‹ Prequel: In the End
Status: Hiatus.

Worry Rock

I Love You, I'm Sorry

If it was up to him, he would never smile again. He would never even take another breath, never blink, never feel.

If it was up to him he wouldn’t be living at the moment. He’d be in the fiery depths of hell signing a contract with Satan himself.

He wasn’t drunk, but he wasn’t far from it. If booze was the one thing that started this whole damn problem, why was he helping himself to them instead of shunning them?

Because there was something wrong with him.

There had to be. No man that was right in the head yells at his wife and walks out on her birthday. What man does that? None. He was the only asshole to do that. To leave his wife when she was crying on her birthday.

Because of booze. Because of the object that he was spending his night with. She probably thought it was with another woman. She probably thought that he was fucking another woman.

How dare she.

He would never do that. No matter how drunk he was; he would never have sex with another woman. A sickening thought entered his numbing mind. Was he really like that? Did he really make her think that he was a cheater? A liar?

Oh, but he was a liar. Quite the liar, if he didn’t say so himself. That or he had just simply fooled his no longer trusting wife.

That hurt.

His wife would no longer trust him. He knew that for sure. Every time from now on when he would leave the house she would wonder where he really was going instead of where he said. He had ruined fifteen years of trust in a few simple months.

You stupid, stupid man.

His mind continued to spin as he sat on the bed, his stomach tying into knots as the truth about him started to unfold. He was so desperate to call her, to make sure she was okay.

Or to simply make sure he was okay.

Because when he thought about it, at the moment, he was just about anything but okay. He was a sickening bastard, but he wasn’t okay. Billie Joe shuddered, placing an empty bottle next to the bed. If he remembered, he’d pay Mike back in the morning when he asked where all the bottles came from.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the next morning that Billie Joe saw Mike.

It was only about two minutes later when the bassist came to check on his best friend, only to be slightly disgusted to find out that he had been sitting in the dark for hours, taking out his problems in drinking.

Mike sighed softly and walked into the room. He picked up the guitarist, wanting to get him away from the remaining bottles and the disgusting smell of alcohol. Billie Joe made no movement in his arms and Mike started to assume that he had passed out, until he spoke. “I’ll pay you back.”

Mike arched an eyebrow, not bothering to look down at the small and pathetic man in his arms. “For what?”

“Beer.”

“I don’t want your money,” Mike said softly. “Mi cosa es su cosa.”

Billie Joe just nodded numbly, having no idea what his best friend has just said. “She hates me, don’t she?” he asked, his words slurred together.

Mike shook his head. He had talked to the front man’s wife earlier, and she had never said she hated him. She was upset, but she could never hate her husband. “No. She’s just upset.”

Billie Joe let out a cry and flung his body from Mike’s arms, surprising the bassist. The front man tried to land on his feet, but they buckled underneath him, causing him to fall onto the hard floor before Mike had the chance to pick him up. Billie Joe curled his body up into a ball and wrapped his arms around his small legs. “I KNEW IT. SHE FUCKING HATES ME.”

Mike immediately dropped onto the ground and pressed his hand over his best friends’ mouth. “My wife is sleeping,” he hissed. “I don’t care how upset you are man, don’t wake her up because you fucked up.”

Billie Joe sobbed lightly into Mike’s grip, not even bothering to fight his hand. Mike arched an eyebrow in surprise, now feeling slightly bad for Billie. “I know,” he wailed, taking his mouth from Mike’s hand. “I fucked up. I fucked it ALL up and now she’s upset. I upset her on her birthday.” He sobbed loudly, even surprising himself. Billie Joe wasn’t the sobbing kind. “I don’t know what to do.”

Mike sighed, watching the raven haired man start to cry. “Listen man,” he tried, gaining the drunken fool’s attention. “I can give you my house, I can give you my beer, but I can’t give you answers. You need to do what you need to do.”

“But what do I do?”

