How We Stay Here (or Waiting)
folder
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
1,623
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
1,623
Reviews:
5
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.
Part Four: When Angels Curse and Smoke Cigarettes
How We Stay Here (or Waiting)
Part Four: When Angels Curse and Smoke Cigarettes
No one can touch me now
And I can’t turn my back
“Daddy, I thought you said you ‘n Mike wasn’t getting a divorce.” Jakob says. Joey’s in his room doing God knows what and I was in the kitchen, trying to find something to do when my youngest son walked in.
I nod toward the living room and Jakob walks through the door, climbing into my lap when I sit down. “Mike and I aren’t getting a divorce, Jake.” I say, trying to choose my words very carefully. “Mike and I are having a bad fight.”
“What about?”
Damn those brown eyes. “Mike and me are thinking about being married really hard and that’s making us remember lots of the bad things that have happened. So we’re spending some time apart until we feel better.”
“Can’t you just tell Mike you’re sorry?” Jakob asks. “And then he’ll say it and come home?”
I kiss his forehead. “Sometimes you have to wait to say sorry. Mike needs some time away from me. To think.”
“Do you need to think?”
* Mike’s POV *
I really want to hit something – or someone – for this whole fucking mess. For not being able to admit what a mistake I made. For being too fucking proud to apologize. For making Billie Joe think this whole mess is his fault.
For not being there to pick the kids up from school.
I throw my glass at the TV. It doesn’t break the television, but the glass shatters. Which only reminds me of Billie throwing his glass into the bathtub on mistake. Which makes me curse and bury my head under a pillow like Billie and I used to do whenever it was time to go to school.
Billie and I have been inseparable since we were ten, through everything: his dad dying, the basement experiences, every fucking August fourteenth, the marriage where Billie wasn’t the one I was jealous of, the divorce, coming out to the public . . .
But love isn’t supposed to be this hard. Which makes me think maybe . . .
My eyes flood with tears as I sit up and reach for the lukewarm beer sitting next to the bed.
* * *
* Billie’s POV *
It’s ten in the morning the next day when I hear the knock on the door. “Come in!” I yell, not wanting to get up off the couch.
I hear a high-pitched scream and turn to see Tre standing there in all his glory. “Oh my God, it’s Billie Joe Armstrong! Have my babies!” And then he bounces into my lap.
And I can’t help but laugh as I push him onto the floor. He flips me off and sits next to me on the couch, threading his fingers through mine and looking at me expectantly. “You going to tell me or do I need to track Mike down in whatever hotel he decided to stay at?”
Most people don’t know this side of Tre, the side where about half of his childlike sexualized demeanor is replaced by a somewhat serious tone that still manages to make you laugh until you cry. And how he doesn’t mind when you tears of mirth turn into the real ones and you end up collapsing against him in sobs.
One of the mysteries of the Orient. Or California. Whatever.
“I think he thinks . . .” I blink quickly, trying not to cry. “He thinks I’m still in love with Adie.”
“Are you?”
I rip my hand away from his. “Of course I’m not! What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“I just figured I’d ask.” he says, as if it meant nothing.
“You know I don’t!” I snap.
“Mike doesn’t.”
“Well, Mike’s a stupid fuck.”
“You’re the one who’s in love with him.”
“Shut up, Tre!”
I collapse against the couch, sighing. “It’s the fucking pregnant thing. And because I say ‘I love you’ to her still. But . . . he won’t even let me apologize or explain. I said I wouldn’t say it anymore, but I can’t help the puking and shit.” I take a ragged breath. “Jakob and Joey think we’re going to get divorced and I keep telling them we’re not, but . . .”
“You don’t know if you’re lying?”
I bite my lip, closing my eyes to fight the tears, and nodding.
“You do know Mike’s never going to apologize in a thousand years, right? Because he’s a stubborn fuck and he never knows what to say.” Tre puts his arm around my shoulders and I lay my head against him, sniffling like a high school girl who just broke up with her boyfriend and is trying to get composure in the girls’ room before she walks into her second hour class.
“I don’t know what to say.” I mumble.
“You’ll think of it, Mr. Dictionary.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.”
* * *
* Mike’s POV *
I’m a little too drunk to answer the door, but I do anyway, half hoping it will be Billie Joe even though I know it won’t be. Tre walks in with a smile, taking my beer without missing a beat and taking a drink of it, making a face at the temperature of it. “You really are wasted if you’re drinking this shit.”
“So?” I pull the bottle back from him and finish it off, chucking it into the trash can.
“Just left Billie’s.” Tre said, opening the curtains and looking out. “Shitty view, Mike.”
“You went to Billie’s?” He nods. “H-How is he?”
“Great.” Tre said, turning around. “Caught him in an apron doing the cha-cha by himself in the kitchen with a beer in one hand and a china plate in the other.”
I roll my eyes and swear, sinking onto the couch. If I get a straight answer out of that man before I die I’ll have accomplished something worthwhile.
“He says the boys miss you.” Tre shuts the curtains and sits own on the bed across from me.
I lower my eyes and stare at my hands, not saying anything. “Did . . . did he say he misses me?”
“He thinks you want a divorce.” It’s blunt, cutting, but the only way I’d have believed him and he knows it.
There’s a silence.
Tre sighs. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected you to say. He’s not in love with her. I know you know that, Mike. You’re not that fucking stupid. It’s a pretty good fucking excuse. Of course, it means you’ve got a husband at home crying his eyes out and wondering what the fuck’s going to happen next.”
