Worry Rock

"We were never like that, were we?" Billie Joe mumbled thoughtfully, his lips brushing against my own as he sealed his words with a kiss.

The sun peaked through the window into the bedroom, the curtains swaying from the breeze. Billie Joe and I lay in bed, the ceiling fan making the room comfortable with just a thin sheet over our bodies. His arm rested on my waist, playing with the back of the strap to my tanktop as we lay talking, his lips brushing against mine every once in a while.

"For a while..we weren't doing so well.." I said softly, "But we worked it out. We always do."

He nodded his head slowly, pressing his lips against mine once again, now drawing imaginary circles on my back. He shifted his body, pulling me closer against him, his other arm going back under my head, so that I lay with my head resting on his arm. I smiled happily to myself, moving myself so that my head was buried in his chest, making him laugh softly.

Billie Joe groaned, stretching his tired body out in the bed, cradling me in his arm. He yawned, shaking his head afterwards, running a hand through his mess of a hair, brushing it his own way.

"That's how you kill your hair, Bill, by not stopping for the knots."

He shrugged, "It's hard enough to get a brush through this mop. This is easier."

"But it's not the same."

He sighed, rolling his eyes playfully, continuing to run his hands through his hair, before just messing it up again.

"You're hopeless, Billie."

He laughed, smiling innocently, before he lay back in bed, his arms slowly wrapping themselves around my body, pulling me up so I was on top of him. "You're light as hell. I can even pick you up." He muttered.

I smiled into his neck, kissing it lightly.

"I should probably give Tre a call.." Billie Joe started, staring at the ceiling, "Try to get him to make up with Rachel."

"Why?" I asked, propping myself up on his chest, tilting my head to the side, "Shouldn't they work it out themselves?"

Billie Joe shrugged, running his hand through my dark hair, twirling some on his finger absent mindedly. His lips were pursed, his brow furrowed deep in thought. "Yeah," He started with a nod of his head, "But I heard on tv once..well..a few times..but I heard that if you let someone just mope around, it jeopardizes the relationship more..and if they're around someone with a relationship, it could cause the next couple to slowly become the same way.."

"Watching a little bit too much of Oprah there, babe?" I asked, a slight smirk appearing on my face.

Billie Joe laughed, shaking his head. "No..I forget where it was..but, yeah, baby, that wasn't my point. My point was that..not to be a selfish fuck..but that..I don't want us to become all..rawr.."

I giggled into his tattooed chest, shaking my head at the words he used. "Rawr?"

He smiled from the side of his mouth, shifting his body underneath mine, "Yeah..you know..so we're like..arguing a lot..and you get sick of me, I get sick of me."

"You get sick of yourself?" I asked, tilting my head to the side.

Billie Joe smiled up at me, nodding his head as his eyes slowly closed. "Yeah. All the damn time."

***

"I think I might take Sydney out today.." Billie Joe mumbled, his head resting on the coolness of the counter in the kitchen.

"Oh?"

"Yeah," He said, licking his bottom lip and picking a piece of lint off of his red and black checkered boxers, "I want her to be able to hang out with me..I wanna be a cool dad."

"Good luck."

Billie Joe lifted his head, shooting my a dirty look, his eyes narrowed. "What's that suppose to mean?"

"She's 13, Billie." I stated, sliding off of the stool, fixing my hair quickly, "Her parents won't be cool until she's at least 14 or 15."

"What? That makes no sense." He muttered bitterly, "Why 14 or 15? Why the hell not now?"

I sighed, shaking my head, "You're the one that has three kids, Bill. You should understand this."

"Nah. That's not fair," He shook his head, "Boys are so much easier to understand than girls."

"Yeah, because they've only got a few things on the mind in their teenage years."

"No..that's not true."

"Yeah it is. All guys think about when they're teenagers is sex, and how fast they can get out of school."

"Then what do girls think about?" He asked, slouching back down in the stool, his face smooshed against the cold marble.