Mike ran a hand over his face and took a deep breath. “You need to figure that out, man. I’m not you or your wife. You two need to talk it out.” He stood up and then paused. “But as a suggestion, I say that you should start by telling her the truth.”

Billie Joe didn’t acknowledge what he had just said; he only buried his hand into his knees, continuing to sulk. Mike watched him for a moment and then walked off towards the bedroom, closing the door lightly behind him, drowning out the sounds from behind him.

There is only so much one man can do before he gives up.

***

He was at the kitchen table when Mike woke up. His head was on the table and it took Mike a while to figure out if he was alive or not. Billie Joe opened his eyes slowly and looked up as his best friend, somehow managing to look so much worse. “Still sulking?” Mike asked with a slight smile, not meaning it in a rude way.

Billie Joe lifted a hand from underneath the table and nicely flipped his best friend off. Mike chuckled. “Why’d you call my house in the first place?” Billie Joe asked after a moment of silence.

Mike sat down across from Billie Joe and placed a mug of coffee in front of him. “I decided I needed to be a good friend and call you to talk about the arguments we’ve been having.”

“How did she find out I’m a bastard?” Billie Joe asked, avoiding eye contact.

“You’re not a bastard,” Mike said with a sympathetic smile.

Before he could react Billie Joe interrupted him. “I lied to my wife and fucked up her birthday. I’m not a bastard?”

“You just messed up.”

“Terribly.”

A long silence overcame the two men. Billie Joe buried his head back in his hands. “All I want is for her to be happy,” he admitted, “And I just can’t do it. I try so hard to make her happy and I do just the opposite.”

“Lying to her is making her happy?” Mike inquired.

“If she thought I was out with you and Tre, and not by myself she would have been happier.”

Mike hesitated. “Billie, did you not think that she would find out?”

Billie Joe bowed his head. “I hoped she wouldn’t. I never meant to start lying, you know,” he murmured. “I lied once and told myself it was the only time. And then it was just so easy.”

“Because she trusted you,” Mike interrupted.

Billie Joe sniffled and nodded. “Yes. Because she is so trusting. She always trusted me and I always lied to her.”

“Well,” Mike said softly, leaning over the counter. “We need to fix this.”

“How?”

“You need to speak to Mandy.”

Billie Joe dropped his head back on the counter. “So she can shun me away? That sounds like a brilliant plan.”

“No,” Mike snipped. “You need to speak to your wife and make some compromises.”

Billie arched an eyebrow. “Like?” he asked.

“You need to stop drinking.” Billie Joe grimaced and looked away. Mike sighed. “Billie, do you want to turn into what you used to be?” Billie Joe was quiet. “Answer me, man,” Mike pressed.

“What did I use to be?” Billie Joe growled.

“An alcoholic.” The words hurt. It was the truth, but the words hurt. “You’re turning into an alcoholic, or you may already be considered one.”

“Shut up,” Billie Joe scowled, pressing his hands that were balled into fists against his temples. “I’m not a fucking alcoholic.”

“Okay then,” Mike answered calmly, leaning across the counter with his arms folded. “Then what are you?”

“Stop it,” Billie Joe hissed. “You’re not helping, Michael. I’m not a fucking alcoholic. I’m NOT.” Mike didn’t say a word. Billie Joe’s eyes flashed around the kitchen as his bottom lip trembled. “I’m not like them.”

“Her parents,” Mike confirmed.

Billie Joe shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself. “I will never be like them. They hurt her.” Mike didn’t say anything, causing Billie Joe to glare at him. “You think I hurt her?”

Mike shook his head. “Not like they did.”

Billie Joe’s fists slammed against the table. “You think I fucking hurt my wife!”

“What do you call what you did, Billie?” Mike asked calmly. “An act of affection?”

“I messed up,” the front man snarled, “being her parents and messing up is different.”

“Wouldn’t you consider what they did messing up?”

“No,” Billie Joe spat, “I call it terrible parenting.” Mike didn’t say anything. He only looked up at his best friend with expecting eyes. “I’m not like that!” Billie Joe cried out. “I’m not.”

