No One Knows

She didn't wake him as she left. But she probably couldn't have, even if she had wanted to. He didn't stir when she uncurled his arms from around her waist, or when she leaned down to place a goodbye kiss on his forehead before she left. He didn't even stir when she knocked over the pile of records balancing on the edge of his desk on her way to the door, the aftermath of the alcohol taking its toll on her reactions as she frantically tried and failed to catch them before they hit the hardwood floor with a succession of thuds.

Not so much as a twitch.

In fact, he remained in his alcohol-induced coma until around noon that day, when he awoke dazed, confused and feeling like shit. He groaned slightly, moving his head to a cooler part of the pillow and covering his eyes with his hand. He wished he'd had the good sense to close the blinds the night before, because now the sunshine was streaming into his bedroom and it really wasn't helping matters. He felt like he must have drunk the whole of Gilman Street.

He squeezed his eyes shut tight to block out the light as he tried to piece together his fractured memory of the night before. Billie. His eyes sprung open. Where was she? He lifted his head from the pillow and waited for the room to slowly come into focus, before frantically scanning it for any evidence that might confirm that she hadn't been a dream. He didn't find any, and was experiencing the beginnings of heavy disappointment when he realized he was butt naked, and that he would never have been in a coherent enough state to take his own clothes off before he went to sleep. She was real.

He was happy with that conclusion for about a minute, before he realized that it really didn't matter whether she had been real or not because she wasn't there now, so she may as well have been a dream after all. He tried to brush it off, put it out of his mind and be grateful that he had had fun, gotten wasted, managed to forget his worries for the night and ended up in bed with an extremely hot girl. That was what being eighteen was all about, after all. Right?

So why didn't he feel better?

After locating some boxer shorts on his bedroom floor, he staggered blindly to the bathroom, fighting a wave of nausea as he zig-zagged across the landing, and hoping with every fiber of his being that his mother wasn't in to witness this. He didn't understand why his body couldn't just be nice and let him have a good time for once, without feeling the need to punish him for it.

She could at least have let him know she was leaving. Woken him up to say goodbye. Surely that's just good manners? He put his aching head in his hands as he sunk back down onto his bed. Maybe in these situations goodbyes were just too awkward. Maybe it was best to skip them altogether.

He pulled his knees up to his chest and stared at the floor for a few minutes, chewing on his bottom lip and letting his thoughts go round in circles, before he snapped himself out of it. He felt like shit, and that was one problem he knew how to solve. He reached down and picked up the tobacco tin full of smoking paraphernalia that was spilling onto his floor, and began to absently roll up, screwing up his nose as he forced his eyes to wake up and focus at close range.

It was only when he brought his joint close to his face to lick the paper that he noticed the clumsy letters scrawled across it, and frowned in confusion. After brief consideration, his curiosity persuaded him to discard what was a perfectly good joint, tipping the contents back into the tin and holding it up to the light.

'How did I know you'd look here? I told you it was fate'.

He couldn't help his face breaking into a grin as he took in her words, and the phone number written underneath. He closed his hand around the cigarette paper, dropped the tobacco tin back to the floor and flopped backwards onto his bed. He didn't need to smoke anymore. He felt better already.

*** *** ***

Jessie was exhausted. She'd spent six hours on her feet working a particularly busy stint at the record store, mainly because Eddie had pissed off to some music festival upstate to relive his youth, leaving her to more or less run the show by herself. By the time she arrived home, all she wanted to do was collapse. But apparently that wasn't going to happen, because her Dad was there watching some hockey game with his idiot friends. They all seemed pretty drunk, so she did her best to sneak past them up to her room but she was betrayed by the creaky floorboard outside the living room. He called out to her.

"Jessie! Where the hell have you been?"

She stuck her head round the door. The room smelled of beer, and there were four of them sitting around, eyes glued to the half time analysis.

"At work," she replied, her hand gripping the doorknob.
"What? All day?"

That's generally the idea, she thought, but stopped herself from saying anything. It really wasn't worth it. One of the men let out a laugh. It was a mocking laugh that almost made her wince.

"Got her payin' the bills for you now, right John?" he said, with a slight sneer, "What'd you do? Put her on the game?"

The anger that flared up in the pit of her stomach was obviously matched by her father.

"Shut the fuck up, Sam!" he yelled, before standing up and grabbing hold of Jessie's wrist on his way out of the room. She squirmed under his grasp as they got out into the hallway, but he didn't let her go.

"You're spending too much time at that place," he told her.
"Why?"
"Why? Because I say so! You're just a kid, you shouldn't be out working, you should be at school!"
"It's Saturday."

He paused.

