked Billie’s cheek gently with her fingers. He almost flinched away at the touch, but managed to somehow hold his ground. He was fine where they were, but when his mother started to lift his sleeve up his arm, nearly exposing his cuts, he yanked his hand away and backed off. Ollie lost all physical contact between she and her son.
She watched, confused, as he retreated to the other side of the kitchen and turned his back on her. It hurt. It hurt to see him like this.
“Baby―”
“Stop calling me that, alright?” he snapped suddenly, whirling around to face her. “I’m not a baby anymore. I’m fifteen.”
“I know you are,” Ollie whispered. “But you’ll always be my baby, no matter how old you get.”
“No,” Billie said, “You don’t understand. No one ever does. No one ever will. You included. So stop telling me that I’m a baby, because I’ve been through things that you never have.” His mother gave him an incredulous look.
“I was fifteen too, once,” she said. “I understand what it was like at that age―”
“No you don’t!” Billie Joe cried. “Stop saying you do, because you don’t!” Ollie started to cross the kitchen, reaching out towards him, but he shied away. “Don’t touch me! You pretend to know, you like to act like you understand, but the fact is, you don’t.”
“Billie, please―”
“No! No. I’m sick of this. I’m sick of my life. I’m sick of the questions, I’m sick of everyone acting like they know, and I’m SICK of Steve!!”
With that, Billie turned and fled, racing out the kitchen door and slamming it behind him. Ollie tried to catch him, but his reflexes proved too swift, and he dodged her hand. She opened the door and leaned out.
“Billie!” she yelled after him. “Billie Joe!”
He didn’t stop or look back, though, and she could only watch as he was swiftly swallowed up by the night. *********************** The drama's building! *evil laugh*
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Post by whatsername on Nov 4, 2005 7:10:17 GMT -5
oh my good god. wow. poor--no. no, no, no, no, no. NOT poor billie. he wouldn't like to be called that.
i want to give billie a hug. a really big hug. and never let go.
.........poor billie
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 4, 2005 7:44:00 GMT -5
I know....I'm so awful to him sometimes.....*sigh* If only I weren't insane.....
Anyway, if you're getting sick of all the angst and stuff, I'll let you know this: the ending's really happy. ;D So if you can just stick with me till the end, it'll be worth it.
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Post by whatsername on Nov 4, 2005 17:12:03 GMT -5
Happy endings including Green Day = Sheer and utter bliss
(This theory has been scientifically proven by Karla Stevens, Copyright 1991)
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 4, 2005 17:14:34 GMT -5
I totally agree, sista. ;D
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 5, 2005 8:01:12 GMT -5
EEEeee!!! Update! Whee! I'm going to the mall today! Yay! Dom and Jean are sleeping over! Woo!
I'm also sick as a fucking dog! Hah....(cold; feels awful, not that serious of a condition) ************************** PT.11
Billie didn’t stop running until his breath was heaving in his chest. He slowed to a walk, his heart pounding and breathing hard. He didn’t pay any attention to where he was going, just let his feet lead him where they would. He didn’t want to think about what had just happened. He instead allowed his mind transfer into a sort of numbness.
However, when his mind woke up, he realized that he had led himself to Mike’s house. He stared at his best friend’s home for a minute or two, his breath fogging on the air, but then he turned away. He really just wanted to be alone at the moment. ~*~*~
Ollie sniffed loudly, wiping away at the tears that coursed down her cheeks. She finally reached for the phone. It’d been almost a half-hour, and Billie hadn’t returned yet. During the entire time she was waiting for him to come back, she agonized over what the problem could be with her son and why he wasn’t telling her. What made him so protective of his secret? Was he ashamed?
Ollie had done so much thinking she got a headache, which really wasn’t helped by her hard crying.
She punched the familiar number into the phone and waited as it rang a few times. She tried to compose herself and clear her teary voice to appear as if nothing was wrong. Finally, it picked up.
“Hello?” asked Dave, Mike’s stepdad.
“Hey, it’s Ollie,” Billie’s mother said carelessly.
“Oh, hi, Ollie,” Dave replied. “What’s up?”