"How much of a slut, bitch, geek, or fuck up their enemies are, or even their best friends. And how they could get the cutest guy to break up with the slut he's with."

"..Girl's really are mean."

"You don't even know the half of it."

"And I'm not sure I want to." He muttered.

Both of us turned our heads to see a tired brunette walk into the kitchen, her hair pulled up messily as she wore her pajamas, which was basically the same attire as mine.

"Morning." She said softly, taking the seat on the other side of the counter, facing Billie Joe.

"Mornin' Rach." Billie Joe said, his words muffled by the counter that he still rested his head on.
"Morning Beej." She yawned, rubbing her eyes slowly, her eyeliner from last night becoming even more smudged.

"Sleep well?" He asked, finally lifting his head.

She nodded, bowing her head and yawning again. "Very well..thank you both..so much for letting me stay here.."

I shrugged, setting a plate of eggs before her, Billie Joe looking at me desperately, as if wanting to know why she got some and he didn't. He tapped the counter with his fingers, licking his lips, as if trying to show me that he wanted some as well, without words. He watched me move around, looking back to Rachel's plate of food, becoming hungry as he saw it sitting there.

I rolled my eyes playfully at him, setting down a plat before him, making him smile like a moron, being hungry since he had skipped dinner the night before, being hungover the whole day and not in the mood to eat. "Happy now?" I asked, settling myself down next to him.

He nodded his head happily, shoving the food into his mouth, half of it falling off of the fork and onto his lap and counter, making Rachel laugh.

"You're such a slob.." I muttered, Billie Joe smiling at me through a mouth full of eggs. I laughed, sliding back off of the stool and grabbing a towel, handing it to him. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow as if to ask what to do with it, before setting it next to him, going back to his food, making even me laugh. Rachel shook her head at the rocker, a soft laugh escaping her lips.

"So, Rach.." Billie Joe started, a mouth full of eggs, making both of us look away as he apologized quickly, finishing off his food, "Kay..sorry..now..have you spoken to Tre?"

I groaned, hitting the back of Billie Joe's head, making him swat at my arm, "What? Oh..shit..sorry."

Rachel coughed, shaking her head. "No. I'm not sure if I want to."

"You should." Billie Joe stated, shoving more eggs into his mouth, "I heard this thing on some show," he swallowed, poking around the plate with his fork as he spoke, "That if you..you know..don't speak, it jeopardizes your relationship even more. Cuz you have time to think about it and get more pissed off..or yunno, some shit like that.."

"You watch Oprah, Billie?"

The older man grunted, running a hand through his messy hair. "That's what she said, too."

Rachel giggled, shrugging her shoulders, "It sounds like what you hear on Oprah."

"Why? You watch it?"

"No. But my mother always did," She rolled her eyes, "I swear, she loved her or something."

"I never really liked Oprah.." Billie Joe said, shrugging, looking down at his plate, "She annoys me."

"Yeah, same here."

I shook my head at the two of them, hearing them both continue on about Oprah. I looked up, hearing footsteps to see a younger girl walk into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. She yawned, coming up to my side, mumbling a small good morning. She rested her head on the counter, closing her eyes slowly.
"Morning sweetie," I said lightly, handing her breakfast.

"Morning mom..thank you."

I nodded my head as she dragged herself over to the island, sitting herself on the stool, her breakfast in front of her. Billie Joe bit the inside of his cheek, looking over to his daughter, puckering his lips up, a smile forming to the side of his lips. "Rough night, hun?"

Sydney nodded her head, resting her forehead on the table, her hair covering both sides of her face. "You should get a haircut. You're hair is getting long." Billie Joe pointed out randomly, making her swat angrily at him, not in the mood. He laughed, smiling his killer smile, "Okay, I get the message, sorry."

The teenager lifted her head, looking angrily at her father who smiled innocently to her, making her groan angrily, dropping her head back on the counter. "Party pooper." Billie Joe muttered.

"Dad..stop.."

