Shadows in the Night

The first time Billie Joe witnessed his husband snorting a line of coke off their coffee table with some punk off the street, he acted as if nothing happened. He merely pushed the memory away from his troubled head, hoping like mad that it was a one-time deal. Since Mike was none the wiser as to Billie’s early arrival home, it made it all the more easier for the anxious man to abandon the recollection. If Mike had known that Billie saw him doing coke, he certainly would have been hopelessly awaiting a verbal lashing from his significant other later that evening. Luckily enough for Billie, he could avoid the confrontation entirely if he could quietly escape their home and wait for the punk to leave.

As Billie waited in the darkness of his car, he realized that it wasn’t even his husband’s hidden drug habit that bothered him. No…there was definitely a deeper affliction tied in with the secrecy. Billie feared Mike was being unfaithful. Why else hadn’t his husband shared the trivial detail of having a guest that night? Billie wouldn’t have hounded him too harshly for the drugs, for it would be slightly hypocritical for him to do such a thing. The small man vaguely remembered a time when turning tricks for speedballs was a regular habit of his, which was how he and his husband had been introduced in the first place. It didn’t take long for the pair of them to realize that they were falling into a dangerous world of addiction and poverty, so it was mutually decided to refrain from their illegal activities altogether. Billie had kept his promise, not touching anything more hardcore than a cigarette or a bottle of booze since the agreement. Mike, however, appeared to have gone back on his promise…with another man.

The longer Billie waited, the stronger his feelings of resentment towards Mike grew. He wanted to lash out at his husband, to make him pay for even placing the idea of his infidelity into his fretful mind…but of course he couldn’t do so. He had to keep a civil tongue and go about his life as if nothing was wrong. The last thing Billie Joe wanted to do was upset their daughter. For Stella’s sake, he would behave himself, simultaneously allowing for his husband to continue misbehaving. The injustice of it all made Billie’s blood boil.

A hooded figured, almost completely concealed by the darkness of night, slunk casually from his home with his fists crammed tightly within the pockets of his hoodie. Billie stared as the creature of the night was swallowed by shadows and streets, mentally willing it to spontaneously combust. When it became eminent that no such explosion would ever occur, Billie growled darkly to himself and trudged from his car to his home for the second time in forty-five minutes.

“B-Joe! You’re home early!” Mike cried out, a little too eagerly for Billie’s taste. The taller man swooped down upon his lover the instant he became aware of his presence in the house, bringing him into a spine snapping embrace. It didn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to figure out Mike was high, but Billie had promised himself not to touch the subject. He allowed Mike to snuggle his petite frame until he thought his lungs would explode from being deprived of oxygen.

“Mike,” Billie croaked out, lightly hitting his husband’s sides to help him get the hint. Mike was slow to pick up on Billie’s desperation.

“What?!” Mike giggled, backing the two of them to the couch.

“Let…me…go…” Billie spluttered.

“Oh! Right,” Mike muttered, releasing Billie from his overexcited display of affection, or guilt. One strong hand remained clamped to Billie’s shoulder, though, as Mike pulled the smaller man down with him to sit.

“So, how’s Jason and them doing?” Mike asked giddily, referring to the members of Billie’s band, Pinhead Gunpowder.

“Still loud and obnoxious as ever,” Billie sighed, though with a smirk.

“Yeah, but you love that,” Mike purred into his husband’s ear, seducing him with warm breath against flesh.

“You know it,” Billie confirmed, shuddering slightly as Mike added his tongue into the persuasion. The only thing keeping Billie from completely succumbing to what his lover desired was the mysterious visitor and the lines of coke.

“Bill, why so tense? You only act like this when you’re mad at me,” Mike observed, but didn’t refrain from continuing to trace his husband’s earlobe with his tongue, eventually nibbling it in a way he knew would make Billie lighten up to his ideas.

The musician mentally kicked himself for not playing along with Mike’s sexually suggestive affection, awed by his miniscule slip-up. He knew damn well he denied his husband sex only when he was angry with him. Biting his lip in defeat, Billie forced a small moan to escape his lips before saying, “I’m not mad at you, Mikey…I just…don’t want Stella to hear us.”

“Stel’s sleeping, Beej, we’re good to go.”

Billie hastily weighed his options, wondering what the odds were that Mike fucked the hooded punk who left mere minutes before. As horny as Mike was acting at that very moment, it meant one of two things to Billie: He didn’t get the chance, or he was denied a second round. The smaller man failed to realize the possibility that his husband wasn’t cheating on him…and that his arousal could just as easily be brought on by the drugs.

Mike noticed as Billie failed to respond and repeated, “It’s ok, Billie. She won’t hear us.”

Finally coming to his decision, Billie turned to face his lover and kissed him passionately on the mouth. Immediately, he received a response as Mike’s tongue hungrily plowed its way into Billie’s waiting mouth. Wasting no time at all, the couple made love right there on the couch, one screaming out in ecstasy while the other muffled his own cries and tried to hide his tears.

***

Months later, that night continued to plague Billie’s brain. In fact, Mike had gotten himself into so many other sketchy activities that his husband didn’t know what to make of it anymore. Should he confront Mike, or should he simply leave him to go along with whatever he was up to? As the days wore on, Billie no longer believed ignoring it could be an option. So many men and women, some more scantily dressed than others, were coming and going from their home that it not only frightened the musician, it infuriated him. He should have a right to know what the hell is going on in his own home. He should have a goddamn right to know whether or not their daughter’s life was in danger by allowing these miscreants into the house.

It was right after a particularly desperate looking junkie left that Billie made his move. He approached Mike, arms crossed disapprovingly across his chest, and scowled. It was his signature move, one that never failed to make Mike all but piss himself for angering his husband so significantly.

“H-hey babe, what’s wrong?” Mike stammered, fearful of what Billie might do or say. Though he was small, Billie was one man you did not want to cross if you valued your sanity. His methods of physical and emotional abuse could break even the strongest of souls.

“Who the fuck are these people?” Billie demanded, eyes continuing to tear holes into his squirming husband.

“They’re…uh…friends,” Mike replied, but it was a lie and Billie knew it.

“Honey, that bitch looked fucking terrified of you. I have a hard time believing she’s a friend. None of them are. Care to try again?” Billie growled, advancing enough on Mike to make him flinch.

“Ok, but you can’t tell anyone otherwise I’ll lose my job,” Mike rambled, wringing his hands in textbook anxiety.

“Fine.”

“They’re clients. We, uh, work with the homeless, drug addicts, and hookers to try to get them jobs if they clean up their act.”

Billie clenched his fists menacingly, unclenched, and clenched again until he gained a steady rhythm. Mike took notice of Billie’s undying aggression and let out a desperate whimper.

“Billie, I swear, that’s all they are. Clients. Nothing more,” Mike assured his little spitfire, wishing his body would stop shaking so damn badly. He felt pathetic for losing it to the mere thought of angering his husband.

“If they’re only clients, then promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“Stop taking your work home with you.”

Mike forced a chuckle, still unsure of whether or not he was off the hook, as he declared, “Ok. For you, I’ll stop bringing my work home with me.”

“Good,” Billie said, nodding curtly with approval.

The taller man sighed with relief as Billie’s hands unclenched for the last time and hung limply at his sides. He took this as a sign that Billie wouldn’t continue to grill him, and he left the room feeling a bit more confident than he should. He was blissfully unaware of the fact that his lover was there the night he snorted coke with the first “client.” But Billie knew that Mike was full of shit.

If drug addicts were a group of individuals that Mike’s job required that he get them to turn their lives around, then why is he encouraging their illegal behaviors?