"I know it's fucking Saturday!" he shouted, even though she could tell the only reason he knew was because she had just told him, "Don't get fucking smart with me! What have I told you about being a fucking smartass?!"
"I'm sorry," she said, quietly.

He was making her nervous, and she just wanted him to leave her alone so that she could go to sleep.

"Good," he spat, "So you can cut back the hours at that store of yours."
"No!" she protested, "Dad, please! I actually like working there, and I don't have any other way of getting any other money. We don't have any other way! The bills aren't going to go away!"
"I know that!" he yelled, tightening his grip on her wrist so she could feel the blood stop, "You think I don't fucking know that?! But that's my problem, not yours! I don't need my fucking kid telling me how to pay the bills!"

She let out a small cry at the pain in her wrist, struggling in vain to get free. She just couldn't stand this anymore.

"I know about the house!" she blurted out, "I know we're getting thrown out! So we need to find some way of paying else we'll have nowhere to live. And then it will be my problem!"

He looked shocked for a moment. He hadn't been expecting that, she could tell. He'd probably been hoping she wouldn't find out, he was so in denial about their situation that he thought he could solve the problem without her ever having to know about it.

To her relief, he let go of her wrist. He took a few steps backwards and ran a hand through his hair as she felt the blood start to flow again. Then his eyes narrowed.

"How did you know about that?" he asked.

His voice was quiet now, but he was by no means gentle.

"I found the eviction notice," she said nervously.
"You've been reading my fucking mail?" he growled, taking a step back towards her.
"I found it lying around in the kitchen," she replied, her voice shaking, "I didn't mean to... it just caught my eye and... once I saw what it was I... ."

Her voice trailed off. There was really nothing more she could say. He obviously didn't know what to say either because he turned away and rubbed a hand over his face, screwing his eyes shut and letting out a frustrated sigh.

"I've been trying to sort it out," he said eventually. "I didn't think you'd have to know."
"How?" she asked, incredulously, "I was bound to find out eventually! Where are we supposed to live?"
"Ollie said we can stay with her... just until we get things sorted out."
"Ollie?!"

The girlfriend? She was surprised, to say the least. She had only met the woman once and, whilst she had seemed harmless enough then, moving in with her was another story. She didn't' even know this woman and now she was expected to live in her house?!

"But... but... " she was struggling with what to say, which question to ask first. "When? For how long? Where does she live?"
"Here in Berkeley. Only a ten-minute walk from here. And I don't know how long for. If I knew that, we wouldn't have a problem! I'm doing my fucking best here!"

This was his best? Living off his girlfriend who she barely knew? God forbid he could actually get a job! She ran her finger over the skin of her wrist, which was beginning to bruise.

"It'll probably just be for a couple of months," he said, "We move next week."
"Next week?!" she exclaimed.

She leaned back against the wall and put a hand to her head. This was moving way too fast for her.

"What do her family think about it? Doesn't she have kids?"
"She has grown up kids," he replied, "Well, save one, who's just eighteen. But from what I gather he isn't around much anyway. I think he's a complete waster."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Talk about the pot calling the kettle black.

This was getting worse and worse. Not only was she living with this woman who was practically a complete stranger, but she had a lay-about eighteen year old guy thrown into the equation, who was probably going to be about as happy about the arrangement as she was, and probably even less. Suddenly the cardboard box by the roadside started to look appealing.

"Is this really the only option we have?" she asked, softly, even though she knew it was a hopeless question.
"Can you think of any better ideas?" he growled. "Yes, this is the only option. And you should be fucking grateful that we have an option at all."

With that he turned and opened the living room door again, letting the drunken cheers that were directed at the hockey game float out. She winced as the door slammed shut behind him, before sliding down the wall onto the floor and putting her head in her hands. She cradled her bruised wrist in her hand, pain and betrayal tearing her apart, and wondering how things could possibly get any worse.

She spent more time at the record store that week than ever before, staying there all the next day and helping out after school. It was partly to take her mind off the impending move, and partly because she realized that earning what little money she did was the only way she had of possibly shortening their stay at Ollie's.

"You work too hard for a kid," commented Eddie one afternoon, as he watched her re-alphabetize the metal section after a group of kids had come in and messed it up.
"I only work hard at this," she replied, with a smirk, "And that's only cause you pay me for it."

He smiled, raising his eyebrows in acknowledgment.

"I guess that's fair," he said, "But you shouldn't be thinking about money at your age, money doesn't matter as much as people think. Seriously, you should get out of here now. Go hang with your friends or something."

She paused, a copy of Black Sabbath's War Pigs half way to the B section.

"I... don't really have any," she admitted.

He looked up.

"You don't? Jessie, why the hell not?"