“They were alcoholics, Billie.” Mike paused and pressed a finger to his lips. “Has she ever asked you to stop drinking?”

“No,” Billie Joe lied. He slumped back onto the seat and placed his face in his cupped hands. “So many times.”

Mike gave his friend a sympathetic look. “And?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” he denied again. “I just have a problem knowing when to stop. But I am not an alcoholic. I could stop; it’s just never been much of a problem.”

Mike sighed, feeling as if he was going in circles with the man that sat across him. “Billie,” Mike said, shifting in his seat, “you just turned forty-six, as did I. Tre is turning forty-six in December. We all drink – but we’ve stopped drinking. Tre and I haven’t been drunk since New Years. You don’t go a week without it.” He tried to connect his eyes with Billie Joe, but it was impossible. “There is something wrong there, Billie,” he concluded softly.

“I’m going out,” Billie Joe murmured, his voice weak as he stood back up.

Mike mirrored his moves by also standing up. “And going where?”

“Out,” the older man stated again. “I need air. I need cigarettes and I need air.”

“Cigarettes take away your air,” Mike argued.

“I’ll be back later,” Billie Joe muttered, ignoring his friend’s words. “I need to think.”

“Don’t you dare do anything you’ll regret.”

Billie Joe shook his head, checking his pockets for his keys and what was left of the cigarettes that he had. “Anything else,” he hissed.

Before Mike had time to talk back to him, the front man was gone.

***

He wasn’t seen until that night. Late that night.

My body was curled up against Travis’s on the couch, my hand tangled within the shirt on Travis’s body. It wasn't even his shirt to begin with; instead it was one of Billie’s that I had let him borrow for the night. I had had a hard night, sleeping much better the first night Travis was with me rather than the second.

I was almost positive that I was dreaming when my eyes slowly opened to the dark lounge only to see the studio light on and peaking out through the bottom of the door into the large room. I closed my eyes again for a moment, expecting myself to drift back asleep, only for my eyes to snap back open when hearing footsteps.

I was curious now, and my need for Billie Joe seemed to heighten.

I uncurled myself from cuddling with Travis, causing him to mumble something incoherent in his sleep and slowly let me go. I stood up slowly and padded across the wooden floors, wrapping my arms around me. Since when was it so cold in California?

My hand placed itself upon the door handle to the studio and I hesitated before slowly twisting it and pulling it open, flooding the room with light. I heard Travis groan, causing me to step into the illuminated room and close it quickly yet quietly behind me. This time without hesitation I walked swiftly down the stairs, still wishing that my husband was there.

I paused when I was on the landing, my eyes locking in on a pair of legs that were placed on the ground, a body obviously in the large chair that had its back to me. “Hello?” I murmured.

The person in the chair froze, causing me to do the same. I pressed my hand over my heart, blinking back a few tears that I hadn’t noticed were there. The person in the chair turned around to face me and I jumped up and let out a yelp before letting out a long sigh of relief. “Don’t you ever do that again,” I hissed.

Billie Joe arched an eyebrow, lifting the pen he was holding and placing it on his ear. “What’d I do?” he asked softly.

“You fucking sitting here – what the hell, what are you doing here?” I stuttered.

“Am I not allowed here?” he asked his voice soft.

“No, no – I mean yes, of course you are. Billie, it’s like one in the morning.”

He smiled thinly. “Did I reach you at a bad time?”

“I’m…confused,” I breathed out, placing a hand against my forehead. “What are you doing here at this hour?”

My husband turned around and grabbed a small piece of paper and flashed it in front of my eyes, too quickly for me to see what was on it. “I was going to write you a note since I saw you weren’t alone.” His eyes focused on the paper in order to stay away from mine.

“He offered to come over,” I told Billie Joe, “he took Sydney and me out to the movies and dinner last night for my birthday.”

His eyes looked as is they were liquid when they flashed up to meet mine. I knew his exact thoughts. He was supposed to do that. He was supposed to be the good man to do that. But he wasn’t; he was the man that lied to me and walked out.