He smirked, crossing his arms, "Charlie jump on you again this morning?"

She shook her head slowly, lifting it back up, pushing her slightly curly hair to one side and behind her ear, "No. My alarm clock went off, and I freaked out, thinking I was late for school..and then I realized it's Saturday..and there is no school. So I tried to go back to sleep..but Eddie called my cell phone..scared to call earlier than 10 here on weekends with you," Billie Joe smiled pathetically, as she continued, "And I just give up.."

"Take Prozac, that's what works for me."

Despite her mood, Sydney laughed at her father, resting her head in the palm of her hand. She sighed, groaning angrily, closing her eyes again. "You don't really take Prozac..do you?" She asked after a moment.

Billie Joe shrugged, "Nah. Those fun days are over. Now it's just fifteen cups of coffee."

"Ew..coffee is nasty." Sydney said, making a disgusted face.

"You'll like it when you're older and realize it's the only fun you can have. Especially with small brats running around the house."

Sydney's mouth dropped open as Billie Joe grinned, going back to eating eggs. "No! Dad! That's not nice!"

"Sydney, hun, I'm not nice."

"I know..you won't let me do anything to my hair-"

"Okay. Conversation of hair ended!"

"DAD!"

Billie Joe shook his head, sliding off the stool, placing the cleared plate in the sink, pressing his lips to me cheek. "Thanks for breakfast, babe." I smiled, nodding my head, kissing him back as he turned to leave the kitchen, Sydney right on his heels.

"Dad! Please?!"

"Sydney, leave me alone."

Rachel and I both watched the father and daughter walk out of the kitchen, amused smiles on both of our faces. "They're more like brother and sister." Rachel laughed, shaking her head.

I nodded my head in agreement, also laughing as I heard both of them arguing about the same issue that had been going on for a while. Rachel sighed sadly, setting her fork on her plate, closing her eyes.

"You and Billie..you're so lucky.."

I quirked an eyebrow, "How so?"

"You two..you never seem to do shit like this..yell at each other constantly..fight all the time..have weeks where you don't talk and one of you sleep on the couch. Billie Joe is a good husband..and he apologizes..Tre..he makes me apologize, Mandy..I'm just.." She took a deep breath, "Fuck, Mandy..I'm not doin this anymore with him..I'm not apologizing, and I'm not going to let him treat me like this."

"You gotta tell him that, Rach," I said softly, "You gotta tell him how much of a dick he is being..hell, I do when Billie Joe is being one. That's why he apologizes.."

She sighed sadly, shaking her head, resting it in her hands, "I just..I don't know anymore..Marriage isn't as grand as I've been told."

I bit my bottom lip, looking down at my hands, fiddling with my wedding band. "I uh..yeah.."

***

I knew that as soon as the guys went back into the studio Billie Joe would be calling me at night a lot, or turning up drunk, not able to open the door. It was always like that, because most days in the studio were worth a few drinks to the frontman, so as long as he didn't bother me once he stepped into my car or the house, I guess I was okay with his habit, even though it was one I was never happy with.

A few times I had become angry with him, because he just acted stupid. He'd go on rants on how I didn't love him, how everyone hated him, and just random shit so that I'd end up sitting next to him, comforting him, even though he was pissed as hell and wouldn't remember any of it in the morning.

We could end up in a huge argument at times when he was drunk, but he'd end up curling up into a small ball on the floor, a sobbing and hiccuping mess. I'd end up feeling like shit, and going away from him, too angry to comfort him or anything. But when I would wake up the morning, he'd be clinging onto me, scared that I'd leave him alone, and still be pissed off. Which I wasn't. I'd end up feeling bad, and forgiving him and all his words from the night before.

Rachel and I lay on the couches in the lounge, watching an older movie that we had rented earlier with Eddie Murphy in it, hoping to get each other's spirits up. Or, Rachel's spirit up, because I wasn't that sad. I lifted my head slowly, hearing the front door being slammed closed.

