I Am The Singer
Aspirin
Billie loped forwards, no particular destination in mind, except to get away from that traitor. He found himself balancing precariously on one foot constantly, almost at the point of toppling over sideways. He was consumed by anger. He was shaking a little as he walked, though he wasn't sure if it was just because the cool night air was chilling him. He felt how tense his jaw was, and as he relaxed it, it started to ache. His tongue slid over his lips, and he tasted the metallic tang of blood, then realised he had been biting his lip.
He wiped his mouth off with his hand, ignoring the faded red smudge that came off on his thumb. Fury remained in his eyes, but drowsiness began to overcome him. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. No, he didn't want to fall asleep! He wanted to keep this furious exhilaration. It made him feel more powerful than he really was. He felt like he had the ability to beat Tre up, if only he had followed him. But in reality, he was just a short, scrawny boy who usually found himself beginning to stutter if he got into an argument with someone more intimidating than him.
Funny how a combination of alcohol and complete betrayal of friendship had him feeling like his ego had just swelled to twice its normal size.
Strangely, while thinking all this, Billie found he had closed his eyes, and the wet ground had suddenly come up to meet his side. He peered through narrowed eyelids, confused and bewildered, as if he had no idea how he had wound up in this state. Groaning in defeated exasperation, he lay his head down on his hands and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could.
It was a dream. That was it. None of this was real. He had just got drunk and passed out somewhere. He was just dreaming. It was just a stupid fucking nightmare that had him so worried. That had to be it. No way in hell would Tre intentionally set out to steal the girl Billie had had his eye on for quite some time.
Slowly, he came to. He sat up, horribly aware that he was not indoors. Sunlight glared at him, forcing him to put an arm up to shield his eyes, and he glanced around. He was on a random street, sprawled across the edge of someone's lawn. His head pounded irregularly, and the light did nothing to help it. He made a strange moan that resembled that of a dying animal, holding his head in agony.
"Fucking alcohol," he mumbled to himself. "Not another fucking drop, ever again!"
He stood up, his legs feeling shaky and unstable. Glancing around, he walked forward slowly, wincing as his head seemed to pound in time with each of his steps. Usually when he got drunk, he at least woke up in doors somewhere, but this time he had just passed out on the side of the road. Irresponsible. He almost laughed as the word entered his mind. Like that was something new.
Eventually, he found himself standing on the doorstep of his own house. He would have liked to say that he wasn't aware of how he got there, but that was completely untrue. He had endured every step with full clarity, along with the pain that accompanied it. He was gonna need to start carrying some aspirin on him. When he entered, he ensured that his headache was the first thing put at ease, and sat down on the couch with a glass of water, sighing in relief.
It was right after he had got himself nice and comfortable that someone took it upon themselves to check he was okay after the hard night. The anger had ebbed away, but to be perfectly honest, he couldn't remember half the shit that had happened. He was just left with a confused feeling, like he was forgetting something extremely important that had occurred.
"Billie fucking Joe, where the hell were you last night?"
The second he had picked up the phone, Billie was left blinking and staring at the wall, looking startled, wondering why the hell he had been greeted in this way.
"On someone's lawn," he groaned, annoyed, into the phone. "Jesus, Mike...Can you talk quieter next time? Do you know what the fuck a hangover is?"
He heard a small 'pfft' from the receiver. "Suck it up!"
Reluctantly, Billie laughed and casually sprawled himself out over the couch while holding the phone to his ear.
"So, is little Billie still enraged?"
He raised an eyebrow, despite the fact that Mike couldn't see him. "Enraged? Nope, I don't think so...Why, what should I be enraged about?"
There was an uneasy silence from the other end of the phone. "Oh. Nothing."
"Fucking hell. What?"
"Well, if you don't remember, I don't think I should really be the one to tell you..."
Billie sighed heavily, then forced himself to chuckle quietly, easily, as if whatever it was, he probably wouldn't be concerned with it anyway. "Tell me anyway, I don't care. Oh shit, I didn't start stripping on a table or something, did I? I don't think Grace would be very impressed with that."
He could almost hear Mike chewing on his lip nervously on the other end.
"I didn't, did I?"
