It's Easier Than It Seems

A week had rolled by, and as the sun crept down over Oakland, California, the door to the Armstrong residence clunk open unexpectedly. The sound of shuffling feet signalled more than one person had stepped into the house as Billie lifted his head and perked his ears. He hadn't invited anyone over.

“Hello?” He said in a questioning tone, slowly standing from his chair in his office to inspect who had arrived. “Whose there?” He asked nervously, hoping it was someone he knew.

“It's us,” Tré affirmed, walking into the office with Mike trailing behind. “Can we talk?”

Billie tilted his head, and rolled his eyes in dismay. Another lecture. “Not even a hello?” He asked, trying to break the ice. But when he saw the cold stone stares of his friends, he rolled his eyes; realising nothing could thaw out the atmosphere in the room. “I'm not having this... just... can we not go back to the way things were before?!”

Tré put his hands out in front of him to signal that he didn't want to push Billie any further than he had. “Okay, but there's still some things we need to go over.”

Billie nodded in reply and picked up a notebook from the desk. “Song ideas, see, I got my inspiration eventually... when I didn't have anyone pushing me,” He flicked his eyes to Mike.

“You've made your point,” Mike quipped and took the notebook off Billie; giving it a read through. “Not bad, do you want to come to the studio and roll out some chords?”

Billie shook his head and took his notepad back. “No thanks, I need to refine this first.”

Mike looked to Tré; confusion spread across both their faces. “Okay,” Mike replied. “But we're a band you know... we should refine together. We all have ideas that need to come together.”

Billie slowly looked to them, looking very tense. Then, all of a sudden, he let out a big breath that seemed to be holding everything back and he sagged in his posture. “Fine, let's go.”

***

I kept glancing towards Will's desk; a week had rolled by, and where once sat a man that occasionally shot puns at me was an empty desk gathering dust. It almost felt like Will had died; ironically he had moved on to a better place. I already missed his sharp looking suits with a hint of flair, and his fun loving spirit.

He had pursued his dream and won, whilst I still sat at my desk nowhere near my goal. It was about time things changed around here.

I slapped my hands on my desk in an attempt to self motivate and stared blankly at my computer screen. Nothing was running through my mind as I glanced down at a bunch of my shots waiting to be chosen and edited.

I tapped my feet on the floor and looked around the office; everyone was heads down busying themselves with work whilst I just could not find any inspiration at all.

I sighed heavily and stood up a bit too fast, causing me to go light headed and grab onto my desk. I shook it off and walked over to the water cooler where I bumped into Dimitri of all people.

“Ah, Jennifer. Just the woman I was looking for,” He said, his voice as grisly as ever. “You had a few days off unscheduled this week,” He grumpily continued. “Make sure it doesn't happen again without a good excuse, the art world doesn't care if you're sick you know.”

“Yes, I know,” I quietly replied. What I really wanted to say was 'I'm fine thanks for asking' in a sarcastic tone, but I held back and bit my tongue. “It won't happen again,” I finished, filling up a cup full of cool water.

Dimitri just nodded as if to affirm his taunt had worked and I'd never have a day off sick again. He then sauntered back off towards his office, leaving me slightly confused and feeling nauseous.

The art world doesn't care if I'm sick? Wait till they find out I'm pregnant.

My thinking stopped suddenly when I felt a surge of pain run through my body, and in panic I put my hands to my stomach as the pains shot through it. The cup I held fell to the floor, and I swear I heard it's gasp as it spilt it's contents all over the office floor. I winced with each surge, each feeling like I was being stabbed with a knife to the stomach.

I ran out the building and flew my hand out for a cab in desperation, almost stepping onto the road itself trying to grab someone's attention. Once I hailed one down I jumped inside and practically screamed for the driver, who probably thought he was being mugged, to take me to the hospital. I was in a complete panic; I had no idea what was going on but I sensed danger for the baby and that terrified me.

