Worry Rock

“Joe?”

I didn’t bother to pick my head up off of the cool marble island that I was sitting out at the sound of my name. Instead, I kept my head down on it with my eyes closed and my hand curled around a glass of warm milk. However, I jumped as I felt two warm arms wrap themselves around my waist and a chin rest itself on my shoulder. “Hmm?” I hummed, still not moving.

“Why didn’t you answer me?” Billie Joe asked, moving his head from my shoulder to rub his nose on my back. “For a minute I thought you weren’t breathing. What are you doing up, baby?” He chuckled. “I don’t even see any food out.”

“You thought I was dead?” I responded monotonously. “Pleasant thoughts at two AM.”

“Joe, sweetie,” Billie Joe murmured while moving my hair that was falling down my back to the side of my neck. “It’s four fifteen.” I lifted my head slowly from my arm that it was resting on to look at the clock, squinting at the darkness. Billie Joe kissed the back of my neck again. “Baby, what are you doing awake?”

I sighed softly as my husband unwrapped himself from around me. He pulled the stool next to me closer to me and sat on it, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. I took his free hand and placed it on my stomach. “Zach seems to be having a boxing match with my insides.” I lifted my other hand to rub my eyes tiredly. “It’s off and on—has been since two. It’s like whenever I try to go back to sleep, though, he wakes up and continues.” I lifted my glass of milk that I had heated up earlier. “I was hoping that drinking warm milk would make him—or me—sleep.”

“And it hasn’t, I gather?”

“What the hell do you think?”

My husband smiled slightly at my snapping and kissed my cheek gingerly. “Cheer up, buttercup. Do you want me to call the doctor?”

I turned to face my husband to see a sympathetic smile on his lips while he watched me carefully. At now twenty-one weeks pregnant, I was over five months along and about all nine months emotional. My stomach was now completely noticeable and none of my tank tops fit all the way anymore. No matter what I wore, even my husband’s t-shirts, my stomach peeked out of the bottom. I was now constantly hungry, and at any mention of any kind of food I would almost automatically start to crave it.

To top it all off, I had barely had any sleep lately due to different problems—tonight being that Zach refused to sleep and was dragging me with him. Other nights it varied from that I had been tired during the day and pretty much slept all day to that I couldn’t get comfortable at all or that my hunger was never ending.

My’I love being pregnant’ mood had quickly changed to ‘put me out of my misery’.

Though, I must admit, the only reason I wasn’t completely suicidal yet in any way, shape or form was because of my husband and daughter. Though Sydney couldn’t do as much, seeing as she had never been around a pregnant woman, she managed to lighten my mood constantly by simply taking my mind off of my pregnancy. Billie Joe, on the other hand had pretty much devoted 75% of his time to trying to satisfy me despite the fact that he was on the edge, also. And though I couldn’t show it as well as I liked seeing as my mood was on haywire, I was incredibly grateful that I had the also hormonal man by my side.

I leant forward into my husband’s arms, resting my head on his naked chest while subconsciously playing with the material of his boxers. Billie Joe continued to smile sympathetically as he moved both arms around me, rubbing circles on my back. “No,” I murmured, my lips brushing past the car inked into his skin as I spoke, “What could they tell us to do? Sydney did this, too when I was pregnant with her—I was just younger so I could handle it more. This is perfectly normal; I just hate it.” I scowled and moved my head to his neck. “I’m really considering just downing a whole bottle of Nyquil.”

I felt Billie Joe press his warm lips to my forehead and chuckle lightly. “I figured they could give us some ideas or something since they’re doctors. And I’ve got a pretty good idea that the taking the whole bottle of Nyquil idea wouldn’t be healthy for you or Zach.”

I groaned angrily against his skin. “Neither is the lack of sleep I’m getting!”

