Dying to Live

"It's killing her." Mike Dirnt muttered into a frosted mug, his seventh.

"The doctor said she might make it." Billie Joe Armstrong said just as quietly, knowing even as he said it, the words were false.

Billie Joe had seen Michelle briefly that afternoon, immediately regretting it. He was terrible with death, and he was terrible at seeing his best friend since the fifth grade being torn apart with every breath his lover took.

He knew that each breath was only closer to the last.

Mike Dirnt had met Michelle Brown a year ago at, of all places, his wedding.

Michelle had been a caterer, and the moment Mike saw her, he knew he was in for a load of trouble.



"I have never seen someone stack that many glasses of champagne." Mike laughed, starteling the short, red haired girl.

"It's magic." She smiled back at him, straining on her tip-toes to reach the top, to place that last changpagne glass.

Without hesitation, Mike gently grabbed her hand, and pulled her up a bit, helping her to place it. She turned to face him completely.

"Thank you. I'm Michelle." She stuck out her hand.

"Mike." He nodded at her.

"I noticed." She laughed, and gestured towards a photo of Mike and Brittney in an embrace.

"I hate that picture. I hate big weddings." he admitted to this stranger.

"It's cute." Michelle laughed, obviously agreeing with Mike.



"Billie, what the hell am I going to do? You're the only person who even knows about her." Mike said to his friend, tears threatening to be released.

"You're going to be okay, man. Michelle will be fine." Billie Joe lied, knowing it was probably not the best thing to do.

But how do you tell a friend that he got himself into a terrible situation, a situation he was warned not to get into by every party involved, even himself?



"Hey!" Mike said, acting as if he were shocked to see the short now-blonde girl.

"Hey, nice to see you again. Swank soiree you've got going on here, boss." She smiled, gesturing towards his living room full of record label executives and employees.

"You know, my turn to host a party. Hate these things." Mike lied.

After a month of marriage, and not being about to get the girl off his mind, he threw together a party, and booked her company as the one to supply food and beverage.

"Yeah, well, I envy people with this kind of money." she shrugged, then quickly added, "It must be nice to be talented enough to live so well off it."

"It pays the bills." He shrugged with a grin.

"So, how's the marriage going?" She laughed.

"Great, it was probably due to the champagne pyramid we had at the wedding."

"Yeah, well, you topped it off." She said, then smiled.

Suddenly, she became aware of how close he was standing to her. Aware of the aroma of his Burberry for Men cologne, and aware of the fact she could probably count the fibers in his burgandy collared shit.

"It's stuffy in here. Wanna see the back yard?" He asked her.

Michelle instantly knew she should say no. But she hadn't been able to stop thinking about their short encounter at his wedding. She hadn't been able to stop thinking about him.

With a quick nod, and a glance around the room, they snuck out the back door. Michelle knew Fabian would take charge of everything if he couldn't find her, and Mike knew that everyone was too drunk to notice he was gone.

And it was true: Mike Dirnt was gone.



Mike left the bar that night, the consumption of alcohol imparing his judgement too much to allow himself to call Billie Joe for a ride. He walked down the street, head covered by the hood of his black coat. There was a slight dirzzle, but Mike didn't even notice the tops of his expensive leather shoes were getting wet, not caring if they were ruined.

After that night at his house, in his back yard, he and Michelle became the thing he vowed he would never be.

He knew with every moment they would spend together on the phone, with every e-mail, and with every secret lunch or dinner they had, that he was falling in love.

The first time they acted on their feelings would be burned into Mikes memory forever.



They sat on Michelles couch, watching a documentary on Free Masons. Both were secret history lovers.

"This is so dumb." Mike laughed.

"What? This documentary, or the fact that we've been hanging out for a month and havn't made out." Michelle laughed, partially joking.

"What?" Mike asked, shocked. He had no idea Michelle felt that way. Or was even willing.

"Sorry, that was out of line..." She muttered, wishing she could take back what she had just said.

"No, but this is." Mike looked at her, and without hesitation, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her like he had wanted to for the past two months.



Their meetings became more frequent after that.

Mike would lie to his wife, to his bandmates, claiming he was with the other, just so that he could see Michelle.

And it went on, without a hitch, for three months, until one evening in the back of his car.

How cliche.



Michelle sat on Mike, in the driveway of Billie Joe Armstrongs house, in the backseat of his mid-sized SUV.

He had brought her to watch a movie with the guys, saying she was just a friend. He even urged her to flirt with Tre, just to throw the guys off. She didn't, and he was glad.

"Shit, I heard a noise." Michelle said.

"You're paranoid, baby. Tre left, and Billie doesn't leave his house unless it's completely nessescary."

