My Blood

Disclaimer: I don't own Green Day, I don't know them. This never happened and I make no money. Avril Lavigne owns the song 'Tomorrow'.

A/N: I reread 'My Blood' and thought it needed something more. This is set during the trial of Billie's rapist.

My Ending

When you say that it's gonna be
It always turns out to be a different way

You're standing there smiling at me. Mike's behind me, with his hand on my back leading me.

"I thought you said he couldn't see me." I mutter to one of the police officers.

"They're just staring where we tell them to." one of them reassures me. "Now, do you see him in there?"

"Number four." I couldn't forget you if I tried. Your eyes are almost black and I can see that tattoo on your arm and you're smiling at me. You're going to find me after you make bail, aren't you? Going to rape me again?

"Are you sure?" one of the lawyers asks.

"Number four." I repeat. "Can I go now?"

Once we step out of the room, I fall into Mike again, sobbing. I hate this. I hate having to relive it everyday for a stupid trial. Even if you get convicted it doesn't matter. You're still in my blood.

---

"I don't think we can put Billie Joe on the stand." my lawyer tells Mike. They're in the next room while I'm in the kitchen pretending I can't hear them. La la la. I can't hear you.

"He's the one it happened to. They're not going to buy it unless he says it." Mike's angry.

"He's been . . . off. The consistencies are there, but the blood thing and the way he's been rambling off. It doesn't look good. It looks like he's mentally offbalance."

La la la. I can't hear you.

"Of course he's mentally offbalance." Mike's more angry now. I try not to giggle. "He got raped. But he's never going to get over it if you people won't let him talk or work it out. Now put him on the stand or I'll find a lawyer who will."

Mike thinks I'm crazy. Maybe I am. Crazy crazy crazy. I giggle. I'm nuts. Insane. Insanity in my brain.

"That won't be necessary." the lawyer says. "I just thought you would be more worried about your boyfriend's fragile emotional state than that."

Mike punched the wall. I can hear it. I can hear something break. Not his fingers. Some little knick knack someone must have bought that we put on the wall so they wouldn't feel bad. Make your house ugly for other people so they don't feel bad.

My fingers start tracing around the designs on the wallpaper in the kitchen. Flowers. Pretty flowers. Etched in red. Like blood.

You're in my fucking wallpaper! I hear yelling in the background, but it's slowly disappearing like the soundtrack to a movie. You're in my wallpaper! Out! They said you were in prison. They said you couldn't get out!

I go the drawer and grab a knife, stab it into the wall and start tearing where it makes a cut. Mike and the lawyer are in the room in not time and Mike's got my pulled away from the wall. "Billie, stop it. Billie, there's nothing on the wall. Just wallpaper." he whispers, arms around my waist.

"He's in the wallpaper." I whisper back. "Blood on the walls. Blood on the walls. Blood blood pretty blood. My pretty blood on the walls."

I hear the door shut. The lawyer left. "Crazy. I'm crazy. You said I was crazy. Insane, insane. Crazy."

He spins me around so I'm facing him. "You're not crazy. You're a little screwed up right now and that's understandable. You're not crazy. You just act it. God dammit, Billie Joe, he's not in the wallpaper. Why would you think that?"

"Red blood on the flowers. See?" I point and he looks and there's something in his eyes. They're shiny like marbles. Pretty blue marbles.

He's crying and he pulls me closer to him. "That's not blood, Billie Joe. How would your blood get on the walls?"

"He puts it there when I'm sleeping."

"I would have heard him."

"No. He's evil. He can do it so no one hears. It's quiet and he tiptoes and he knows the dark better than anyone."

"Stop it. He's not all powerful. He's not powerful at all. He's just a stupid fucked up guy who's going to rot in prison, you understand?"

Rot. Like rotten fruit. Rotting. I giggle.

---

"Billie Joe, what crime did you tell the police happened on March 4, 2006?" the new lawyer asks.

"I got raped." I say softly, but the microphone picks it up.

"Were you lying?"

"No." I shake my head defiantly. "No."

