Black Holes and Revelations

Nov. 19, 2009 (still)
A part of Mike wanted to get so drunk he couldn't see. That buzz sounded nice, and it would get that stupid sad smile out of his head and his bed wouldn't feel as empty as usual. With his fingers clasping a bottle of lukewarm beer, he contemplated calling to the bartender and requesting a few shots of bourbon. But then he glanced to Tre at his left and just took another sip of his Heineken.

He was the designated driver tonight.

"You look so fuckin' depressed," Tre murmured. He wasn't totally gone, merely on his way, but his voice was becoming muddled and warmer than usual. "Why aren't you getting wasted with me?"

"Someone has to drive you home and tuck in your sorry ass."

Tre seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded once. "True." He picked up another one of the half a dozen shots he ordered and quickly threw it down his throat. "So Billie hasn't texted me back or anything. He seems really off, what's up with that?"

"Ask Jason," Mike sighed, maybe a little bitterness in his tone. "Billie seems to be talking to him about whatever it is that's up his ass."

"Jealousy looks ugly on ya', Mikey." Tre smiled in understanding, then signaled to the pretty, blond bar woman for another round. "He's not talking about it to me either, you know, and I'm not getting all upset, am I?"

Mike glared at the drummer, but its intensity was chastely half-hearted. "It's different, and you know it. And it's probably about me. If he didn't tell you, it 's because you're shit at keeping secrets and he knew you'd tell me."

"You're overanalyzing." Blue eyes rolled with an irritated huff. "It's both of you two, you're both all emotional and whatever. But Mike, it's just sex, okay, so you need to chill."

Fingers twitching, the bassist chewed at his lip and stared hard at the grubby bar. He tried to avoid looking guilty, but he had a feeling he wasn't going a good job of it - something to do with the fact that was he about as fantastic a liar as Tre was.

Tre noticed. And the drinks couldn't stop him from ignoring it this time, like he would normally do when he was sober. "Oh, no - oh, hell no, Mike!" He groaned in wild frustration and slammed a fist on the table. "You stupid little shits! How could you?"

"Don't yell at me," Mike said quietly, and when he took a sip from his bottle, the taste was bitter. "It's shitty enough without you condemning me."

The bar woman set down four new shots in front of Tre and flashed her friendly smile at Mike. "Can I get you another?"

After considering that Tre would probably continue to berate him - and he had every right to, even Mike couldn't help the 'what the fuck' when he really thought about it - Mike went ahead and nodded at the girl who couldn't have been much older than twenty-five.

"Yeah, actually, please."

Tre hadn't even touched his full shot glasses, which was a bad sign. Sure enough, the drummer leaned closer when the woman moved away to retrieve Mike's drink. "Listen, man, I get sex, okay? Especially when we're out on the road, there's itches to be scratched, and I can't lie and say I always wait for Ruri to take care of mine. But loving Billie Joe-" Tre had to pause when Mike was given his new, colder beer, and his voice dropped as he continued, "but loving Billie is in an entirely different ballpark, Mike."

Mike, who had been listening to Tre's monologue with an expression as stony as his silence, turned his head to his best friend and angrily murmured, "He loves me back, don't pin this on me, Frank!"

"It doesn't even matter, and you know it. At the end of the day, Billie goes home to Adrienne and those kids and loving you can't change that." Tre sighed heavily when he saw a flicker of hurt over the bassist's face and gripped his shoulder sympathetically. "And you know that too, Mikey."

The conversation was a lot similar to the one Mike had with Jason. Billie Joe told him everything, essentially, and as soon as he had heard that the two had exchanged that complex four letter word, he had practically yanked Mike out of his bunk on their tour bus one morning and dragged him to a Starbucks. That was the red flag for Mike since that's whatever everyone did to him when they wanted to soften a blow. . .

Jason had been more calm, less blunt. Tre and his difference in personality were the reasons, and Mike had been able to deal with Jason's. It was quiet and rational when they had spoken, unrushed and without urgency. Besides that, though, he hadn't had Billie's distracted green eyes on his mind when he talked to Jason - the eyes he had in mind at the time were still green and still Billie's, but bright and satisfied.

He took a small swig of the beer he had barely touched and stood from his barstool. "I get what you're saying, Tre," he sighed and removed the hoodie he had draped over his seat and slipped it over his head. "Believe me, I do. Really. But I'm not asking Billie to leave his family."

"I know, Mike, but asking him to keep loving you?" Tre looked sad, and older, as he bit down on his lip. Mike wondered if he could taste blood, and hoped so. "How is that any better?"

"I'm not asking him anything damnit. Everything he gives is given on his own terms. If you want to tell somebody right from wrong, maybe it should be Billie Joe."

Tre was guilty and sorry and perhaps kind of confused, and any buzz that the alcohol had given him had drained away. "Mike, I didn't mean-"

"It's all right, man." Mike smiled, looking like he actually meant it, or could mean it. He put a twenty dollar bill on the counter. "Stay cool, man. See you for Jase's party."

"Bitch, I'm always Cool," Tre responded with a lazy grin, and he was back. The normal him, the one that ignored subtle glances and double meanings. "See you Saturday, Mikey."