Billie Joe took one arm from my back and placed it on my arm, rubbing it gently. “Joe, baby, chill out,” he cooed. “I’ll get you another glass of milk and then we’ll go back upstairs--,”

“No,” I snapped, “no, Billie, you don’t get it. I can’t fucking sle--,”

“This is my fourth kid, Joe,” Billie Joe interrupted. He grabbed my glass from the island in front of me and went over to the fridge. “I have some slight idea of what the fuck I’m doing right now, believe it or not. Granted, I missed most of Adrienne’s pregnancies, but she still had the same damn problems when I saw her and so did you. So please, before you jump down my throat, let me at least try.”

I cocked an eyebrow as Billie Joe slammed the door to the fridge closed and poured me a glass of milk before sticking it in the microwave. He turned back to face me, leaning up against the counter and sighed heavily, running a hand through his newly-cut hair. “You know,” I muttered, “I don’t think you see how lucky you are that right now I’m not throwing a damn temper tantrum over that, because for the record, I so want to.”

My husband went to speak, however before he could, I got up from the stool I had been resting on and crossed the kitchen to where he was leaning up against the counter. I opened up the door to the microwave, pulled out the slightly warmer glass of milk and slammed the door shut like he had done to the fridge only a few moments ago. I kissed his cheek, mumbling ‘thank you’ and then headed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bedroom.

It was when I was finally starting to drift off back to sleep that I realized that Billie Joe hadn’t followed me upstairs and into bed. At first, to be honest, I didn’t give a damn, but I began to feel bad after a while. Billie Joe had done nothing but kiss my ass lately despite the fact that he was just about as moody as I was. In fact, I had noticed multiple times that he would bite back comments and just smile and nod to me. For a normal individual, that would have meant jack shit—but Billie Joe Armstrong was one of the most opinionated men I had ever met and biting back comments was hard for him.

I sighed into my pillow and groaned loudly before pushing myself up. I grabbed my now empty-glass of milk from the table next to me and wandered back down the dark hallway, down the stairs and into the kitchen where Billie Joe was now sitting, hunched over on a stool. I placed my glass in the dishwasher and then strolled back over to where my husband was hunched over with his forehead resting on the cool marble.

Upon hearing me walking around the kitchen, Billie Joe lifted his head and looked over his shoulder at me. I smiled sheepishly at him while running a hand over his smooth shoulder. “I really wish I could have a cigarette or two right now,” he mumbled dryly as he lifted a hand from his lap and grabbed onto mine with it, entwining his fingers.

“You can,” I cooed while wrapping my other arm around his torso.

Billie Joe chuckled. “I meant without seeing my breakfast, lunch and dinner after it.”

“Oh,” I hummed while moving so that I was sitting on his boxer-clad lap. Billie Joe took his hand from mine and then wrapped it around my waist, patting my stomach lightly.

“You know what I worry about a lot?” He asked after a moment.

“That one day after an argument I’m going to kill you in your sleep?” I joked. “I worry about that, too. Especially at times like this when I’m overly emotional. It doesn’t usually go over well.”

“The media would find out,” he muttered into my back, “you’d be arrested and since you’re so high maintenance, you’d never last. But with the looks you give me, I worry that I’ll combust.” I laughed while he grinned into my skin, kissing it softly.

“I’m only high maintenance because you’ve made me this way. And I could survive longer than you in jail.”

“I’ve been in jail more than you,” he pointed out.

I started laughing while he grinned sheepishly, realizing how terrible of a comeback that was. I leant back against his chest. “What do you worry about a lot?” I asked after a moment.

Billie Joe sighed and lifted a hand from my waist to run through his hair. “That because of me and how I drink and smoke and dud drugs and shit, Sydney and Zach might pick it up. I already had to beat Joey’s ass when Adie found a pack of cigarettes in his pocket and he hasn’t done that shit since and Jake says that he’s straightedge—but I can’t beat Sydney like I did with him.”

