Five Senses
folder
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,953
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
5
Views:
1,953
Reviews:
25
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Green Day. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Chapter 4
Title: Five Senses
Author: Sarah Elizabeth (Karma Killer)
Summary: After an accident, Billie Joe is rendered blind.
Rating: R (possibly NC-17 later)
Pairing(s): Billie Joe/Mike Dirnt
Feedback: desired.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the arrangement of words. Completely non-profit and completely hormonal.
-
Chapter 4
-
Mike was not able to get much sleep that day.
For one, the sunlight kept finding a way to filter through his blinds no matter what he placed in front of the windows as a barricade. At this point, he had made quite an impressive structure composed of his quilt, the full-length mirror he had ripped off the opposing wall, and an assortment of decorative pillows he had thrown carelessly in that general direction.
Only moments later, the guilt had washed over him. At least he got to see the sun, whether it was driving him insane or not. After that realization he had gone on a rampage, pulling away the haphazard barricade and flinging open the blinds in a heaving rage.
The light had hit his eyes instantaneously and was mercilessly burning against them with that kind of torture only staring straight at the sun can incite.
But Mike welcomed it in a sick fashion. He felt it necessary to experience the pain. He couldn't decide, though, whether this should be a punishment or an obligation. Should he feel guilty because he still had his sight? Or obligated to Billie Joe because he could see what the smaller man could not?
Mike sighed and finally let his eyes slip shut against the harsh rays. He banged his forehead against the window pane a few times before he pushed off the wall and surveyed what was left of his bedroom. It was a mess, to say the least.
Mike was not able to get much sleep that day, but he did smoke right through 3 packs of cigarettes.
-
With the concept of rest out of the question, Mike found himself adamant at an alternative activity, one he knew well.
He strummed the base chords effortlessly, but languidly. The energy he had known so well was gone. He just couldn't dig inside and pull out that fury and that passion that he had only weeks ago when the band was wrapping up its tour.
He plucked something that sounded new, something promising. But he didn't bother to write it down. He scarcely attempted to remember it. Writing songs was not the same without Billie Joe there. He brought a certain rawness, a deliberate emotion that neither Mike nor Tre could muster.
Billie Joe was innately artistic. It thrived within him and blossomed on his surface like a lotus rising from the murky depths of a bitter pool.
The thought brought the workings of a genuine smile to Mike's lips, before a grim realization washed all traces of it away. Would Billie Joe be able to keep playing? Would they still write music and perform?
Somehow, Mike's most prized bass ended up in sad pieces across the floor. He was out the door and starting the engine to his car before he could even register an answer to either of those questions.
-
The drive went by in an erratic blur of traffic, lights, and swerves.
Mike flew through the doors of the intensive care unit, pretty sure he had mowed down a number of innocent bystanders in his urgent wake.
He recognized the nurse who had reapplied Billie Joe's bandages as she rushed up to him looking panicked by his sudden reappearance. She grabbed him by the arm in an attempt to slow him down.
"Sir-"
"I have to see him," Mike said firmly, pulling effortlessly out of her hold.
"But sir he needs to-"
"He needs me!" Mike shouted, and was instantly shocked by the volume of his own voice reverberating off the now silent hospital walls.
A multitude of faces had turned their surprised attention to him. The bustle seemed to have died completely.
"He needs me." Mike repeated, more quietly this time.
The nurse caught the anguished desperation in his voice and it brought a sheen of tears to her own eyes. She nodded, finally understanding his plea.
"He's been moved," she said softly, sniffing a bit.
"Where?" Mike asked, trying to quell the fear that the statement awoke in him.
"Out of intensive care. We didn't see a need to keep him here any longer. He's more comfortable now."
"Where?" Mike asked again, his voice a little more harsh. It caused the frazzled nurse to jump slightly.
"Room 612. Third floor."
"Thank you," Mike whispered as he turned away from her and headed towards the elevator. He tried to ignore the shocked expressions of the hospital patrons as they murmured to each other and slowly got back to their agendas.
He jabbed at the elevator's '3' button mercilessly, despite seeing it light up and watching the floor number count down on the display panel above the door.
3...2...1...
The melodical ding made Mike cringe. He boarded the contraption and took what felt like the most eternal elevator ride known to man.
When he reached the floor, he stuck his head out to survey the new corridor, noting with satisfaction that neither Adrienne or Tre seemed to be there.
He followed the descending numbers down the hall until he reached his destination.
Mike turned the cool metallic knob and pushed the door open as quietly as he could. His eyes darted around the room and he realized that it wasn't as dark as the first. A thin ray of sun was escaping through one of the drapes on wall in front of the foot of Billie Joe's bed.
His gaze fell on the smaller man. His eyes were still wrapped, but he appeared far less engulfed in white. All that covered his still form now was a single white sheet. Mike could clearly make out the angular shape of Billie's hips beneath the combined weight of the sheet and the hospital gown. He followed the sight up to Billie's unfortunately shrunken middle, and then to his colorful arms where he methodically traced the patterns of the aging ink.
He seemed to be sleeping, which Mike noted positively. But the bassist was feeling a mixture of selfishness and desperation. He was preparing himself to awaken his friend when a sudden sound broke through the silence.