"No, Mike. I'm not fucking paranoid, I heard something. Be it a raccoon, or be it a Billie, I heard something." She pulled back a little, but it was too late- Billie Joe was peering into the back window, wide-eyed.

"I was wondering why the car was still here, but now I see..." Billie Joe muttered, and turned his back to the car, allowing Michelle to make herself more decent and Mike to put away what needed to be put away.

"Fuck." Mike and Michelle breathed in unison.



Although it was dumb for them to fool around in the drive way of his best friend, Mike was relieved to have someone know.

Especially a someone who wouldn't judge too much, and would support him enough.



"Mike." Billie Joe said to him the next day at band practice.

"Yeah, man?" Mike asked, trying to find a way to avoid the topic at hand.

No such luck.

"How long?" Billie Joe asked bluntly.

"What?" Mike asked dumbly.

"How fucking long have you been fucking Michelle?" Billie Joe said, enough venom in his voice to take down a 300 pound man.

"About three months." Mike finally sighed.

"I hope it's worth it. Britney loves you, man." Billie Joe scolded.

"I know. I fucking know. But Billie, I'm seriously falling for Michelle. When I met her at the wedding-" Mike was cut off.

"The wedding. As in your wedding? Dude! You're sick!"

"I know! God, I know. But, remember when you met Adie? And it felt like everything in the world was insignificant compared to her smile? How she could make killing a kitten look cute? This is how I felt. I knew that I had to know her. And it's like God wanted ** **** with me, to test me, by putting this girl I knew was my soul mate at my fucking wedding."

"Shit is real." Bille shrugged.



And he remembered the day that Michelle told Mike about the cancer.

The day that his whole world would change in a moment, the blink of an eye and everything was clear: He loved Michelle, and he would lose her.

It was his punishment for being unfaithful since the begining.



"Baby, what's wrong?" Mike pushed a stray hair from Michelles face.

They were laying in a Holiday Inn's king sized bed. Michelles roommate was home, and they couldn't go to Mikes for obvious reasons.

"I can't be with you." She whispered.

She knew she was going to die. The cancer had spread. After all the years of dormancy, it flared up, and took over her with a vengeance.

It was punishment for allowing herself to be what she had become.

"I love you. I'll get a divorce. I'll marry you, Michelle. I swear, I will." Mike told her. Andit was true, he had already planned what he would say to his wife.

"No, Mike." Michelle sat up, and pulled a sheet around her bare body. Mike loved the way her skin looked with the moonlight streaming in. She looked like an angel.

"What? What did I do? I put my own family on the back burner, because I fucking love you." Mike yelled.

"Mike! Just let it be, you're married...and I'm dying." Her head fell.



And every day after that, for the past five months, Mike prayed.

He had never been a religious man, and even less of a praying one. But for Michelle, he would cross an ocean on a dhingy.

But it wasn't enough. He could see her getting sicker by the day. Her skin losing color. Weight falling off her, her 5'3" body dropping to a mere 87 pounds.

But every day, she promised him she would get better. She promised that they would always be together. Because that night, when she finally told Mike she was going to die, they both realized that they needed each other.

There had always been a void, just neither had realized it.

"Funny, the way weddings bring people together." She would joke.

The radiation had take her hair, and she felt ugly. Mike would visit her every day with flowers, and sometimes, he would bring Billie Joe along, because he was the only one who knew, who could see the love between the lovers.

Mikes cell phone rang, her name across the screen. The doctors had given her a month tops, and that was a week ago.

"Need me?" Mike asked her with slurred speech.

"Always." She breathed.

And Mike was there, by her side in fifteen minutes.

"Lay with me." She whispered from her bed. She looked like a child in her queen sized mattress.

Mike slid in next to her, neither of them aknowledging that he was wet. His arms wrapped around her, and he kissed her neck.

Her breaths were far apart, and shallow. He fought back tears. He knew it was time.

"Let's just sleep." She whispered, her eyes closed.

Mike lay awake with Michelle in his arms up until four AM, when he couldn't fight off the sleep any longer.

He dreamt of the time he and her went to Paris. This was a week after she told him of her illness, and he was detirmined to make her happy.

They spent three days doing the typical tourist type things, and she saw all the things she had always wanted to, and tried all the french cuisine she could stomach. As a chef, it was the highlight of her life.

They were happy dreams. Happy enough so that when he woke up, he knew that Michelle had passed at some point after he fell asleep three hours before, and he was able to breath.

He held his arms around her still-warm, lifeless body a little tighter, then released.

He slid out of the bed, and grabbed his cell phone.

He would be alright in time.