"Mr. Happy has returned from a long day at the oh-so-fun studio." I mumbled.

I heard angry footsteps before Billie Joe appeared in the room, a pissed off look on his face. If he didn't come home drunk and happy, he came home sober and pissed off. "Tre Cool is a fucking prick."

I turned my head slowly, watching Rachel wince at the words, Billie Joe not noticing nor caring. "He fucking thinks he owns that goddamn studio and this goddamn band. You know, Rachel, I wouldn't blame you if you left him. Fuck, you should. You're so much better than that ass is."

"What'd he do?"

Billie Joe shook his head, stalking off into the kitchen. I hesitated, before lifting myself off the couch, waving a hand to Rachel to tell her to stay and watch the movie, before walking into the kitchen, looking at Billie Joe who was sitting down on the kitchen floor, his back pushed up against the cabinets with a beer in his hand and his legs pulled up to his chest. I smiled gently to myself, padding over to where he was and sliding down next to him. He lifted his head from where it rested on his legs, looking over to me. He rested his head on my shoulder, taking a swig from the Budweiser he had pulled from the fridge before sighing deeply.

"I hate them both." He stated slowly after a moment, "Mike and him. They're both assholes."

"What'd they do?" I asked, sliding my hand into his, making him smile weakly.

"I just asked them why they left me at the bar the other night..you know..sorta casually..I wasn't mad or anything..I just wanted to know..and Tre started to get on my case about how I was really drunk...and a bunch of shit...so I ended up getting pissed off and not talking to him, and of course Mike sided with him, why, I don't know. But he did. So for half of the time today at the studio they fucking did their own shit together, and I was left out. So I went off and did my own thing, and they both got bitchy with me, telling me that we shouldn't just waste studio time if I'm going to act bitchy." He hit his head against the cabinet angrily, "I just finally got so fed up that I left, and Tre called my cell phone...I nearly turned the goddamn car around to go back and punch him in his mother fucking face."

"Aww..Beej.." I murmured, pressing my lips to his cheek, "Hun..it's okay..I think Tre is just picking on you because he's going through a hard time with Rachel."

"Well then maybe he should go slit his wrists."

"Billie! Don't say that. That ain't cool."

"I don't really give a shit if what I say about that stupid fuck is cool or not. I hope he chokes on that next piece of crap he eats. I hope that motherfucker-"

"Bill.."

He shook his head, draining the rest of the Budweiser into his mouth before pushing his body up and away from mine, stumbling over to the fridge and pulling more out. He looked down at them, before stumbling back to me and sliding down beside me, opening another bottle and taking a long swig. He shook his head sadly, setting the other beers in his hand on the floor next to him, looking back at me as if to tell me it wouldn't be a pretty night.

"You shouldn't drink..." I mumbled, looking away from him, "We all know it doesn't solve anything. It never did for anyone I knew."

"I..I know..but..babe.." He placed a hand on my shoulder when realizing I became slightly upset at the number of beers that sat next to him, knowing that he would down each one without a problem, "I..uh..don't worry, kay?"

I sighed, resting my hand in the palm of my hand, "Whatever, Bill." Truth was, I didn't know what else to say, really.

He looked at me, before looking back down at his legs, tilting his head back as he let the liquid slide down his throat once again, not catching the look that I was giving him.

I guess no matter what I said, I honestly did hate it when he drank like he was going to. It reminded me of my parents, really, minus the violence, and that wasn't something I wanted to be reminded of. He looked back over at me through the corner of his eyes, now feeling slightly angry with himself. This is why you get sick of yourself, you moron he thought bitterly, finishing off another beer, starting another, Because you fuck up constantly. With your friends and with your family. Your wife. You constantly fuck up. He looked over at me, a sad, alcohol forced smile appearing on his face as his head hit the counter with a nasty thud, his body already soaking in the alcohol he was taking in.

You are, aren't you? He thought to himself, watching me curl up next to him sadly, You are going to make this a problem.