"Mike?"
Billie Joe's voice had gotten worse. If at all possible, it was even more cracked and fragile; as if his vocal cords had been coated in dried clay.
"How'd you know it was me?" Mike asked carefully.
"I always know when it's you."
"That explains last night," Mike said.
"That explains last night," Billie repeated Mike's words slowly, a foreign emotion in his voice. Mike couldn't decipher the meaning and it put him on edge.
"How do you always know?" he chanced.
"I just do."
Mike nodded after a few seconds before realizing that Billie Joe couldn't see his gesture of recognition. He opened his mouth to vocalize it but was cut off by the smaller man.
"It's ok. I know. Tre and Adie got me good and practiced." That time, Mike could easily translate the bitterness in Billie's tone.
Perhaps bitterness was an understatement. After all, his voice was downright frightening when the bitterness was combined with unmistakable dehydration. The irony, Mike found, was that a very full and glistening glass of ice water was perched on the plastic tray table in front of Billie Joe.
It seemed to tease him, just sitting there and looking painfully untasted.
"You should probably drink something," Mike suggested calmly, hoping the idea would seem logical to his band mate.
"I'm not thirsty."
Mike didn't sit well with that reaction.
"That's ridiculous Billie Joe. I can tell you haven't been taking anything they give you. Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Revert into this childish shell just because you feel crippled!"
Mike instantly regretted using the word. That word; quite possibly the most awful word to use in front of Billie Joe.
An uncanny tension fell over the room. Mike almost expected it to wilt the multitude of flowers that had seemed to gather in his absence on the table against the window. More irony, Mike mused. Why give flowers to someone who couldn't see them?
"Billie Joe?" he tried.
The other man didn't answer. Mike mentally cursed himself. He knew he had fucked up royally this time. Despite the overwhelming sense of apathy in the room, Mike collapsed into the chair opposite Billie Joe's bed.
"I'm going to stay with you," Mike murmured, looking at his friend apologetically. "I'm sorry," he supplied as a useless afterthought.
After a few moments in the overstuffed recliner, he just couldn't stop his eyes from slipping shut.
-
Author's Note: I'm sorry it took me so long to update. College happened. Well it's been happening, but it decided to rear it's ugly head and I had to drop a class just to get my OWN head back on straight. And then my parents began their annual fall season fighting. Lets just say with my dad sleeping across from my room instead of with my mother, I didn't feel very inspired to write any form of slash fan fiction.
But here I am again, and I hope you didn't give up on me or the story. I'm still trying and I hope you still enjoyed it.
Author: Sarah Elizabeth (Karma Killer)
Summary: After an accident, Billie Joe is rendered blind.
Rating: R (possibly NC-17 later)
Pairing(s): Billie Joe/Mike Dirnt
Feedback: desired.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything but the arrangement of words. Completely non-profit and completely hormonal.
-
Chapter 4
-
Mike was not able to get much sleep that day.
For one, the sunlight kept finding a way to filter through his blinds no matter what he placed in front of the windows as a barricade. At this point, he had made quite an impressive structure composed of his quilt, the full-length mirror he had ripped off the opposing wall, and an assortment of decorative pillows he had thrown carelessly in that general direction.
Only moments later, the guilt had washed over him. At least he got to see the sun, whether it was driving him insane or not. After that realization he had gone on a rampage, pulling away the haphazard barricade and flinging open the blinds in a heaving rage.
The light had hit his eyes instantaneously and was mercilessly burning against them with that kind of torture only staring straight at the sun can incite.
But Mike welcomed it in a sick fashion. He felt it necessary to experience the pain. He couldn't decide, though, whether this should be a punishment or an obligation. Should he feel guilty because he still had his sight? Or obligated to Billie Joe because he could see what the smaller man could not?
Mike sighed and finally let his eyes slip shut against the harsh rays. He banged his forehead against the window pane a few times before he pushed off the wall and surveyed what was left of his bedroom. It was a mess, to say the least.
Mike was not able to get much sleep that day, but he did smoke right through 3 packs of cigarettes.
-
With the concept of rest out of the question, Mike found himself adamant at an alternative activity, one he knew well.
He strummed the base chords effortlessly, but languidly. The energy he had known so well was gone. He just couldn't dig inside and pull out that fury and that passion that he had only weeks ago when the band was wrapping up its tour.
He plucked something that sounded new, something promising. But he didn't bother to write it down. He scarcely attempted to remember it. Writing songs was not the same without Billie Joe there. He brought a certain rawness, a deliberate emotion that neither Mike nor Tre could muster.
Billie Joe was innately artistic. It thrived within him and blossomed on his surface like a lotus rising from the murky depths of a bitter pool.
The thought brought the workings of a genuine smile to Mike's lips, before a grim realization washed all traces of it away. Would Billie Joe be able to keep playing? Would they still write music and perform?
Somehow, Mike's most prized bass ended up in sad pieces across the floor. He was out the door and starting the engine to his car before he could even register an answer to either of those questions.
-
The drive went by in an erratic blur of traffic, lights, and swerves.