I smirked and twisted around in his grip to run a hand through his hair, tangling my fingers within it as he placed his forehead on my chest. “If Sydney ever tried that shit, baby, I’d beat her. Same with Zach.” Billie Joe nuzzled his nose his nose into the back of my neck, sighing once again into it. I felt his warm lips place themselves on my collarbone as he squeezed me tighter against him. I shifted awkwardly on the stool to face him and gently kissed his lips. “Don’t worry about it, Beej. All of your kids have turned out great.”

“But Sydney,” Billie Joe mumbled into my shoulder, “she’s already so much like me, Joe. I see it constantly. And y’know, I was thinking earlier about what I was doing when I was her age. Fourteen? I was already smoking pot and shit.”

“Sydney isn’t smoking pot, Billie. We’d smell it on her. Same with cigarette and alcohol.”

“No, no,” he mumbled, “I know she isn’t. I’m saying that I’m worried that since, y’know, dad did it, she’ll think it’s not so bad.” Billie Joe shrugged slowly. “I always hoped, though, since I married you and you’re straightedge that they’d get that from you. But Adie didn’t smoke or drink—well; she didn’t drink nearly as much as me and Joey picked up a lot of that shit.”

“You can’t stop kids from drinking, baby. They’re always going to try it once. But really, once you make their hangover terribly painful and just downright horrible, they’ll hopefully get the message. If they don’t, well,” I shrugged, “you beat them.”

“That happened to you?”

I chuckled and nodded. “Yeah, when I was like seventeen my boyfriend brought me to a party and I got pretty tanked. The next morning my brother made life living hell and I refused to ever go through anything like that again.”

“Is that why every time I come home trashed, you bang pots and pans the next morning “accidently”?”

“Mm, no,” I hummed while pressing my lips to his, “that’s just because you usually piss me off the night before when you do come home at about three in the morning.”

Billie Joe giggled beneath me and brushed his lips against mine, his eyes fluttering shut as he did so. Call me crazy, but I absolutely adored watching this man kiss. I loved watching his eyes flutter close as his lips puckered somewhat and his head tilted slightly to the side. His bottom lip would stick out slightly and catch my top one, locking our lips together.

My husband sighed softly against my lips and pulled away hesitantly. “I’m just worried about Zach growing up. To be honest, I’m one of those people who I always said shouldn’t have children.”

I turned so that I was straddling my husband, a look of confusion on my face as Billie Joe pressed his face into my chest. “Why would you ever say that? Baby, you’re a fantastic father.”

It had always been regular for Billie Joe to think like this about himself. However, he just never spoke about it because he never wanted to discuss it and hated to hear the sympathetic “but you’re such a good father!” shit. However, with his emotions currently acting as if he was trashed or stoned, it was hard to keep anything quiet. And well, there were times where even he needed to be comforted.

“Role model wise,” he mumbled. “I constantly tell all my kids not to do shit like drink, smoke, etcetera.” Billie Joe laughed humorlessly. “But y’know, I do or did that shit. I used to get high just about any way I could. I get drunk constantly, I mean, fuck, I ruined your birthday because of it. I’m a smoker. I’m pretty much fucking obsessed with sex. I fell in love with a girl that’s a little over a decade younger than me after divorcing my first wife in my early thirties.” He laughed once again. “I am a fucking terrible role model. I’m only a good one if you label me as not what to become.”

Over the years, I had learned easily how to treat my husband when he would go through short periods of depression. I knew how to deal with his insecurities and how to get him to realize that he was a great person. However, this seemed a bit tougher. Whenever Billie’s kids had been involved with anything, convincing Billie wasn’t so easy. He took great pride in his children, and truth be told, he wanted them to be as successful and happy as him, but that was all.