She shrugged, placing the record in the rack and wishing she hadn't said anything.

"Come on, you're a smart kid. You're interesting to talk to. Sometimes I forget you're only sixteen."
"That's cause I don't feel sixteen," she said, avoiding his eyes as she carried on working, "Which is probably why all the kids at school seem like morons."
"They can't all be morons," he reasoned.
"Well... maybe the few that aren't think that I am?"

He smirked slightly.

"I seriously doubt that."

She stayed in class all that week until Friday afternoon, by which point she'd completely had enough. She knew she had a lot of packing up to do before they moved out that weekend, so she decided to skip out early to go home and get started.

She was just sneaking out of the back entrance of the school when she noticed Freddy, sitting on the wall in the sun smoking. She hesitated for just a moment, then decided to go over.

"Hey," she said.

He looked up and smiled.

"Hey Jessie," he said, scooting over so she had space to sit down, "Skipping out early?"
"Yeah," she said, taking a seat, "I got stuff to do at home. I had enough for today. For the week."

He nodded.

"I know the feeling," he said. "I think I'm gonna do the same."

He offered her a cigarette, but she waived it away and as she did so something caught his eye.

"You been playing volleyball or something?" he asked.

She frowned.
"No," she replied, "Why?"

He nodded to her wrist.

"Cause that's one hell of a bruise. How'd you get it?"

She paused, trying to think of something to say, but she couldn't really come up with much.
She didn't have to. Her eyes told him everything.

"He did it. Didn't he?"

She knew there was no use in denying it. There was no use in him even asking, because he already knew. She nodded.

"Jessie," he said, softly, "It isn't right that he hurts you. It isn't right."
"I know," she said, quietly.

To her surprise, she felt her eyes brim with tears. She felt panic beginning to take over, as she frantically tried to blink them away. She never cried in front of anyone. She never wanted to cry in front of Freddy. He saw her turn away from him and bit his lip. She was doing a bad job of hiding her tears, but he could sense how much she wanted to, so he didn't say anything. He just took another drag on his cigarette and looked the other way.

"Are you ok, Jessie?" he asked, eventually.

She nodded. Neither of them spoke for a moment before she carried on.

"He isn't a bad guy, you know," she said, her voice cracking, "Not really... not underneath it all. It's just... everything that's happened to him... in his life. It's turned him into something that... he's really not."

She angrily brushed the tears from her face with her shirtsleeve, Freddy watching her intently, his eyes showing his concern as he sat hunched forward in his seat on the wall. He hesitated before asking his next question, unsure of whether she would answer and not wanting to upset her further. But in the end his curiosity must have won out because he heard the words coming out of his mouth.

"What happened to your Mom?"

Jessie stared at the ground in front of them, her eyes darkening.

"She left," she said, simply, "A long time ago. I was young and I don't really remember much about her."
"Where did she go?"

Jessie shrugged.

"Who knows? She met someone else... she left my Dad... she never came back. I think my Dad was always bitter that she just upped and left, and he got stuck with me for the rest of his life while she skipped out of all the responsibility. And when you're bitter for such a very long time... I think it eats away at your insides... . It eats away at... at who you really are."

Freddy nodded, sadly.

"And he takes it out on you," he said softly.

She sighed, as she wiped at her eyes again.

"I think he takes a lot of things out on me," she said, "He's depressed... he drinks a lot... the other week he lost his job. Now we have to move out since we can't pay our rent. We have to move this weekend, in with his girlfriend. I've only fucking met her once."
"That sounds pretty shitty," he said sympathetically, "What did she seem like... when you met her once?"
"She seemed okay I guess," she reasoned, "But I only talked to her for a coupla minutes. She must have something wrong with her to want to take on my Dad and all his problems."

Freddy smiled a little at that. Then he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. She was taken aback. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had hugged her. The contact was so unfamiliar that for a second it was claustrophobic. But then she relaxed and just appreciated the fact that someone seemed to care.

"You know... you don't have to keep all this inside," he said, as he released her, "I mean... if you ever wanna let it all out, scream at someone... I'm always around here. Either that or I'm behind the gym."

She smiled.

"Thanks Freddy," she said.

He shrugged.

"What are friends for?"

Ollie helped them move their stuff into her house. She said her daughter Annie had moved away the year before, gone to live down in San Diego with her boyfriend, and that Jessie could take her room. As she sat on the bed unpacking her boxes, she couldn't help thinking how nice this was of her. She didn't want to think about what would have happened if Ollie hadn't taken them in, and a couple of months wasn't exactly a short stay. She just hoped her father would behave himself for that long.