Mike flew through the doors of the intensive care unit, pretty sure he had mowed down a number of innocent bystanders in his urgent wake.
He recognized the nurse who had reapplied Billie Joe's bandages as she rushed up to him looking panicked by his sudden reappearance. She grabbed him by the arm in an attempt to slow him down.
"Sir-"
"I have to see him," Mike said firmly, pulling effortlessly out of her hold.
"But sir he needs to-"
"He needs me!" Mike shouted, and was instantly shocked by the volume of his own voice reverberating off the now silent hospital walls.
A multitude of faces had turned their surprised attention to him. The bustle seemed to have died completely.
"He needs me." Mike repeated, more quietly this time.
The nurse caught the anguished desperation in his voice and it brought a sheen of tears to her own eyes. She nodded, finally understanding his plea.
"He's been moved," she said softly, sniffing a bit.
"Where?" Mike asked, trying to quell the fear that the statement awoke in him.
"Out of intensive care. We didn't see a need to keep him here any longer. He's more comfortable now."
"Where?" Mike asked again, his voice a little more harsh. It caused the frazzled nurse to jump slightly.
"Room 612. Third floor."
"Thank you," Mike whispered as he turned away from her and headed towards the elevator. He tried to ignore the shocked expressions of the hospital patrons as they murmured to each other and slowly got back to their agendas.
He jabbed at the elevator's '3' button mercilessly, despite seeing it light up and watching the floor number count down on the display panel above the door.
3...2...1...
The melodical ding made Mike cringe. He boarded the contraption and took what felt like the most eternal elevator ride known to man.
When he reached the floor, he stuck his head out to survey the new corridor, noting with satisfaction that neither Adrienne or Tre seemed to be there.
He followed the descending numbers down the hall until he reached his destination.
Mike turned the cool metallic knob and pushed the door open as quietly as he could. His eyes darted around the room and he realized that it wasn't as dark as the first. A thin ray of sun was escaping through one of the drapes on wall in front of the foot of Billie Joe's bed.
His gaze fell on the smaller man. His eyes were still wrapped, but he appeared far less engulfed in white. All that covered his still form now was a single white sheet. Mike could clearly make out the angular shape of Billie's hips beneath the combined weight of the sheet and the hospital gown. He followed the sight up to Billie's unfortunately shrunken middle, and then to his colorful arms where he methodically traced the patterns of the aging ink.
He seemed to be sleeping, which Mike noted positively. But the bassist was feeling a mixture of selfishness and desperation. He was preparing himself to awaken his friend when a sudden sound broke through the silence.
"Mike?"
Billie Joe's voice had gotten worse. If at all possible, it was even more cracked and fragile; as if his vocal cords had been coated in dried clay.
"How'd you know it was me?" Mike asked carefully.
"I always know when it's you."
"That explains last night," Mike said.
"That explains last night," Billie repeated Mike's words slowly, a foreign emotion in his voice. Mike couldn't decipher the meaning and it put him on edge.
"How do you always know?" he chanced.
"I just do."
Mike nodded after a few seconds before realizing that Billie Joe couldn't see his gesture of recognition. He opened his mouth to vocalize it but was cut off by the smaller man.
"It's ok. I know. Tre and Adie got me good and practiced." That time, Mike could easily translate the bitterness in Billie's tone.
Perhaps bitterness was an understatement. After all, his voice was downright frightening when the bitterness was combined with unmistakable dehydration. The irony, Mike found, was that a very full and glistening glass of ice water was perched on the plastic tray table in front of Billie Joe.
It seemed to tease him, just sitting there and looking painfully untasted.
"You should probably drink something," Mike suggested calmly, hoping the idea would seem logical to his band mate.
"I'm not thirsty."
Mike didn't sit well with that reaction.
"That's ridiculous Billie Joe. I can tell you haven't been taking anything they give you. Don't do this."
"Do what?"
"Revert into this childish shell just because you feel crippled!"
Mike instantly regretted using the word. That word; quite possibly the most awful word to use in front of Billie Joe.
An uncanny tension fell over the room. Mike almost expected it to wilt the multitude of flowers that had seemed to gather in his absence on the table against the window. More irony, Mike mused. Why give flowers to someone who couldn't see them?
"Billie Joe?" he tried.
The other man didn't answer. Mike mentally cursed himself. He knew he had fucked up royally this time. Despite the overwhelming sense of apathy in the room, Mike collapsed into the chair opposite Billie Joe's bed.
"I'm going to stay with you," Mike murmured, looking at his friend apologetically. "I'm sorry," he supplied as a useless afterthought.
After a few moments in the overstuffed recliner, he just couldn't stop his eyes from slipping shut.
-
Author's Note: I'm sorry it took me so long to update. College happened. Well it's been happening, but it decided to rear it's ugly head and I had to drop a class just to get my OWN head back on straight. And then my parents began their annual fall season fighting. Lets just say with my dad sleeping across from my room instead of with my mother, I didn't feel very inspired to write any form of slash fan fiction.
But here I am again, and I hope you didn't give up on me or the story. I'm still trying and I hope you still enjoyed it.