“Oh yes,” I mumbled against his lips, “you’re so right. You’re a terrible role model.” When I saw Billie Joe’s eyes darken in hurt and confusion, I smiled softly and ran a hand through his hair. “You’re right—you do drink and you do smoke and you did do drugs.” I shrugged while my husband squirmed uncomfortably underneath me. This was clearly what he was hoping to not hear from me and he didn’t understand that I was being somewhat sarcastic, but not at all agreeing with him. “And you took in a girl,” I motioned to myself, “that was barely legal when you met her meanwhile you were in your early thirties, welcomed her into your home so soon after and then got her pregnant out of wedlock.” I watched as Billie Joe began to chew nervously on his bottom lip, trying to mask the hurt with confusion.

Billie Joe shook his head slowly. “Joe…” He trailed off, completely speechless. He hadn’t expected me to agree with him and more importantly hadn’t wanted me to.

“Oh, I’m not finished,” I stated while shifting in his lap. “Then, while pregnant with that baby, you two split up for five days over one stupid argument that neither of you can remember was about.” I stroked the back of his neck, watching as he tensed even more. Sometimes, Billie Joe needed to hear things like this. “Then, when she finally forgave you, you went and got into a fist fight with her best friend in the middle of the boardwalk while she was getting something to drink.” I laughed while he frowned and looked away from me.

“Thanks, Joe,” he muttered weakly and went to push me off of him to leave the kitchen. However, I stopped him by grabbing both of his hands and brushing my lips against his pouting ones.

“Then you two got married,” I continued in a lower tone as my lips brushed his ear. “And had your baby girl. And now, fifteen years after you’ve met, you’re thirteen years married with a fourteen year old daughter and a five month baby growing in my stomach.” I placed one of his hands on my round stomach and let go of it as Zach began to kick, almost as if he was able to hear me talk about him and at the same time was also trying to cheer his father up. Billie Joe’s eyes lit up as the corner of his mouth was pulled into a grin while he rubbed my stomach. “You’ve got four kids now, Billie. Two of which are in college.”

Billie Joe was silent for a few minutes and I almost went to continue to try to boost his spirits, but I was stopped as he exhaled loudly and pressed his forehead into my shoulder, nipping at the strap to the tank top I was wearing. “I’m sorry,” he apologized into my skin. He giggled into it. “Oh Jesus Christ. You’re the pregnant one here and I’m the one sitting here whining about my insecurities. Wow, wow I fucking suck.” I cocked an eyebrow as he continued to laugh and insult himself. “I’m sorry, baby.”

I sighed to myself and took myself off of Billie Joe’s comfortable lap to stand with my arms crossed over my chest. Startled from my abrupt response, Billie Joe shot back against the counter though used one hand to steady himself on the stool. The rock star stared up at me through confused and slightly hurt eyes. As he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off. “Don’t,” I snapped, “don’t you dare apologize to me right now.” Billie Joe shut his mouth and took his eyes away from mine to stare at the tiled floor. I laughed pathetically at the look on his face and slid onto a stool next to him. “Four months,” I concluded.

“What?” He mumbled.

“We’ve got four months left of us like this. Four months, Billie.” I laughed as I buried my head into my hands. “Oh god, I don’t know how I’m going to survive—how either of us is going to survive. Oh, Billie, how? I’m only five months pregnant and I can’t deal with either of our emotions.”

I moaned into my arms as we both sat there in silence on separate stools until Billie Joe shifted him and his stool closer to me and wrapped both arms around my torso. He kissed my collar bone as I was pulled against his hairless chest. “We’re just tired. You’ve been up for a long time and I haven’t had much sleep lately--,”

“Oh that’s what you always say,” I snapped into his tattoos. “Just go to sleep, Joe. You’re tired. That’s all..”

