Sequel: The Bigger Sad ›
Tomorrows
Tomorrows
I dare you to move.
I dare you to life yourself up off the floor ...
---
"No." He tried to keep his voice strong, but not only did it crack, it disappeared. His eyes filled with tears as he realized what was going to happen, what he couldn't stop with his five foot six inch frame.It isn't happening. he thought to himself. It isn't happening. It's a dream, dammit, it's a dream. Fuck! Why can't I wake up?
He started crying, sobs shaking him harshly as the other man gently brought his fingers up to Billie Joe's neck. "Are you going to play nice, Billie?"
Billie shrank within himself, his knees drawn up to his bare torso. Too late he realized he was thinking out loud. "It's all a dream, all a dream. I'm going to wake up. It's a dream, it's all a dream."
The man backhanded him. "If this is a dream, Billie, it's a fucking nightmare. But you are never going to fucking wake up."
---
Billie sat bolt upright in bed, smacking his head on the low ceiling in the tour bus. "Fuck."
The curtains block the view inside of his bunk from the others were pulled open, as Mike looked in on his best friend. "Billie? You okay?"
"Fine." Billie said. "Go back to bed, Mike."
The other man didn't move. "How many nightmares is that this week, Billie?"
"Jesus, Mike, I said I was fine!" Billie hissed. "Would I have said so if I wasn't?"
"Do you really want me to answer that question?"
Billie glared at him. "Four nightmares, okay, but I don't think the fucking world's going to fall out of place. People have nightmares."
"Yours are pretty bad."
"How would you know?" Billie challenged. "You don't even know what they are."
"Monday you woke up screaming, Tuesday shaking and sweating like a pig, Wednesday crying, and today screaming 'fuck' at two a.m."
"I hit my head on the ceiling."
"Whatever." Mike waved his hand impatiently. "What the fuck are these nightmares about, Billie?"
"Nothing!" the dark-haired man snapped. "Absolutely nothing. Just leave me alone Mike."
"Billie, don't be such a fucking stuck-up idiot."
"Stuck up?" Mike suppressed a grin. He knew that would get him to talk. "I am not fucking stuck up, Mike Dirnt."
"Then why won't you let anyone help?"
"Fuck off." Billie growled. "It's just a nightmare, Mike." Billie tried to soften his tone. "It's a nightmare. It's not like you could do anything to help, so can we just drop it?"
"Is it about June?"
"I said 'drop it'." Billie said, his voice suddenly cold, harsh, brittle, and yet completely devoid of emotion.
"Billie, we tried to tell you about that doctor in--"
Billie pushed Mike out of the way and stormed down the sorry excuse for a hallway, locking himself in the bathroom.
"Billie?"
"Fuck off."
"Billie Joe . . ."
"I said 'fuck off'."
It was silent for a moment. "It's not your fault, Billie." Mike said before he turned and went back to his own bed.
Billie Joe buried his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. What the fuck do you know about it? Nothing, that's what.
---
"Smile for the camera." The bright light flashed and Billie winced, the tears stinging his eyes. His hands were bound above his head. "Oh, don't close your eyes, Billie." the man said. "You have such pretty eyes."
"What do you want?" Billie croaked out, not even daring to hope this time.
The man smirked. "I think you know exactly what I want, Billie. You're not that stupid, are you?"
---
Billie could tell the attack was coming. He pushed open the bathroom door, gasping for air. His steps slow and not quite so steady made his way to the kitchen. Tre was out there drinking coffee.
He looked up at Billie and jumped up immediately, guiding the pale man to a seat. "Just a second, Billie. I'll get you a glass of water. It'll be fine." Tre's voice was calm, he knew if it weren't the attack would last longer. He filled the glass of water and held it to Billie's lips, his other hand gently rubbing Billie's neck, trying to ease away the tension. He knew it would never work.
When Billie was breathing normally again, Tre sat down. "You want to talk?" he asked.
Billie shook his head, as expected. "It's nothing. Over now, why should I worry about it?"
"Mike's worried." Tre said, trying the guilt trip method.
"Mike's always worried about me." Billie said.
"Mike's usually right." Tre said softly.
"Why do you guys keep wanting to bring it up?" Billie demanded. "How am I ever supposed to start fucking forgetting if you want to hear about it every two seconds? It's not healthy."
"Nightmares every night, drinking every night, not eating hardly anything. That's not healthy." Tre countered.
"I can't control the nightmares." Billie said flatly. "I drank every night before . . . it . . . happened. And eating isn't that big of a deal. Let's just pretend I'm on a diet."
"Billie, you should talk about it. To someone."
"Tre, I got raped in June. I'm not fucking dead, so don't order the casket yet." Billie stood up and stormed off to his bunk, hot tears coursing down his face. Not because he was angry with them so much as he knew they were right. He needed help, he couldn't handle this.
Maybe Mike was right. Maybe he was a little stuck up. Fuck, he just wanted to be able to do it himself, handle it on his own.