“Um…did Billie Joe happen to come over your house to see Mike at all?” she asked him, biting her lip anxiously. She heard a few of Dave’s breaths as he ruminated her question.
“No, I don’t believe he did,” he finally answered. “Mike’s over…ah, what’s his name…oh, Tré. He’s over Tré’s house at the moment. And I didn’t hear the door, so I don’t think he came by here. Why, is everything alright?”
“Well…could I have the number to Tré’s house, if you have it, please?” Ollie asked, ignoring Dave’s question. He paused, then gave a small grunt, and Ollie could just imagine him shrugging his shoulders. She heard him mutter to himself as he sifted through some papers that rustled in the background.
“Ah, yes…here it is…” Dave mumbled, then gave Ollie the number. She thanked him politely and hung up. She stared at the hastily scrawled numbers she’d written down, then took a deep breath and punched the appropriate buttons.
The phone rang a few times, and then was picked up. “Hello?” a deep male voice said on the other line.
“Is this Tré’s house?” Ollie asked.
“Yeah,” the voice said. “Who is this?”
“I’m Ollie, Billie Joe’s mother,” she replied. “I was wondering if I could speak to Mike?”
“Uh, sure,” he told her, and there was silence that seemed to last forever as he ventured through the house. As he walked, Ollie could hear the sounds of drums beating and cymbals clashing in the background, steadily getting closer. There was the noise of a squeaky door opening, and the drums got louder, now accompanied by the dull ring of a bass guitar.
“Mike!” the male voice shouted over the clamor, and the tune fell apart into a lasting ring in the aftermath of their musical fury.
“Yes?”
“Phone.”
There was more shuffling as the phone was passed from hand to hand, and, finally, the faint sound of Mike’s breathing on the mouthpiece. “Hello?” he asked.
“Mike, it’s Billie’s mom,” Ollie announced.
“Hey,” the boy greeted her. “What’s going on? Shut up, Tré!” he then said, taking his mouth away from the phone, for the drummer had begun to smack away at the snare again.
“Sorry,” said a distant voice apologetically, and the sounds ceased.
“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Mike said, turning his attention back to the phone and Billie Joe’s mother. “Is there any reason you decided to contact me?” He sounded a bit suspicious, but he was calm.
“I guess Billie’s not over there, is he?” Ollie asked, and tears were evident in her voice. Hearing that, Mike’s attitude changed completely.
“Wait, what?” he asked instantly, and she could hear his fear. “What happened, Mrs. Armstrong? Where’s Billie? Is he okay?” Ollie felt her eyes sting and her voice wavered.
“I don’t know…he ran away,” she replied.
“Fuck!” Mike exclaimed, and Ollie didn’t even take offense. She was actually thinking that in her head. She heard a few thumping sounds as Tré stood up from his drum set, dropping the sticks onto the floor, which clattered to an eventual stop.
“What’s wrong?” she heard Tré ask, his voice faint.
“Billie’s mom said he ran off,” Mike replied distractedly.
“What?!”
“How long ago?” Mike asked Ollie, ignoring Tré’s last statement.
“About…about forty minutes ago,” the worried mother said, trying to wip her tears away. “He-he was really upset when he left…I thought he would go to your house or something…I’m so scared, Mike…”
“Shit,” Mike blurted. “Um…oh, Jesus…h-hang on, okay? We’ll be over in a sec. Hang on, Mrs. Armstrong.”
“I’ll try,” she whispered, more tears escaping her eyes, and she heard the line go dead as Mike hung up. ~*~*~
“C’mon!” Mike said to Tré, and bolted for the door. The drummer wasn’t far behind, and Mike threw open the door, the two of them sprinting through the house. Tré soon took the lead, and they came into the dimly-lit living room, where his father was sitting in a large armchair, watching his special.
“Dad!” Tré shouted, and the man jumped, startled at the sound of his son’s voice.
“What?” he asked, irritated.
“Dad, come on, please,” Tré begged. “You need to drive us somewhere, and fast. Please, Dad, hurry!”
“What’s the rush?” his father goraned as he slowly began to rise from his seat.