“Alright, fine,” Billie Joe muttered. “How ‘bout it’s because you’re a bitch?” For the next five minutes, Billie Joe sat with his eyes closed in a wince, waiting to be slapped. However, when he wasn’t, he looked down at me and pulled me away from his naked chest to see why I wasn’t responding. He giggled once he realized that my eyes were closed and my chest was rising and falling in a steady pattern. Hesitating for only a moment, Billie Joe shifted around so that he had me collected in his arms and was carrying my sleeping and very pregnant body up the stairs that weren’t so dark anymore as the sun was beginning to rise. As he crawled into bed next to me after getting into our room, shutting the door and tucking me in, he kissed my lips gently. “Next time you snap at me like that for suggesting sleep, I’m gloating for hours.”

+++

September was a lot of things.

It was the month that all the heartrending songs that Billie Joe wrote were about and written in. It was the month that one of Billie Joe’s sons was born. It was the month that Billie Joe had first snapped at Sydney in. It was the month that Billie Joe drank the most. It was the first time that I had ever seen Billie Joe cry. It was the first time I saw him cry without him trying to hide it or brush it off as something in his eyes—the first time he came looking for me to cry to and to hold while he did it.

It was the month that Billie Joe lost his father.

It was the month that Sydney and I both knew not to bother the only man in the house. It was the month that Billie Joe actually ripped out of the calendar until I forced him to stop after being together for a few years. I understood his pain [as much as I possibly could] but whether or not he ripped the month out of the calendar, it was still going to be here and I needed a calendar to write things down on.

It was September fourteenth—the day before Billie Joe’s father had passed nearly forty years later. Billie Joe was sitting downstairs in the built-in studio doing only god knows what at this point [since he was sweet enough to lock the damn door] while I sat eating an apple in the kitchen, reading a printout. After hesitating for a moment, I got up and slowly waddled over to the studio and knocked on it.

I knew I was making a mistake when I got no answer after knocking the first time, but at this point and time I didn’t care. I was starting to get worried as the day went on. I knocked again. “Billie, open the door!” I called out against the closed wood. Silence. “Goddamnit, Billie! This is important!”

I heard a shuffling as I pressed my ear up against the door and then the sound of what sounded like a five year old stomping up the steps before the lock was hastily turned and the door was swung open. I backed up and away from the door to see a bleary and bloodshot-eyed Billie Joe Armstrong. “What?” He asked. “I was writing, Joe. That’s what I usually do when I’m downstairs—can you please let me be, now?”

I rolled my eyes and placed my hands on my stomach, rubbing it affectionately. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” He snapped. “Joe, can you please let me fucking be right now? I’m on the verge of creating something ama--,”

“I need to talk to you now!” I cried out shrilly, cutting him off.

Billie Joe recoiled as if I had slapped him, but nonetheless stepped out from the doorway. I brushed past him and walked down the stairs and into the roomy studio that Billie Joe spent most of his spare time in—especially after an argument. Billie Joe closed the door behind me and stumbled down the stairs after me, keeping one hand tangled in his hair that he had recently dyed blonde. Lately, he had apparently been feeling spontaneous again.

Without removing my hands from my stomach, I sat down on the arm of the couch, clearing a few beer cans from next to me. I sighed and ran a hand through my long hair. Upon seeing my disapproving look, he rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue. “You asked to come down here.”

“Yes,” I agreed curtly. “But I was going to ask for you to help me out." My throat started to burn as I choked back tears and a sob. Billie Joe cocked an eyebrow at me though didn’t move from where he stood with both of his arms crossed now. “I—I.” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. Hesitantly, my husband stepped closer to me and gently placed a hand on my shoulder. “I was going to ask you to drive me to the hospital because I'm scared to go alone.”

What looked like a cross between terror and confusion swept Billie Joe’s features. “What?” He asked. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

I frantically began to wipe tears from my eyes, shaking my head repeatedly as I started to actually panic. “I don’t—I don’t think it’s anything,” I stuttered. “It’s just Zach hasn’t kicked at all today—and usually he kicks just about every hour. I looked it up and read to eat a lot of sugary food or spicy food—so I was eating a lot of apples but he didn’t do anything so I called Alicia before and—and she said he’s probably fine, but she told me to come in n-now.”