The Way You Lived Your Life

"Are you fucking kidding me right now, Billie?!" It was louder than the door being slammed behind him. Unfortunately for us, my step dad's forte was bad timing.

"Billie didn't do anything, sir-" Mike went to stick up for me, but was quick to shut up when my step dad charged toward him with a finger. 'Ooh, scary.'

"You little, prick. Who do you think you are anyway? Eating all my food, wasting water, and taking up the garage I could be spending my time in- for free," the fat fuck dared say, when he had been doing it for almost 5 years now.

I was getting more pissed than he was drunk. Mike didn't deserve this as much as I deserved the beating, and random anger fits Mike has thrown over the month, or so. Mr. Heapo'Shit had been sucking up every thing he could from my mom for years, not including the effort she put into building the man up. He was a peice of shit, and he knew it.

Every great once in a while, he'd get emotional when he drank. Only when mom would be home, to intercept anything bad he could do to himself, walking down the stairs, to get more booze, he would start crying about how someone like her, could be with someone like him. I guess she would be the only one to feel bad for him, and sorry, too. I almost felt sorry, but only because he was lucky to have my mom; he would be on the streets if it weren't for her.

If anything, he was pissed that someone else was doing exactly what he was doing, but with justification. At least Mike paid to be here. At least he did shit around the house, and helped as much as possible. Not to mention, me being happy was enough pay for my mom.

Now, now he was getting into my best friend's face, contradicting every thing he even was. How could he get in Mike's face, so sure of himself, without even talking to Mike in weeks? It was rare to even see the man without his ass end hanging out of the fridge or something. Now, out of nowhere, he was going to storm into Mike's room, which he was paying for, to ring us out? I wasn't going to have it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I snapped at him, getting up in Mike's face.

For some reason, it made the drunk bastard laugh. I guess it was so hilarious to him, being the first time in a long time since I finally spoke up to the man. I almost wished my mom was here. Though, like always, she was working to support this asshole.

"Little Billie Joe, who the hell do you think you're talking to?" He said with his nasty grin, covered in chewing tabacco stains. "D'you think your mom would approve of you doing this?"

"I don't give a care!" I yelled at him. "Who do you think you are, anyway? You fucking sneaky bastard, winning my mom over with nice things and fake personality, just so you could move out of your mom's living room, to continue your pathetic life here? You've been doing it for years, I hope my mom at least get something out of-"

I guess it was hard to continue speaking when you have a chubby, hairy back-of-a-hand forced against the side of your mouth with full strength. I guess it was also hard for me not to react automatically to the impact, either. Before I could even think about decking him in the face, my fist was already inflicting pain to it.

His face knocked the the side, followed by him yelling, "You little shit!"

Mike was quick to but in, now. He was about to hit back, and I guess Mike didn't want me to be the one taking it. He had already managed to place my bong on the other side of the t.v. without my step dad seeing. Still, I was too wound up to be pushed out of the way.

I didn't attack Mike or anything, but it pissed me off more. It was my fight, and it felt great finally hitting the man in the face. I didn't even care if it hurt my hand, really. I just hoped it did enough damage to him. I wanted to hit him again, but Mike beat me to it.

I guess we both were in defense mode, quick. Protecting ourselves from a dunk fat man was a main priority. Right after he shoved Mike against his chest, Mike's fist connected to my step dad's face. Same side, too. Almost like Mike was making sure there would be a mark left.

I guess he hit him hard enough to knock the man back. He was stumbling back, being so drunk, and I couldn't help but to laugh now. It caught Mike off guard, me laughing, and he was slow to, but chimed in with me. It only pissed my drunken excuse of a step dad more.

He tried to get back up, with some struggle, and it was easily to push him back down with Mike's foot. He didn't kick him or anything; it was nothing a but a simple nudge back, and his body obliged. Being stoned, I was weirdly having a good time. This was well over due; the man had this beating coming. This time, the hard alcohol wasn't on his side, mixing in his gut with the beer.

The man puked, right on the floor, next to Mike's bed. I sure as hell wasn't going to pick it up, but I wasn't exactly thinking of that either. I was too busy laughing with Mike, and now, you could tell he was either going to keep it going, or my step dad was going to give up and drag his feet back to my mom's bedroom. Either way, I felt like I was coming out on top. I got under his skin, and there was nothing he could do to fight back if he tried.

He coughed, "Wait- wait til your mom hears about you... both of you," he was struggling to get onto his feet now, wiping his mouth first, "smoking- <i>smoking</i> in her garage."