He was also my husband.

“Where have you been?” I asked softly as I walked closer to him, pulling up another chair next to him.

“With Mike,” he murmured. “Last night and this morning.”

“Where were you for the rest of the day?” I asked slowly.

“Around,” he answered.

I sighed in an aggravated manner, running a hand through my hair. “Don’t I deserve a little more information than that?”

“I was around,” he repeated.

I shook my head in anger and stood up. “You go through so much for me to trust you, yet you never tell me what you’re doing when I’m skeptical.”

“Perhaps you’re too skeptical.”

“That tends to happen when your husband is a liar,” I snipped.

Billie Joe fell silent while threading the note between his fingers, still sitting down. “I know,” he whispered, not even bothering to disagree. He stood up abruptly and took a step forward to me, gently cupping my cheek. “I’m so sorry, Joe,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “I never meant to do this to you. I never meant to mess up your birthday.”

There was another silence and I suddenly became aggravated. “Is that all?” I asked.

“I don’t know what else to say,” he said shamefully.

“How about why all this happened?” I asked, tearing myself out of his grip that I had missed oh-so much. “Why you’ve lied to me? You’ve failed to explain that.”

“It’s such a long story.”

“I’m your wife,” I hissed. “I’ve got the rest of my life or the rest of our marriage to listen. Whichever ends first.”

The look in that man’s eyes would have made anyone fall apart. “You’d divorce me over this?” He stepped toward me again. “It was a simple mistake--,”

“A mistake?!” I cried out and then dropped my voice immediately. “You have been lying to me for months! How is that a mistake?!”

“I never wanted to.”

“Well I’d be even more disgusted if you had.”

“Joe,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I love you so much. Please, if you love me as much as you always tell me you will sit here and you will listen to me and you will forgive me.”

“If you loved me, I wouldn’t have to. We would be in our bedroom right now asleep, and instead of Travis taking Sydney and me out last night, you would have.”

“I can’t change the past,” he said softly, his eyes spinning wildly, “but I can change how it all works out and I am trying.”

“You show up here at one in the morning and you call that trying?” I hissed.

“I was going to come back tomorrow.”

“Why should you?” I asked, looking away from him. “Your other wife is probably back at home waiting for you. Tell me Billie, is she pretty? Prettier than you always say I am?”

“Stop it,” he begged, “Stop it. Please. You know I’m not having an affair. I would never do that.”

“There are a lot of things you said you’d never do,” I whispered angrily to him. “Yet you’ve pretty much done all of them.”

“I’m not having an affair.”

“I’ll believe it when all this goes away.”

Before either of us had time to comprehend what was going on, his lips were forced onto my own as we both went crashing into the desk that had been neat only a matter of seconds before. Billie Joe wrapped his arms around my back, his tongue sliding past my lips as his teeth scraped against my bottom lip. I wrapped my arms back around his neck, pulling him as possibly close to me as I could as our mouths stayed firmly connected to each others.

His hands crawled up my hips and slowly made their way to the back of my head, his fingers slowly running through it. His breaths were coming out in short rasps as I moaned against his touch, our lip lock turning more furious.

I wanted to scream at him when he pulled away, his lips not even an inch away from my own, his warm breathing rough and fast matching my own. We stared at each other for a moment, my body sitting on the desk with my legs wrapped firmly around his waist as he leant against me. Our eyes stayed connected for a long time, not letting me notice as he pulled out of my arms around his own still wrapped comfortably around me. “I’ll be back tomorrow,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my own with each word. “You get some sleep.”

I just nodded although my insides were screaming for him to stay, screaming for him to touch and hold me again. But he left me on the desk alone, the door shutting lightly behind him with the light still on. I closed my eyes slowly and swallowed back a lump in my throat before slowly letting myself down off of the desk. I went to step away from the desk to go over to the stairs and into the lounge, only for my eyes to catch the piece of paper. I leant down and picked it up, turning it over.

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