Lovers End
What You Take
Esmee and Billie Joe sat on his bed, her head resting on his shoulder, neither of them saying anything. His arms were wrapped comfortingly around her, and she sighed contentedly. Everything seemed right again. Everything might be okay this time...
She wondered what would happen to her mother. There was no way her father just wouldn't notice Esmee's leaving. He'd lash out on Josephine... Maybe even kill her. Esmee frowned and buried her face deeper in Billie Joe's shoulder, desperately trying to keep the tears back. Billie rested his chin on top of her head and rubbed her back comfortingly. She winced as his hands grazed the deep cut.
She must have made some noise, because he turned her around and lifted the back of her shirt, revealing part of the wound. He gasped and turned her around, concern filling his features.
"I'm gonna get something to clean this, okay?" he said. She nodded, and he rushed out of the room, returning with antiseptic and white towels. He shut and locked his door, and she looked at him questioningly.
"I don't want to have to explain this to my mom." She nodded, and he moved to behind her, removing her shirt and pressing the damp towel to her skin. She gasped as it stung her flesh, and Billie Joe leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.
"It's okay," he whispered, gliding the cloth down her left shoulder. He ran his fingers under her bra strap.
"Babe, your bra is in the way," he said. She looked at the floor.
"Go ahead." He unhooked it, and the thin material glided down her arms, resting on the duvet. He continued to press the cloth to the wound.
"Are you okay?" he asked. She shook her head. No, she wasn't okay. Her entire body ached, her own father had raped her, and her mother might be dead.
"What's wrong?" he whispered. She shook her head harder. No. She was not telling him. No. A few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. She was fine. Nothing was wrong.
"Esmee?" She crossed her arms, and he sighed and continued to clean the laceration.
"I wish you would tell me." She simply shook her head again. No. She wouldn't tell anyone. She wouldn't say anything.
After he had finished with her back, she turned so he could clean the rest of it. She refused to look into his eyes, because she knew what she would see: concern and sadness. She had seen the look too many times, and she didn't want to see it in him.
When he had finished, she pulled her clothes back on, wincing as the material scraped the wound. Billie Joe reached out for her, to maybe comfort her, but she backed against the wall, shaking her head. He frowned.
"What's wrong, babe?" She looked at him, fear filling her eyes. He would just use her, just like her father had, just like Tré had. Billie Joe sighed and left the room, hanging his head sadly. He didn't understand. Nobody did. And she would never tell.
She heard footsteps coming up to the hall, and she heard Mike gasp.
"Dude, what's that blood from? Are you okay?" she heard Mike say.
"Esmee's hurt. Really badly," was Billie's short response.
"Is she gonna be okay?"
"I don't know, man. She won't talk to me. I was trying, but she just shook her head, like she was afraid of me..." Billie Joe sighed. "I don't understand. She just... stopped talking." There was a brief pause.
"She's staying here for a while," Billie Joe said softly.
"Okay." Billie paused.
"You don't have a problem with that?" Billie asked, shocked.
"No. Why would I?"
"You've had a problem with her ever since... Tré."
"Yeah, but it wasn't her fault. He drugged her, there was nothing she could have done."
"Yeah. I know." Esmee sighed and flopped on Billie Joe's bed, breathing in his scent. She wanted to tell him how much she hurt inside, but she couldn't. No one could ever know. She would never tell.
There was a knock on the doorframe, and Mike walked in, sitting on the bed next to her. She buried her face in the duvet and flinched as Mike patted her arm.
"Esmee, I know I'm probably the last one you want to talk to, but will you please just tell me what's wrong? Bill's worried sick. He just wants to know if you're okay," Mike said.
"I'm not. I'm not fucking okay! Why can't you understand that?" she said.
"Why can't you tell Billie that? He just wants to make it better."
"He can't. Nobody can." Mike sighed, and Esmee stood up suddenly.
"What are you doing?" he asked. She shook her head and shoved her shoes back on.
"Leaving," she answered simply. She couldn't stay here. She loved Billie, but she had to get away. She made her way to the front door and stepped outstide, running when she heard Billie calling her name.
She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't stay.
Billie Joe ran after her, calling her name.
"Esmee! Wait!" She ran faster. He could probably catch up with her. She heard his footsteps get closer, and she moved into a sprint. She turned to look at him, but tripped over her feet, sending her sprawling on the ground. Her head bounced off of a rock, and her world went black.