"I can't wait til she hears it coming out of your puke-mouth and she finds your cigarette butts out here," Mike scoffed.

"My mom," I said pointing at his mess he made on the garage floor, "is not going to clean up after your drunk ass this time, either."

He was on his knees now, glaring at me. "Billie Joe, no wonder your father was so eager to leave you behi-"

No. I didn't even listen past the word 'father'. Nobody talked about him in any negative manner, especially around me. I didn't care if it was supposed to get under my skin, it fucking did. It got so deep, I saw red, and next thing I knew, he was back on the ground. I kicked him so hard in the chin, or wherever, he was <i>out</i> in seconds. Sleeping the bed he made himself, on the cold cement covered in puke. It was fitting.

Mike looked stunned though. I guess I did kick the man pretty hard, but I have never been so mad at the man. Mike has never seen me so angry, either. I know it happens deep down though, I've just always been able to control it. All I wanted to do was keep kicking him, but Mike grabbed me before I could. I guess I was crying now.

"Don't you ever fucking talk about my dad," I screamed in tears.

Mike held me, but I felt it was only to hold me back. "Billie! Billie! He's out!" He tried convincing me that kicking him while he was knocked out was going to do no good.

He obviously didn't realize one kick wasn't enough. He deserved to be black and blue all over. For everything he has ever done, and for ever thinking he could comfortably take my dad's side of the bed without doing anything to deserve my mother, or a roof over his head.

I could control my anger, being in Mike's arms, but I couldn't hold back the tears. "He fucking deserves it! My mom," I sobbed, "shouldn't put up with it either!" Now I could feel Mike's hand on the back of my head, and as if I stopped caring, I buried my face in his chest, still crying.

It took me a while to realize Mike was holding me, really holding me. He wouldn't have done that, or gotten me the pretty glass piece if he didn't care. It made me understand it wasn't me he didn't trust, he just had a wall built so strong, that he had for so long. Somehow, even if it wasn't the way I wanted it, he loved me back. I was his best friend, too.

"Billie, it's okay," he told me. "Your mom should be home soon, anyway. She's gunna wonder where the piece of shit went," he pulled back to look at me now, "and when she comes in here to look, I'll talk to her."

"What are you going to say?" I said, wiping my cheeks with the back of my sleeves. "What if she smells the smoke?"

"Like that's anything to worry about," he told me. "I'll blame it all on me, anyway. Same goes for him," he pointed at the waste on the ground, laying in puke.

"What do you mean?"

"She's gunna wonder where the shiner came from..."

"No," I said firmly. "You're not taking the fall for that. You'll be out of here."

"Really," he said with a smile, "she's not going to believe his drunk ass over both of us. As far as she knows, he came in swinging, because the alcohol was gone, thinkin' it was me."

I nodded. There was no way she would believe <i>him</i> over Mike and I. It's no worse than the bar fight he got into, and she had to pick him up from work. Sure, that was a long time ago, but there's no way she should be shocked by his actions. She'd end up checking on him in bed, just the same. Which also sickened me.

That's when the front door closed, followed by the noise of my mom's purse being plopped down onto the counter in the kitchen. It wasn't too late, so she knew I would be up. I spend all my time in Mike's room, these days, so she would come here first. Of course, she'd knock, which gave us more time to hide the bong, and I could compose myself.

"Hurry," Mike urged.

I ran to it, and went through the side door, to the side of the house. It was a temporary hiding place, no one could see. Of course, my mom would come in, right as I was shutting the door. It made it all look so much worse.

"Oh my god!" She yelled, rushing to the fat fuck's side. "What happened?" She was yelling, but not at us.

"Ollie," Mike started, "I'm- I'm so sorry. I tried telling him I didn't take it, and he didn't listen."

"What are you talking about?" My mom cried, trying to wake my step dad up.

"He accused us of taking his alcohol, mom," I told her, before Mike could. "He, he fucking hit me." I did have the mark on my face to show it. Now she was concerned about me, instead, it seemed.

"I tried to stop him, Ollie." Mike said as my mom stood to examine my face. Sure enough, our story was working by now.

"Wh- what did you do?" She was looking at Mike now.

He hung his head as he spoke, "He was about to hit Billie again, so... so I hit him first. He's so drunk, he fell right over. Smacked his chin on the ground, and... managed to throw up what he thought we stole of his alcohol." Mike was fucking good at this.

"I'm so sorry, baby," my mom cooed as she lightly touched my face. "I'll, I'll get him to bed and clean this-"

"No, you're fucking not." I told her. "He's cleaning this shit tomorrow. He can sleep here."