"Well, no...But, let's just say it won't really matter what Grace thinks of you anymore."
"What the fuck? Why?"
Mike made a little whining noise, as if he really didn't want to say, but finally, he spat it out. "Well...Grace and Tre, y'know. They kinda. Got together."
He wiped his mouth off with his hand, ignoring the faded red smudge that came off on his thumb. Fury remained in his eyes, but drowsiness began to overcome him. His eyes narrowed in annoyance. No, he didn't want to fall asleep! He wanted to keep this furious exhilaration. It made him feel more powerful than he really was. He felt like he had the ability to beat Tre up, if only he had followed him. But in reality, he was just a short, scrawny boy who usually found himself beginning to stutter if he got into an argument with someone more intimidating than him.
Funny how a combination of alcohol and complete betrayal of friendship had him feeling like his ego had just swelled to twice its normal size.
Strangely, while thinking all this, Billie found he had closed his eyes, and the wet ground had suddenly come up to meet his side. He peered through narrowed eyelids, confused and bewildered, as if he had no idea how he had wound up in this state. Groaning in defeated exasperation, he lay his head down on his hands and squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could.
It was a dream. That was it. None of this was real. He had just got drunk and passed out somewhere. He was just dreaming. It was just a stupid fucking nightmare that had him so worried. That had to be it. No way in hell would Tre intentionally set out to steal the girl Billie had had his eye on for quite some time.
Slowly, he came to. He sat up, horribly aware that he was not indoors. Sunlight glared at him, forcing him to put an arm up to shield his eyes, and he glanced around. He was on a random street, sprawled across the edge of someone's lawn. His head pounded irregularly, and the light did nothing to help it. He made a strange moan that resembled that of a dying animal, holding his head in agony.
"Fucking alcohol," he mumbled to himself. "Not another fucking drop, ever again!"
He stood up, his legs feeling shaky and unstable. Glancing around, he walked forward slowly, wincing as his head seemed to pound in time with each of his steps. Usually when he got drunk, he at least woke up in doors somewhere, but this time he had just passed out on the side of the road. Irresponsible. He almost laughed as the word entered his mind. Like that was something new.
Eventually, he found himself standing on the doorstep of his own house. He would have liked to say that he wasn't aware of how he got there, but that was completely untrue. He had endured every step with full clarity, along with the pain that accompanied it. He was gonna need to start carrying some aspirin on him. When he entered, he ensured that his headache was the first thing put at ease, and sat down on the couch with a glass of water, sighing in relief.
It was right after he had got himself nice and comfortable that someone took it upon themselves to check he was okay after the hard night. The anger had ebbed away, but to be perfectly honest, he couldn't remember half the shit that had happened. He was just left with a confused feeling, like he was forgetting something extremely important that had occurred.
"Billie fucking Joe, where the hell were you last night?"
The second he had picked up the phone, Billie was left blinking and staring at the wall, looking startled, wondering why the hell he had been greeted in this way.
"On someone's lawn," he groaned, annoyed, into the phone. "Jesus, Mike...Can you talk quieter next time? Do you know what the fuck a hangover is?"
He heard a small 'pfft' from the receiver. "Suck it up!"
Reluctantly, Billie laughed and casually sprawled himself out over the couch while holding the phone to his ear.
"So, is little Billie still enraged?"
He raised an eyebrow, despite the fact that Mike couldn't see him. "Enraged? Nope, I don't think so...Why, what should I be enraged about?"
There was an uneasy silence from the other end of the phone. "Oh. Nothing."
"Fucking hell. What?"
"Well, if you don't remember, I don't think I should really be the one to tell you..."
Billie sighed heavily, then forced himself to chuckle quietly, easily, as if whatever it was, he probably wouldn't be concerned with it anyway. "Tell me anyway, I don't care. Oh shit, I didn't start stripping on a table or something, did I? I don't think Grace would be very impressed with that."
He could almost hear Mike chewing on his lip nervously on the other end.
"I didn't, did I?"
"Well, no...But, let's just say it won't really matter what Grace thinks of you anymore."
"What the fuck? Why?"
Mike made a little whining noise, as if he really didn't want to say, but finally, he spat it out. "Well...Grace and Tre, y'know. They kinda. Got together."