Why the fuck did it have to happen to him in the first place?
---
He was hiding behind the couch, trying to stop his breathing, his heart beating. This was pointless, he knew. The other man would find him. Hiding behind a couch was so cliché.
"Billie. Come out, come out, wherever you are." The man sounded amused. He kicked the couch out of the way as if it were nothing. "Oh, there you are."
And Billie forgot how to fight, forgot how to scream as those hands came down on him again, fingers slipping in openings too tight to accommodate them, blood on the floor. Tears mixed.
Billie felt like he would die, laying there in that position. And his thoughts drifted . . . to Adrienne--fuck, when was the last time he kissed her, to Mike and Tre--do they know I'm gone yet, to the kids--god, they're so fucking young.
But he didn't die. Not that night. Not physically at least.
---
Billie Joe slowly pulled the curtains to Mike's bunk open. "Are you awake?" he whispered.
Mike turned almost immediately. "Billie, you okay?"
The dark haired man shook his head. "No." he whispered, the truth tumbling from his lips. "Mike, c-can I . . . sleep with you tonight?" he finished, the words so quiet Mike had to strain to hear them.
He pulled the covers back and let Billie Joe slip between them. Slowly, Mike slipped his arms around Billie's trembling body, cradling his best friend. And slowly, Billie started crying, letting his best friend feel the warm tears. They fell like a repenting rain on his chest.
"I need help." Billie whispered. "I'm so fucked up, Mike. I-I just don't want to talk about it. I hate having to remember, but I can't fucking forget!"
Mike kissed Billie's forehead, refusing to move even when the smaller man winced. "I know, Billie. But I love you and Tre loves you and Adrienne loves you and your kids love you. And we're all going to wait until this is better, Billie. We'll wait until you heal."
"I feel so weak." Billie admitted.
"You've been through hell. Anyone would."
"What about the tour?" Billie whispered.
"Postpone it. Do it later." Mike said. "This is more important and you know it."
"Adrienne can't even kiss me anymore." Billie confided, his voice soft. "I tense up everytime she does it. And she tries so hard, but I know it hurts her. And I think I'm scaring the boys."
"I'll fly out with you tomorrow." Mike promised. "You should see them again. You look better when you see her and the kids."
"Tomorrow." Billie whispered.
"Yeah, punk, tomorrow. Now get some sleep."
Tomorrow. Billie thought as he lay with Mike's arms around him.
He had forgotten that tomorrows exist.
I dare you to life yourself up off the floor ...
---
"No." He tried to keep his voice strong, but not only did it crack, it disappeared. His eyes filled with tears as he realized what was going to happen, what he couldn't stop with his five foot six inch frame.It isn't happening. he thought to himself. It isn't happening. It's a dream, dammit, it's a dream. Fuck! Why can't I wake up?
He started crying, sobs shaking him harshly as the other man gently brought his fingers up to Billie Joe's neck. "Are you going to play nice, Billie?"
Billie shrank within himself, his knees drawn up to his bare torso. Too late he realized he was thinking out loud. "It's all a dream, all a dream. I'm going to wake up. It's a dream, it's all a dream."
The man backhanded him. "If this is a dream, Billie, it's a fucking nightmare. But you are never going to fucking wake up."
---
Billie sat bolt upright in bed, smacking his head on the low ceiling in the tour bus. "Fuck."
The curtains block the view inside of his bunk from the others were pulled open, as Mike looked in on his best friend. "Billie? You okay?"
"Fine." Billie said. "Go back to bed, Mike."
The other man didn't move. "How many nightmares is that this week, Billie?"
"Jesus, Mike, I said I was fine!" Billie hissed. "Would I have said so if I wasn't?"
"Do you really want me to answer that question?"
Billie glared at him. "Four nightmares, okay, but I don't think the fucking world's going to fall out of place. People have nightmares."
"Yours are pretty bad."
"How would you know?" Billie challenged. "You don't even know what they are."
"Monday you woke up screaming, Tuesday shaking and sweating like a pig, Wednesday crying, and today screaming 'fuck' at two a.m."
"I hit my head on the ceiling."
"Whatever." Mike waved his hand impatiently. "What the fuck are these nightmares about, Billie?"
"Nothing!" the dark-haired man snapped. "Absolutely nothing. Just leave me alone Mike."
"Billie, don't be such a fucking stuck-up idiot."
"Stuck up?" Mike suppressed a grin. He knew that would get him to talk. "I am not fucking stuck up, Mike Dirnt."
"Then why won't you let anyone help?"
"Fuck off." Billie growled. "It's just a nightmare, Mike." Billie tried to soften his tone. "It's a nightmare. It's not like you could do anything to help, so can we just drop it?"
"Is it about June?"
"I said 'drop it'." Billie said, his voice suddenly cold, harsh, brittle, and yet completely devoid of emotion.