She looked at me like she had no idea I was capable of using any swear words. But I know she couldn't believe I would say something so "awful".

Still, I'm sure she understood. She had to have been sick of him, too. Being drunk all the time, treating all of us like shit, while she worked and he did nothing. She had to have seen I was finally done. I'd never talked to her like that, either.

She went to walk away, but turned before she walked through the door. "Billie, Mike can sleep on the couch, tonight." I could tell by her tone she was sad, and I felt horrible, but she was strong. She left him on the ground, where he "slept".

"It's fine, mom. He can stay in my room."

She shrugged her shoulders. She was done with tonight, being tired already. "...Goodnight."

"I'm sorry, mom," I managed before the door closed. I guess she didn't like the smell of mairjuana smoke flowing into the house. It only made me wonder what my siblings were doing this whole time.

It was silent for a long time, but I knew Mike and I were thinking the same thing. Without speaking, we both walked outside, through the side door. It was partially like a side-yard, but really it was just the side of the house fenced off, into its own porch-like thing. We had to finish our bowl, especially now. Not that my step dad fucked up our high or anything, but getting stoned could only do some good.

"I'm sorry, Billie."

I shook my head 'no', while taking a drag of cigarette. The bowl finished, silently. It was as if Mike didn't know what to say to me. I was embarrassed for him having to see me like that. He's never seen me so mad.

"I'm sorry I snapped."

"Are you kidding me? Dude, it's just amazing to me you didn't ever... hit me back that night." He sounded disappointed now.

"I would never." I said quickly. I wasn't in the mood to beat around the bush.

"I fucking deserved it, and so did he. Why wouldn't you have...?"

"Because, Mike, you're my best friend. You think of yourself as this complete fuck up who deserves the worst, sometimes, but I fucking love you, and see more than that."

"I love you too, man, but you didn't deserve what I did."

He obviously didn't understand the meaning behind me finally telling him I loved him. It was probably for the best. I didn't need that right now. "I'd never hurt you, okay?"

"Make me feel fucking great. I fucking hurt you, and you did nothing."

"I don't want to talk about this. It's different, okay?"

He wanted to keep going, to pry something out of me, I'm sure. But not tonight. Probably not ever. By this point, I was ready to lay down in my bed, and stare at the ceiling. It would be better if he could come with me and do the same, without talking about my true feelings for him. Avoiding that longer would make it easier. I was ready to start smiling again, being stoned.

"Please." I said to him, nicely. "I say we just go upstairs. I'm actually tired."

Mike just nodded his head, and followed me back into the garage, where we could see the asshole one last time. I heard Mike laugh as we walked passed, and I couldn't help but do the same. Mike was right; he did deserve it.

We were both lost in thought, in my room. I wasn't sure what was on Mike's mind, or if he was asleep by now, but I could feel myself dozing off, thinking about him on the floor. I so badly wanted to ask him to join me on my bed, but he saw enough of me for a while. He didn't need to know everything all at once.

I just couldn't help but think of Mike holding me earlier, with his hand on my head. I felt so safe in his arms, oddly enough. It felt right with my against his chest. I wished it could have been under better circumstances, but thinking of him, and how it would be together, I was drifting off with a smile.

I could only think of how loved he would feel with me. I would make sure he knew how handsome I thought he was. He would end up loving himself if he was with me. I know I could change how he thought about himself. He'd love me back, the way I wished he could.

He wouldn't be involved in drugs anymore. He wouldn't need to do any of that. I could see us in a band, happily together. We'd have enough money, and could go anywhere we wanted. He could forget his past, and I would never have to worry about him leaving. He'd be mine, and just as safe as I felt in his arms, he would feel in mine.

I went to sigh, thinking of how I wish we could be. Of how the future could be. It made me happy, yet I felt let down at the same time. Knowing he was on the floor instead. He was so quiet, he had to have been asleep, just like I was about to be. Until I heard him get up. I wasn't about to sit up and see what he was doing, though. I was finally tired enough to sleep. Nothing was going to get me out of my bed.

It was that perfect tired, feeling. Where you felt so relaxed, and can feel your body sunk into the bed. Your mind starts to drift, and sleep begins to take over. Along with the warm sensation on your face, that felt like someone stroking it...

My eyes were quick to open wide. I could feel Mike's hand on my cheek, so sweetly. He thought I was alseep. I hoped he couldn't hear my heart pounding. I was getting excited now. I didn't understand what was happening, but before I could feel my heart against my chest again, I felt his soft lips on my temple. I could feel my breathing hitch, and I was debating letting him know I was awake.