How We Stay Here (or Waiting)
folder
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
1,624
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Singers/Bands/Musicians › Green Day
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
12
Views:
1,624
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 Five: Your Hearbeat Echoes Like the Fucking Grand Canyon
How We Stay Here (or Waiting)
Part Five: Your Heartbeat Echoes Like the Fucking Grand Canyon
It’s too late
Ready or not at all
* Billie’s POV *
I picked up the phone and hit speed dial three, waiting for him to pick up. He did eventually, swearing at the single digit numbers on the alarm clock. I asked, he agreed, I hung up. I got in the shower, got dressed, cried, twisted my wedding band, got in the car and drove.
Now I’m here, staring up at the too tall building and wondering if my heart will explode in the elevator from the high altitude. If it will break when he opens the door. If he opens the door.
My heart hasn’t exploded yet, but my fingernails have ceased to exist during the thirty second elevator ride. I reach for my phone, cursing myself for being stupid enough to not get the room number. But I see the untouched breakfast tray, the blueberry pancakes.
He’s allergic to blueberries or else he hates them, he’s never really explained that one to me. But I love them. I knock on the door, kick it, half scream before it’s opened. I look at him, he looks at me. Our eyes are shining, but he still puts his hand up to push me away when I move toward him.
I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling with myself as I glance around his hotel room. Different coloured liquor bottles litter the room like Christmas lights that have been warped over too many years of usage and haven’t had their bulbs replaced, warped and faded.
“Forget yet?”
“You know there’s not enough alcohol in here for that.”
* Mike’s POV *
He just nods, doesn’t say anything, tries not to cry, twists his wedding band. I don’t know what to do. I just pick up the nearest half finished beer and raise it to my lips, but Billie’s quicker. I hear the glass break even though I don’t see it. A hand wraps around the neck of my shirt, pulling me down so I’m eye level with him. He’s pissed. And hurt.
“No.” His voice is sharp, like the shards of glass scattered around the hotel room. “I came here to talk to you, not watch you drink. I’ve seen that enough and your liver could probably stand the break for however long this takes.”
Then he pulls me in for the kiss, the hard brutalizing kiss that bruises my lips within seconds, turns wet when tears stream out of his eyes. He pushes me back on the bed, straddling my waist and pressing his tongue into my mouth. His hands slip under my shirt, touching my skin as if to make sure I’m really there and that he’s not going to wake up in the next five minutes.
I know because I’m doing the same thing.
* Billie’s POV *
He rolls over so he’s on top of me. Our clothes are shed in seconds, almost as if they melted into nothingness. There’s no preparation, no lubricant. There’s no need for it, just lust threaded with love and desperation threaded with uncertainty.
His teeth biting at my neck, his hands holding my arms above my head, his harsh and frantic thrusts, the words I can’t make out despite the fact that he’s not whispering.
* Mike’s POV *
He’s staring straight into me and not seeing a god damn thing. He’s arching up against me and it’s as if he’s not even moving. It’s just needing to know we still exist, that we’re both still human, that the world hasn’t ended and we’re ghosts wandering a parallel universe looking for that which we lost.
It’s not even desire . . . just pure necessity.
And feeling his heartbeat.
* * *
“Are you coming home?” he asks after we’ve both dressed. He’s smoking, I’m drinking and we’re just staring at each other, he from his place at the window and me from the edge of the bed.
It’s silent for a moment, save the click of his lighter as he pulls another cigarette from the box on the windowsill. “I . . . can’t.”
He looks at me, cheeks wet. “Yet? Ever? Tomorrow, Thursday, next week, next year?”
“I don’t—“
I stop at the look on his face. He puts his leg up on the desk chair next to him and kicks it over. I wince almost involuntarily. “What the fuck did I do so wrong that you’d choose this dump over home?”
Home.
My throat clenches up and I can’t say a word.
* Billie’s POV *
I can’t stand it anymore, pretending like I know that I did something wrong. So what if I said ‘I love you’ to Adrienne and he didn’t like it? It doesn’t mean it was wrong. What’s wrong is looking into my kids’ faces and knowing that raised voices and hotel rooms are what’s causing that hurt.
I kneel in front of him, placing my fingertips under his chin so he’s looking at me. I wish I hadn’t. He looks about fifteen and ready to burst into tears. I falter. “I love you.” I whisper. “But I can’t do this forever.” I kiss his cheek, stand up and walk toward the door.
“It’s only been three days.” I hear him say from the bed.
“Don’t be stupid.” I snap. “If you still give a damn you know that those three days feeling like fucking forever.”
* * *
I pull into the parking lot of a Target, banging my head against the steering wheel and ignoring the blare of the horn until finally I can’t take it anymore and I throw myself into the seat next to me, bursting into tears.
”It’s only been three days.”
“If you still give a damn . . .”
“Do you?” I whisper to the seat, half hoping it will smother me to death.