"Is the person who raped you in this room today?"

"Yes."

"Could you point to him for me, please?"

My hand doesn't want to move, but I make it. Mike's staring at me and he smiles and nods. I'll do it for Mike. I point at you.

Then the lawyer says something I don't understand about the record and you and me pointing.

"Billie Joe, can you tell the jury, in your own words, what happened that night?"

I take a deep breath, gulp a few times. "W-We were at a show. I went to a backroom to get more drinks." Drinks, not beer. She said not to say it was beer. "I left the door open because it was night and there isn't a light in that room, just a window. And I heard the door shut so I went to open it and then he was there and he put his hand on my mouth and I saw the knife."

She nods and Mike nods and so I keep going. It's bullshit. She won't let me talk about how you're in my blood and how you're everywhere. But Mike wants me to keep going, so I do.

"He said to be quiet or he'd kill me. I didn't know what he was going to do. He pushed me onto the floor and . . . and then he . . ." I gulp for air that doesn't seem to exist. Did you take that, too? ". . . he took his clothes off and he took my clothes off and he raped me." I say that all really fast.

---

I don't like the other lawyer. Your lawyer. "Is it possible to see a knife in the dark?" he asks me.

The lawyer said all his questions would be yes or no and to answer yes or no until he says to explain.

"Yes."

"Could you explain that for me?"

"There was a street lamp outside the window and I saw the light reflect on the knife."

"Did you ever struggle during the alleged rape, Mr. Armstrong?"

"A little. At first. He had the knife."

"He held onto the knife the entire time this alleged event took place?"

"No. He threw it after awhile. After I told him I wanted him to kill me."

"You wanted him to kill you."

"I would have rather been dead than have his hands on me for another second!" I know I'm yelling, but I don't care.

He says he wants to enter the papers that say I'm crazy into evidence. Except he doesn't call them that, but I know that's what they are.

"Mr. Armstrong, is it true you've been on anti-depressants for the past year?"

"Yes."

"And that you stopped taking them a few months ago?"

"Yes. They were making me hallucinate."

"So, would it be accurate to say that you've had a mild history of mental problems for some time now?"

"No."

"No? You are on anti-depressants, correct? Or were, rather."

"I was only on them because some of the stress was getting to me. From the divorce and things."

The divorce. He asks another question, but I don't hear. Mike's staring at me. La la la. I can't hear you.

They're talking but I can't hear it. I just see their lips moving. And then Mike takes my hand and leads me out in the hallway and makes me drink some water and that's a little better.

"Billie Joe, you have to keep talking, okay? I know it's hard."

"I don't like him."

"You're not supposed to. He was born to be a bastard. No one likes him. He's unliked by everyone." He's trying to make me smile, so I do.

He kisses my forehead and leads me back into the courtroom.

---

We went to see you today. Not to talk to you. Just to see that you were still in prison. You smiled at me and I grabbed Mike's hand and that helped.

But we did talk to you. Or I did. There were telephones and I picked one up and you picked the other one up.

"Hello, Billie."

"You're not in my blood anymore." I say clearly. "And you're stuck in here and you can't get out. You're going to rot in prison and I won't have to worry about you anymore. I hope they kill you in here."

And I slam down the phone and Mike grabs my hand and I can't hear what you're saying because the glass is soundproof.

And that's it. The end. Not the end of my life. But the end of you. Because I believe it now. I don't know why, but I do.

Maybe it's because the cuts are healing now. Or maybe it's because Mike keeps giving me sleeping pills I'm not supposed to have so I don't dream at night. Or maybe it's because he leaves the light on until I'm asleep.

Maybe it's a lot of things, but it doesn't matter.

Mike and I made love last night. Slow and not like before, but we did. And I cried a little, but we still made love.

And it'll happen again sometime and I won't think of you and I won't cry.

Because you're not poison anymore. And you're not blood. You're just a fucked up guy in prison who's going to get raped a lot more than I ever did.

Mike kisses my cheek after we get in the car. "I love you, Billie Joe."

"I love you, too."