Best Thing In Town

I lean against the door frame and watch him as he opens up his window. He is moving with the such grace it makes me feel guilty.

"Why are you opening that? It's still raining."

"You don't find it relaxing?"

I didn't answer.

"I think it's relaxing." He has already said too much and I just want to go back to kissing him. I walk toward him slowly until we are face to face in front of the open window, moonlight pouring over us and I kiss him. I kiss him a lot.

Now my back is on his bed and my clothes are next to his somewhere scattered on the floor. His lips are covering mine sweetly while my own beg for him to be more aggressive. His lips feel so sweet and gentle that it is making me sick because I know that he means it and it's hurting me. When I bite his bottom lip, he only smiles against me and kisses me even softer. It is driving me insane because it is all too honest.

He is towering over me now with his hands on either side of my head. I trail my hands over the tops of his arms and stare at him. My fingers dance absently on his skin, over his tattoos. This is where he is giving me the option to say no—when he is looking down at me, searching my eyes for some words that my mouth won't speak. He is being kind and waiting for my sign—whether he should continue or stop. In the small seconds that he is waiting with me under him, our bodies are close, but not close enough. His stomach barely grazes mine. And in those small seconds while he waits for my signal, he just twirls my hair as if he could wait for an eternity just like that.

I nod slightly and place kisses up his right arm. That is his signal.

When it is all over, we are tangled under the sheets and he is sleeping. He fell asleep with me against his chest, his arms around my waist, but after I heard his breathing become steady signalling his sleeping, I slipped out from under him.

I slide out of the bed and tip toe out of habit over to the other side of the room where a pile of clothes are. Squinting my eyes, I pick up a shirt and slip it over me. It's not my shirt like I thought, but it's one of Billie's. I'm too sad to care and walk over to the window.

The rain is as steady as Billie's light breathing. There's this large tree right in front of his window, but it is the most beautiful tree I've ever seen. It is covered in glistening rain drops and beautiful shadows and it's the perfect object to stare at when I am feeling how I'm feeling.

My stomach is in knots and my mind is aching and I can feel my pulse in my palms. My mind keeps replaying the first night I met him, at the party, with his drunk smile and bloodshot eyes: "Billie Joe Armstrong, you are a beautiful, fucked up boy." That's what I said to him. But now standing in his room, with him asleep in his bed, with the feel of his kiss still on my lips, I realize he's not fucked up, but only beautiful. If anyone's fucked up, it's me.

Hot tears are sliding down my cheeks and I am biting my lip so I don't let out a sob. I thought I was being quiet, but he wakes up.

"Logan?" His voice cracks and my heart drops. I shut up real quick and wipe the back of my hand across my face before turning to him.

He is propped up on his left elbow with this eyes still covered in sleep. His hair becomes even messier after he runs a hand through it before opening his eyes completely. "What are..." He trails off. I gulp because I realize he has realized that there's something wrong. "You have mascara all down your cheeks." Dammit. "Why are you crying?"

His skin is glowing under the pale light and he is so beautiful and I am weak and a shitty human being.

"This is stupid." I spit bitterly, all of a sudden.

He looks at me taken aback and furrows his eyebrows. He still looks so sweet.

"I can't believe I did this." I mutter, trying so hard to be angry. "Again."

After he shoots me a confused look, I watch him as he finds his boxers on the floor and slips them on before walking over toward me. My teeth are clenched and my hands are shaking and my stomach is somewhere else. When he reaches his hand out to touch my arm, I snap it back and feel my spine hit the window pane.

"What the hell's your deal?" He says, hardly angry but completely confused.

"You. I am a sick, disgusting human being for sleeping with you." The words curl off of my tongue so cruelly, I shutter. I have to keep going. "This is so fucked up—"

"What the fuck's gotten into you?" His voice is raising and I can see his eyes are growing darker. I feel so small beneath them.

"Goddammit, Billie!" As soon as I start shouting, I realize this is it. "I was drunk both of the times I slept with you! I would think that would have at least crossed your mind!" My cheeks are so hot I feel like I could be sick, but I can't cry. I can't.

"You are a fucking liar." His whisper cuts into me. "I don't know about the first time, but trust me, Logan, this time you were completely, fucking sober." His words come at me so bitterly.

I shake my head slowly, keeping eye contact. My mind is at loss for words and all I can think to do is to keep looking angry. I have to keep looking angry. I have to convince him that I hate him. That everything with him was wrong.

I am hurting so badly staring at him. His eyes are so dark yet I can tell that he's shaking. Underneath, he is shaking and I know it. I can still feel the sweet kisses he left on me only hours before but I'm yelling at him. 'You're so fucked up, you're so fucked up, you're so fucked up,' my brain goes on and on to me.

I can't think of anything else to do, so I shove him. I press my small hands against his bare chest and shove him as hard as I can. He is unfazed after he stumbles and reaches his hands out to grab mine before I can shove him again. He is holding my wrists so tightly, I can see his knuckles turning white. He holds them against his chest and looks down at me. I can't breathe.

"Tell me..." He starts. "Tell me what the hell I did wrong, Logan."

"You're trash." I say so quietly. "You are fucking trash, Billie Joe." I am such a goddamn liar.

His hands fall from mine so quickly, I stumble. He is looking at me and has this sick smirk on his face as he is just shaking his head slightly and slowly at me. I feel so guilty under his stare and I have to leave.

I push past him, grab whatever I can see that is mine on the floor, and slam his door, silencing the words he is throwing at me.

And as soon as there is a wall between us, I cry.