"Billie, we tried to tell you about that doctor in--"
Billie pushed Mike out of the way and stormed down the sorry excuse for a hallway, locking himself in the bathroom.
"Billie?"
"Fuck off."
"Billie Joe . . ."
"I said 'fuck off'."
It was silent for a moment. "It's not your fault, Billie." Mike said before he turned and went back to his own bed.
Billie Joe buried his head in his hands, tears streaming down his face. What the fuck do you know about it? Nothing, that's what.
---
"Smile for the camera." The bright light flashed and Billie winced, the tears stinging his eyes. His hands were bound above his head. "Oh, don't close your eyes, Billie." the man said. "You have such pretty eyes."
"What do you want?" Billie croaked out, not even daring to hope this time.
The man smirked. "I think you know exactly what I want, Billie. You're not that stupid, are you?"
---
Billie could tell the attack was coming. He pushed open the bathroom door, gasping for air. His steps slow and not quite so steady made his way to the kitchen. Tre was out there drinking coffee.
He looked up at Billie and jumped up immediately, guiding the pale man to a seat. "Just a second, Billie. I'll get you a glass of water. It'll be fine." Tre's voice was calm, he knew if it weren't the attack would last longer. He filled the glass of water and held it to Billie's lips, his other hand gently rubbing Billie's neck, trying to ease away the tension. He knew it would never work.
When Billie was breathing normally again, Tre sat down. "You want to talk?" he asked.
Billie shook his head, as expected. "It's nothing. Over now, why should I worry about it?"
"Mike's worried." Tre said, trying the guilt trip method.
"Mike's always worried about me." Billie said.
"Mike's usually right." Tre said softly.
"Why do you guys keep wanting to bring it up?" Billie demanded. "How am I ever supposed to start fucking forgetting if you want to hear about it every two seconds? It's not healthy."
"Nightmares every night, drinking every night, not eating hardly anything. That's not healthy." Tre countered.
"I can't control the nightmares." Billie said flatly. "I drank every night before . . . it . . . happened. And eating isn't that big of a deal. Let's just pretend I'm on a diet."
"Billie, you should talk about it. To someone."
"Tre, I got raped in June. I'm not fucking dead, so don't order the casket yet." Billie stood up and stormed off to his bunk, hot tears coursing down his face. Not because he was angry with them so much as he knew they were right. He needed help, he couldn't handle this.
Maybe Mike was right. Maybe he was a little stuck up. Fuck, he just wanted to be able to do it himself, handle it on his own.
Why the fuck did it have to happen to him in the first place?
---
He was hiding behind the couch, trying to stop his breathing, his heart beating. This was pointless, he knew. The other man would find him. Hiding behind a couch was so cliché.
"Billie. Come out, come out, wherever you are." The man sounded amused. He kicked the couch out of the way as if it were nothing. "Oh, there you are."
And Billie forgot how to fight, forgot how to scream as those hands came down on him again, fingers slipping in openings too tight to accommodate them, blood on the floor. Tears mixed.
Billie felt like he would die, laying there in that position. And his thoughts drifted . . . to Adrienne--fuck, when was the last time he kissed her, to Mike and Tre--do they know I'm gone yet, to the kids--god, they're so fucking young.
But he didn't die. Not that night. Not physically at least.
---
Billie Joe slowly pulled the curtains to Mike's bunk open. "Are you awake?" he whispered.
Mike turned almost immediately. "Billie, you okay?"
The dark haired man shook his head. "No." he whispered, the truth tumbling from his lips. "Mike, c-can I . . . sleep with you tonight?" he finished, the words so quiet Mike had to strain to hear them.
He pulled the covers back and let Billie Joe slip between them. Slowly, Mike slipped his arms around Billie's trembling body, cradling his best friend. And slowly, Billie started crying, letting his best friend feel the warm tears. They fell like a repenting rain on his chest.
"I need help." Billie whispered. "I'm so fucked up, Mike. I-I just don't want to talk about it. I hate having to remember, but I can't fucking forget!"
Mike kissed Billie's forehead, refusing to move even when the smaller man winced. "I know, Billie. But I love you and Tre loves you and Adrienne loves you and your kids love you. And we're all going to wait until this is better, Billie. We'll wait until you heal."
"I feel so weak." Billie admitted.
"You've been through hell. Anyone would."
"What about the tour?" Billie whispered.
"Postpone it. Do it later." Mike said. "This is more important and you know it."
"Adrienne can't even kiss me anymore." Billie confided, his voice soft. "I tense up everytime she does it. And she tries so hard, but I know it hurts her. And I think I'm scaring the boys."
"I'll fly out with you tomorrow." Mike promised. "You should see them again. You look better when you see her and the kids."
"Tomorrow." Billie whispered.
"Yeah, punk, tomorrow. Now get some sleep."
Tomorrow. Billie thought as he lay with Mike's arms around him.
He had forgotten that tomorrows exist.