She wondered what would happen to her mother. There was no way her father just wouldn't notice Esmee's leaving. He'd lash out on Josephine... Maybe even kill her. Esmee frowned and buried her face deeper in Billie Joe's shoulder, desperately trying to keep the tears back. Billie rested his chin on top of her head and rubbed her back comfortingly. She winced as his hands grazed the deep cut.
She must have made some noise, because he turned her around and lifted the back of her shirt, revealing part of the wound. He gasped and turned her around, concern filling his features.
"I'm gonna get something to clean this, okay?" he said. She nodded, and he rushed out of the room, returning with antiseptic and white towels. He shut and locked his door, and she looked at him questioningly.
"I don't want to have to explain this to my mom." She nodded, and he moved to behind her, removing her shirt and pressing the damp towel to her skin. She gasped as it stung her flesh, and Billie Joe leaned forward and kissed her shoulder.
"It's okay," he whispered, gliding the cloth down her left shoulder. He ran his fingers under her bra strap.
"Babe, your bra is in the way," he said. She looked at the floor.
"Go ahead." He unhooked it, and the thin material glided down her arms, resting on the duvet. He continued to press the cloth to the wound.
"Are you okay?" he asked. She shook her head. No, she wasn't okay. Her entire body ached, her own father had raped her, and her mother might be dead.
"What's wrong?" he whispered. She shook her head harder. No. She was not telling him. No. A few tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, and she swiped them away with the back of her hand. She was fine. Nothing was wrong.
"Esmee?" She crossed her arms, and he sighed and continued to clean the laceration.
"I wish you would tell me." She simply shook her head again. No. She wouldn't tell anyone. She wouldn't say anything.
After he had finished with her back, she turned so he could clean the rest of it. She refused to look into his eyes, because she knew what she would see: concern and sadness. She had seen the look too many times, and she didn't want to see it in him.
When he had finished, she pulled her clothes back on, wincing as the material scraped the wound. Billie Joe reached out for her, to maybe comfort her, but she backed against the wall, shaking her head. He frowned.
"What's wrong, babe?" She looked at him, fear filling her eyes. He would just use her, just like her father had, just like Tré had. Billie Joe sighed and left the room, hanging his head sadly. He didn't understand. Nobody did. And she would never tell.
She heard footsteps coming up to the hall, and she heard Mike gasp.
"Dude, what's that blood from? Are you okay?" she heard Mike say.
"Esmee's hurt. Really badly," was Billie's short response.
"Is she gonna be okay?"
"I don't know, man. She won't talk to me. I was trying, but she just shook her head, like she was afraid of me..." Billie Joe sighed. "I don't understand. She just... stopped talking." There was a brief pause.
"She's staying here for a while," Billie Joe said softly.
"Okay." Billie paused.
"You don't have a problem with that?" Billie asked, shocked.
"No. Why would I?"
"You've had a problem with her ever since... Tré."
"Yeah, but it wasn't her fault. He drugged her, there was nothing she could have done."
"Yeah. I know." Esmee sighed and flopped on Billie Joe's bed, breathing in his scent. She wanted to tell him how much she hurt inside, but she couldn't. No one could ever know. She would never tell.
There was a knock on the doorframe, and Mike walked in, sitting on the bed next to her. She buried her face in the duvet and flinched as Mike patted her arm.
"Esmee, I know I'm probably the last one you want to talk to, but will you please just tell me what's wrong? Bill's worried sick. He just wants to know if you're okay," Mike said.
"I'm not. I'm not fucking okay! Why can't you understand that?" she said.
"Why can't you tell Billie that? He just wants to make it better."
"He can't. Nobody can." Mike sighed, and Esmee stood up suddenly.
"What are you doing?" he asked. She shook her head and shoved her shoes back on.
"Leaving," she answered simply. She couldn't stay here. She loved Billie, but she had to get away. She made her way to the front door and stepped outstide, running when she heard Billie calling her name.
She didn't know where she was going, but she knew she couldn't stay.
Billie Joe ran after her, calling her name.
"Esmee! Wait!" She ran faster. He could probably catch up with her. She heard his footsteps get closer, and she moved into a sprint. She turned to look at him, but tripped over her feet, sending her sprawling on the ground. Her head bounced off of a rock, and her world went black.