“Our friend is missing!” Tré snapped. “We need to find him before something happens!” At this, his dad looked up and stood faster, seeming to be curious.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“We’ll explain on the way, c’mon!” his son said, waving a hand.
By the time they all piled into the large van, the two boys were just about ready to explode with nervousness. They simply wished everything would go faster, for Pete’s sake, and they had absolutely no patience. Tré acted short-nerved and kept snapping at his father, who thankfully understood his son’s predicament and didn’t chastise him as he normally would have if Tré had been talking to him like that. Mike just sat in his seat and looked out the window. His leg was bouncing, however, and his eyes kept searching the darkness, so he was not as calm as he so seemed.
When they finally pulled into Billie’s driveway, Mike didn’t even wait for the vehicle to stop completely before he opened the door and got out. Tré followed not two paces behind, and they raced up the steps to the front door. Mike knocked a few times, the sound urgent.
They didn’t have to wait long. Ollie opened it almost immediately after Mike had knocked, and she stepped out onto the porch, her cheeks stained with tear tracks and her eyes red. She pulled Mike into a hurried, grateful hug, then leaped down the steps with a speed amazing for a forty-two year old woman.
Tré made a move to follow, but then glanced back at the door, which Ollie had forgotten to close. He saw a stern, threatening figure standing inside, glaring at him with eyes that seemed borne from one of his worst nightmares.
He didn’t have long to linger, for then Mike’s voice snapped, “Tré!” from the van. The young boy jumped the two porch steps and ran to the car, storing what he had seen away in his memory for later. He got into the van’s backseat next to Mike and closed the door just as his father held his hand out to Ollie in the passenger’s seat.
“Hi. Name’s Chad.”
She shook it as quickly as she could and Tré’s father began pulling out of the driveway again. Ollie’s eyes were already searching for her son in the darkness. Chad then slammed on the gas and screeched down the street, every person in the vehicle probing the shadows for a familiar slender form.
Little did they know, the very person they were looking for was standing precariously on a cement wall, staring down at the swirling depths of a black river.
Black, Billie Joe thought to himself, black like death. Tainted. Dirtied.
He looked up at the starlit sky, feeling his weight beginning to lean forward…. ************************** Cliffie......
........don't hurt me.......*runs and hides*
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Post by rockmyworld on Nov 5, 2005 14:32:47 GMT -5
Jesus... I read the whole thing... It made me cry, the part when Billie starts yelling at his mother and stuff... And everything after that, it makes me so emotional. The other chapters made me feel so weak, and tears formed in my eyes...
Please update soon.
Emma.
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 5, 2005 15:38:54 GMT -5
Hey, new reader! How's it goin'? lol, anywho...
I'm really glad you like my story. And, ya know what, I'm gonna update sooner than I was planning to because of your very kind review. Yup. Feel special!
Make sure to check up on it often! I'm writing this story like MAD!!
Mad, I tell you! (lol, we're a little crazy here)
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Post by brokenwings on Nov 5, 2005 20:59:08 GMT -5
Oh em gee... -Is twiching from nerves-
Dude, I cried! Haha, and that's not normal for me! Update real soon!! <333
X | x Steph x | X
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rosiejoe
American Idiot
Tre's Faces!!! <333
Posts: 35
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Post by rosiejoe on Nov 6, 2005 0:22:08 GMT -5
my god...I just read the whole thing just then thanx to Stephie Made me cry, dammit! You're a really brilliant writer! MORE MORE MORE!!!
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Post by whatsername on Nov 6, 2005 10:30:17 GMT -5
oh my fucking god!! Billie, DON'T!! we should send karla to go hold him back tell him why NOT to do it.
don't worry, no killing because of cliff hangers. i've done it plenty of times, and no one's killed me, so i'm returning the favor.
aaaaaaaaah! how are they gonna reach him in time?!? Billiiiiiiieeeeeee!
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Post by *Lore~Lowell* on Nov 6, 2005 11:23:01 GMT -5
lol, thanx guys. I'll update soon, don't worry about it. The problem is, the update after that, I've hit sort of a block. I'm gonna have to have a few hours where I sit down and try and figure it out. Be patient, you shall be satisfied!
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