* Mike’s POV *
His car isn’t in the garage. My cheeks are suddenly damp.
I can’t wait anymore than he can.
Part Five: Your Heartbeat Echoes Like the Fucking Grand Canyon
It’s too late
Ready or not at all
* Billie’s POV *
I picked up the phone and hit speed dial three, waiting for him to pick up. He did eventually, swearing at the single digit numbers on the alarm clock. I asked, he agreed, I hung up. I got in the shower, got dressed, cried, twisted my wedding band, got in the car and drove.
Now I’m here, staring up at the too tall building and wondering if my heart will explode in the elevator from the high altitude. If it will break when he opens the door. If he opens the door.
My heart hasn’t exploded yet, but my fingernails have ceased to exist during the thirty second elevator ride. I reach for my phone, cursing myself for being stupid enough to not get the room number. But I see the untouched breakfast tray, the blueberry pancakes.
He’s allergic to blueberries or else he hates them, he’s never really explained that one to me. But I love them. I knock on the door, kick it, half scream before it’s opened. I look at him, he looks at me. Our eyes are shining, but he still puts his hand up to push me away when I move toward him.
I bite the inside of my cheek, struggling with myself as I glance around his hotel room. Different coloured liquor bottles litter the room like Christmas lights that have been warped over too many years of usage and haven’t had their bulbs replaced, warped and faded.
“Forget yet?”
“You know there’s not enough alcohol in here for that.”
* Mike’s POV *
He just nods, doesn’t say anything, tries not to cry, twists his wedding band. I don’t know what to do. I just pick up the nearest half finished beer and raise it to my lips, but Billie’s quicker. I hear the glass break even though I don’t see it. A hand wraps around the neck of my shirt, pulling me down so I’m eye level with him. He’s pissed. And hurt.
“No.” His voice is sharp, like the shards of glass scattered around the hotel room. “I came here to talk to you, not watch you drink. I’ve seen that enough and your liver could probably stand the break for however long this takes.”
Then he pulls me in for the kiss, the hard brutalizing kiss that bruises my lips within seconds, turns wet when tears stream out of his eyes. He pushes me back on the bed, straddling my waist and pressing his tongue into my mouth. His hands slip under my shirt, touching my skin as if to make sure I’m really there and that he’s not going to wake up in the next five minutes.
I know because I’m doing the same thing.
* Billie’s POV *
He rolls over so he’s on top of me. Our clothes are shed in seconds, almost as if they melted into nothingness. There’s no preparation, no lubricant. There’s no need for it, just lust threaded with love and desperation threaded with uncertainty.
His teeth biting at my neck, his hands holding my arms above my head, his harsh and frantic thrusts, the words I can’t make out despite the fact that he’s not whispering.
* Mike’s POV *
He’s staring straight into me and not seeing a god damn thing. He’s arching up against me and it’s as if he’s not even moving. It’s just needing to know we still exist, that we’re both still human, that the world hasn’t ended and we’re ghosts wandering a parallel universe looking for that which we lost.
It’s not even desire . . . just pure necessity.
And feeling his heartbeat.
* * *
“Are you coming home?” he asks after we’ve both dressed. He’s smoking, I’m drinking and we’re just staring at each other, he from his place at the window and me from the edge of the bed.
It’s silent for a moment, save the click of his lighter as he pulls another cigarette from the box on the windowsill. “I . . . can’t.”
He looks at me, cheeks wet. “Yet? Ever? Tomorrow, Thursday, next week, next year?”
“I don’t—“
I stop at the look on his face. He puts his leg up on the desk chair next to him and kicks it over. I wince almost involuntarily. “What the fuck did I do so wrong that you’d choose this dump over home?”
Home.
My throat clenches up and I can’t say a word.
* Billie’s POV *
I can’t stand it anymore, pretending like I know that I did something wrong. So what if I said ‘I love you’ to Adrienne and he didn’t like it? It doesn’t mean it was wrong. What’s wrong is looking into my kids’ faces and knowing that raised voices and hotel rooms are what’s causing that hurt.
I kneel in front of him, placing my fingertips under his chin so he’s looking at me. I wish I hadn’t. He looks about fifteen and ready to burst into tears. I falter. “I love you.” I whisper. “But I can’t do this forever.” I kiss his cheek, stand up and walk toward the door.
“It’s only been three days.” I hear him say from the bed.
“Don’t be stupid.” I snap. “If you still give a damn you know that those three days feeling like fucking forever.”
* * *
I pull into the parking lot of a Target, banging my head against the steering wheel and ignoring the blare of the horn until finally I can’t take it anymore and I throw myself into the seat next to me, bursting into tears.
”It’s only been three days.”
“If you still give a damn . . .”
“Do you?” I whisper to the seat, half hoping it will smother me to death.
* Mike’s POV *
His car isn’t in the garage. My cheeks are suddenly damp.
I can’t wait anymore than he can.