She let Henry out of his cat box and he jumped onto the bed. She had forgotten to mention him to Ollie and hoped she'd let him stay. She'd had him so long he was kind of like a comfort blanket to her now, probably because he was the only one who ever gave her any affection. She stroked his head as the door creaked open and she looked up to see Ollie's head poke round it.

"Is this room okay for you?" she asked.
"Sure, its fine," Jessie replied, "Thanks."

She noticed Ollie looking at Henry and said quickly,
"I hope you don't mind... I didn't wanna just leave him... "

She smiled.

"I don't mind," she said, "As long as he's house trained."
"Oh, completely", Jessie assured her.

Ollie nodded, and then a silence followed. Jessie decided to break it.

"Thanks... for having us, I mean," she said, awkwardly.

"It's fine. I'm glad I could help. It seemed silly not to, when we had the space. And it won't be for too long. Before you know it your Dad will have sorted things out and you'll have your own place again."

She smirked to herself. Did she actually know her Dad at all?

"I heard you had a son," Jessie said, nervously, "Is he okay about all this?"
"He'll get used to it," she replied, which didn't exactly fill Jessie with confidence. "You probably won't even know he's here anyway. He's pretty much nocturnal and I haven't even seen him in a couple of days."
"Where's he been?"
"Who can say? He dropped out of High School last month. He plays in a punk band with his friends and from what I gather they pretty much live in their practice room then stay up all night doing God knows what."

An eighteen-year-old punk drop-out, she thought, dubiously. Something told her this was not a person she was going to click with.

Ollie was right. She didn't even meet her son for the first couple of days she was living there. But then, Jessie was spending as little time at the house as possible, what with going to school and working late at the record store, and she figured he was probably avoiding the situation just the same.

When she got back from school on Wednesday, nobody was home. Eddie had pretty much banned her from coming to work, telling her she was doing too much but she had a ton of homework she'd been putting off, so she decided to get a drink and then get stuck in. She opened the refrigerator, marveling at the novelty that it actually contained things that wouldn't qualify as a health hazard, and took out a carton of juice. She was pouring herself a glass when she heard the front door slam shut and turned round, expecting to see her father, or Ollie.

"Who the hell are you?"

Charming.

The ratty black Ramones shirt and the guitar slung over his shoulder left her in no doubt as to who this was, never mind the fact that he had the same green eyes and slightly curly dark hair as his mother. She instantly felt incredibly nervous. He looked more confused than actually angry, as he set his guitar down on the chair by the door and stared at her.

"I'm uh... I'm... Jessie," she said. "Are you Billie Joe?"
"Yeah. What are you doing here?"
"My dad and I... we're staying here with your Mom... you know?"
"Wait a minute," frowned Billie Joe, holding up his hands, "Your Dad has kids?!"
"Well... yeah, I mean-"
"I can't fucking believe this!" he exclaimed, crossly, "I was pissed enough that he was moving in at all, and nobody bothers to fucking tell me he's moving in the whole fucking family!"

She couldn't believe she had been left to break this news to him either. Because from what she could gather, he wasn't going to turn out to be a very understanding person.

"Its just me and him," she said, "There aren't any more of us."
"Thank fuck for that!" he said angrily, "Because two are more than enough for me!"

She couldn't help getting angry herself. She didn't think it was fair that he was taking this out on her.

"Look, I get that you don't want us to be here-"
"-No shit!"
"But it isn't my fault. I don't wanna be here either. I didn't have a choice!"
"That's not my problem," he scowled, picking his guitar back up, "I don't care what problems you guys have. This is my house, I live here. You don't. I can't believe my Mom moved your jackass Dad in in the first place, never mind his daughter as well. I didn't expect to come home to find some random kid acting like they owned the place!"

It might have been the fact he called her Dad a jackass. It might have been the fact that he called her a kid, or it might have been that he accused her of acting like she owned the place when she felt more at home when she slept out in the local park the month before. Either way, she lost her temper.

"Don't you dare fucking call him that!" she shouted, "I already told you this had nothing to do with me! I don't want to be here anyway! I'd rather be fucking anywhere than here right now!"
"Oh really?" he asked, sarcastically, "And who would you sponge off then?!"
"You're one to talk! You don't even have a job!"
"What the fuck?! Have you teamed up with my mother or something?! You don't know a thing about me! Jesus fucking Christ!"
"I know that from the two minutes I've known you you've proven yourself to be a first class
asshole!"
He shook his head in frustration before throwing her one last glare on his way to the door.

"Oh... just say what you like about me," he grumbled, "Join the club, I don't give a shit."

The door slammed shut behind him and she sunk into one of the wooden seats at the kitchen table, the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

What a fucking loser.