Unrequited: A Series of Heartbreaks

All By Myself

Friday evening band practice is something that would have most people groaning. Not Tre Cool, master of the drums. No, I love my band more than any sixteen-year-old should. And I love band practice way more than anyone who has ever even touched a drum kit, especially when I have one of my many pretty girls to watch me play.

I am being modest when I say I look sexy when I’m playing. Even Mrs. Armstrong, Billie Joe’s mom, blushed when I winked at her. It’s a known fact that no one gets into a girl’s pants like a sweaty, grinning musician. Especially us drummers; we can bang. And that is exactly what I do on the Armstrongs’ front door instead of knocking.

When there’s a beat at the door, they know Tre’s come a-knockin’. The only problem with that is that Billie Joe’s sister knows that too and refuses to answer the door. There was an…incident. But that’s ancient history and it doesn’t matter because what Mrs. Armstrong doesn’t know won’t hurt me and that’s the only reason she ushered me inside the house with a big smile on her face.

“Tre! Come on in, Mike’s not here yet and Billie’s going to be back in a few minutes,” she paused and closed the door, looking at me expectantly. “Didn’t you bring your lady-friend today?” I grinned at her and shrugged before making my way into Billie Joe’s room. His mother never even asks me why I’m just going to go invade her son’s privacy. I don’t think she cares. Or maybe it’s just the fact that it’s Tre.

Billie Joe’s room has no walls. I swear, the paint or wallpaper or whatever the hell is supposed to be there is completely covered with posters, pictures, and just random shit. His floor is invisible. There’s just as much shit on the floor as there is on the walls. A few condom wrappers, magazines, records, socks, underwear, whatever you want. It’s like a department store. If you need anything, you can find it in Billie Joe’s room.

Especially if you need Billie Joe. His face was all over the walls as well, in almost every photo. Billie Joe with his parents, Billie Joe with Mike, Billie Joe playing guitar, Billie Joe smearing ice cream on my face, Billie Joe swimming, Billie Joe, Billie Joe, Billie Joe. I wanted him. And here in his room, it was…God. It’s heaven and hell at once. It was so perfect, and it would just be complete if he were here. Billie and I together on that bed….

I was the only one here. No one was watching me. Carefully closing the door, I sat back down on the bed. He had a really nice bed. It wasn’t all soft and squishy, but it rock-hard either. It was nice and worn in with just the right amount of fluff. Seriously. I liked his bed. And Billie Joe always seemed to be at home in his bed. Whenever we were up here smoking pot or listening to records, he’d just kind of lie on his bed.

He looked good on his bed. Really good. It was almost sexy. I closed my eyes and thought about Billie on his bed, and on their own, my fingers crept towards the button of my jeans. Then I started thinking about me lying with Billie on his bed. And then I started imagining doing more than just lying there. Before I knew it I was…fiddling about. Just me; I was all by myself thinking about having Billie Joe all to myself.

Without warning, the door flew open

“Hey Tre...whoa.” Billie Joe looked at me and both our eyes went wide as saucers. For the first time in my life, I blushed. He looked away as I quickly got back into my pants. Neither of us could think of a word to say. He turned to me and smirked: the universal taunt. Either he’d tell everyone we knew or he’d remind me of it every time he looked at me. Oh boy. But he kept on smirking and I knew somehow that I was wrong.

I just raised an eyebrow and started towards the door seconds before I found out what the smirk meant. Billie Joe slammed me against the wall and pressed his lips to mine. The smell of marijuana invaded my nose, but how could I care?

Letting me go to take a breath, he ran his hands down my thigh and back to my ass before whispering, “You better have been thinking about me.” I kissed him again and whispered back that I was. Our sweaty t-shirts were lying on the floor with the rest of Billie Joe’s shit and his fingers already made their way down to my zipper when he thrust his tongue into my mouth. I could taste him stronger than ever.

More Mary Jane. He didn’t want this; the drug did. But he didn’t stop and I didn’t want him to. Suddenly, I knew why I could never keep a girlfriend for more than a week and why I stopped caring. In a single fucking moment, I knew that the only one I ever wanted was Billie Joe Armstrong. I also knew that if we continued, I would tell him. And it wouldn’t mean shit to him because he was high.

I don’t know what I was thinking with, and maybe I got high from kissing him, but I pushed him off. Tre Cool was refusing to have sex with the hottest man alive? My head was spinning.

“Tre, man, what’s wrong? Don’t you want this?” Billie wrapped his hands around my neck but I pulled away again.

“Yeah, I want this.” I fished for my shirt and looked at him meaningfully.

“Then where the hell are you going? You gotta finish this. You can’t leave now.”

“Sorry, Bill.” I really was. “I just need to be all by myself for a little while.” I heard him swearing as I made my way down the stairs, saying that he needed a fuck every now and then and what kind of friend was I if I couldn’t help him.

He wanted it, but he didn’t want me. I wanted love. Can you imagine? But I guess I don’t have much of a choice than to just keep it to myself.