Tears run down my cheeks.
Part Four: When Angels Curse and Smoke Cigarettes
No one can touch me now
And I can’t turn my back
“Daddy, I thought you said you ‘n Mike wasn’t getting a divorce.” Jakob says. Joey’s in his room doing God knows what and I was in the kitchen, trying to find something to do when my youngest son walked in.
I nod toward the living room and Jakob walks through the door, climbing into my lap when I sit down. “Mike and I aren’t getting a divorce, Jake.” I say, trying to choose my words very carefully. “Mike and I are having a bad fight.”
“What about?”
Damn those brown eyes. “Mike and me are thinking about being married really hard and that’s making us remember lots of the bad things that have happened. So we’re spending some time apart until we feel better.”
“Can’t you just tell Mike you’re sorry?” Jakob asks. “And then he’ll say it and come home?”
I kiss his forehead. “Sometimes you have to wait to say sorry. Mike needs some time away from me. To think.”
“Do you need to think?”
* Mike’s POV *
I really want to hit something – or someone – for this whole fucking mess. For not being able to admit what a mistake I made. For being too fucking proud to apologize. For making Billie Joe think this whole mess is his fault.
For not being there to pick the kids up from school.
I throw my glass at the TV. It doesn’t break the television, but the glass shatters. Which only reminds me of Billie throwing his glass into the bathtub on mistake. Which makes me curse and bury my head under a pillow like Billie and I used to do whenever it was time to go to school.
Billie and I have been inseparable since we were ten, through everything: his dad dying, the basement experiences, every fucking August fourteenth, the marriage where Billie wasn’t the one I was jealous of, the divorce, coming out to the public . . .
But love isn’t supposed to be this hard. Which makes me think maybe . . .
My eyes flood with tears as I sit up and reach for the lukewarm beer sitting next to the bed.
* * *
* Billie’s POV *
It’s ten in the morning the next day when I hear the knock on the door. “Come in!” I yell, not wanting to get up off the couch.
I hear a high-pitched scream and turn to see Tre standing there in all his glory. “Oh my God, it’s Billie Joe Armstrong! Have my babies!” And then he bounces into my lap.
And I can’t help but laugh as I push him onto the floor. He flips me off and sits next to me on the couch, threading his fingers through mine and looking at me expectantly. “You going to tell me or do I need to track Mike down in whatever hotel he decided to stay at?”
Most people don’t know this side of Tre, the side where about half of his childlike sexualized demeanor is replaced by a somewhat serious tone that still manages to make you laugh until you cry. And how he doesn’t mind when you tears of mirth turn into the real ones and you end up collapsing against him in sobs.
One of the mysteries of the Orient. Or California. Whatever.
“I think he thinks . . .” I blink quickly, trying not to cry. “He thinks I’m still in love with Adie.”
“Are you?”
I rip my hand away from his. “Of course I’m not! What the fuck kind of question is that?”
“I just figured I’d ask.” he says, as if it meant nothing.
“You know I don’t!” I snap.
“Mike doesn’t.”
“Well, Mike’s a stupid fuck.”
“You’re the one who’s in love with him.”
“Shut up, Tre!”
I collapse against the couch, sighing. “It’s the fucking pregnant thing. And because I say ‘I love you’ to her still. But . . . he won’t even let me apologize or explain. I said I wouldn’t say it anymore, but I can’t help the puking and shit.” I take a ragged breath. “Jakob and Joey think we’re going to get divorced and I keep telling them we’re not, but . . .”
“You don’t know if you’re lying?”
I bite my lip, closing my eyes to fight the tears, and nodding.
“You do know Mike’s never going to apologize in a thousand years, right? Because he’s a stubborn fuck and he never knows what to say.” Tre puts his arm around my shoulders and I lay my head against him, sniffling like a high school girl who just broke up with her boyfriend and is trying to get composure in the girls’ room before she walks into her second hour class.
“I don’t know what to say.” I mumble.
“You’ll think of it, Mr. Dictionary.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.”
* * *
* Mike’s POV *
I’m a little too drunk to answer the door, but I do anyway, half hoping it will be Billie Joe even though I know it won’t be. Tre walks in with a smile, taking my beer without missing a beat and taking a drink of it, making a face at the temperature of it. “You really are wasted if you’re drinking this shit.”
“So?” I pull the bottle back from him and finish it off, chucking it into the trash can.
“Just left Billie’s.” Tre said, opening the curtains and looking out. “Shitty view, Mike.”
“You went to Billie’s?” He nods. “H-How is he?”
“Great.” Tre said, turning around. “Caught him in an apron doing the cha-cha by himself in the kitchen with a beer in one hand and a china plate in the other.”
I roll my eyes and swear, sinking onto the couch. If I get a straight answer out of that man before I die I’ll have accomplished something worthwhile.
“He says the boys miss you.” Tre shuts the curtains and sits own on the bed across from me.
I lower my eyes and stare at my hands, not saying anything. “Did . . . did he say he misses me?”
“He thinks you want a divorce.” It’s blunt, cutting, but the only way I’d have believed him and he knows it.
There’s a silence.
Tre sighs. “Yeah, that’s about what I expected you to say. He’s not in love with her. I know you know that, Mike. You’re not that fucking stupid. It’s a pretty good fucking excuse. Of course, it means you’ve got a husband at home crying his eyes out and wondering what the fuck’s going to happen next.”
Tears run down my cheeks.