The drive seemed a lot longer than it normally would, traffic was congested and every light turned to red in spite of me. I held my hand onto my stomach, clinging onto my blouse until my knuckles turned white.

The rest felt like a blur. Once I arrived at the hospital I begged for a doctor, and after that I was moved from room to room, the lights almost blinding me into a daze like state. I heard doctors asking questions, and somehow I managed to reply without really knowing what was going on.

I told them about the pregnancy—urging them to check if the baby was okay. They asked how far along I was and I didn't even know. I felt so damn guilty because I couldn't even answer questions about my own child.

I felt hot, clammy and sick. The pains in my stomach were unbearable, and I could only think about the baby inside. Had I worried so much I had killed it? I didn't want it to die, I had only just got my head around the idea I was pregnant.

I knew if I didn't have the baby that life would be somewhat normal. I wouldn't have so much stress, and I wouldn't have such a big weight on my shoulders. But I had accepted that reality and I had come to terms that my life wouldn't be the same again; and for once... I liked that idea.

“Is the baby okay?” I asked, my lips quivering with fear.

The doctor looked to me—placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “That's what we're finding out Miss. Walker.”

He then proceeded to lift my blouse up, exposing my stomach which I really wasn't expecting. Maybe he had mentioned it but I had just not paid attention.

“This is going to feel a little cold,” He said, rubbing some gel onto the lower part of my stomach. The gel caused me to flinch at first, I wasn't prepared for something so cold and sharp, I was just concentrating on breathing through the pain.

He placed the probe onto my stomach and rubbed it gently. I tilted my neck to look at the screen but I couldn't tell what the hell it was. I could have been carrying a dinosaur in my stomach and I wouldn't tell the difference.

“Now, it depends on how far you're gone if I can pick up a heartbeat or not. If I can't then don't panic; we will need to do a transvaginal ultrasound. But if you're over two months we should pick it up,” The doctor explained, moving around the probe.

At one point my mind flicked from worrying about the baby, to worrying about the fact a doctor may have to shove a cold metal stick up my vagina to find out if my baby was alive or not. I wasn't prepared for that!

“There we go,” He said calmly, jumping me from my thoughts. The doctor smiled softly, looking from me to the monitor, expecting me to follow his gaze. I looked slowly to the monitor to see what appeared to be a jelly bean. Was that what he wanted me to see? I squinted my eyes as if it would help identify what the jelly bean actually was until I concluded that I was rubbish at looking at ultrasound scans.

The jelly bean was soon followed by a sound, a sound that sounded so beautiful to me that I was suddenly overwhelmed with emotions and started to cry.

It was a heartbeat.

The jelly bean was alive.

Everything I had been anxious and worried about seemed to melt away when I heard the faint and tiny 'thump thump'.

“There we go, a healthy heartbeat,” He smiled at me. “Now can you see the baby?” He asked, then pointing towards the screen to show me. “Everything looks fine and normal from what I can see, the baby is growing at a healthy rate. I'd say you were about ten weeks pregnant.”

My eyes widened in surprise. Ten? I had been expecting less than ten, or at least hoping. I had drank alcohol in that time, I had even been on a roller coaster, and a plane. I had been so reckless because I hadn't known, I hadn't been careful.

We hadn't been careful.

“Thank you,” I sniffed, wiping my eyes and smiling. “Could I have a copy?” I asked.

“Of course you can.”

***

“Are you kidding me? That sounds ridiculous!” Billie criticised, putting his guitar down carefully onto a chair, almost like it was his baby. “We need a real beat, something harsh and angry, not something half ass pop like.”

Tré's eyes widened in disbelief. “Sheesh, everyone's a critic. Since when were we a metal band?”

“This isn't a happy-dappy song Tré,” Billie snapped.

Tré took a moment, almost as if to compose himself for his reply. “No, I saw that in your lyrics... but maybe that's why it should be a bit more upbeat.”

Mike rubbed his forehead slowly; he had just about enough of their arguing for the day and sighed deeply to himself. “Will you two be quiet for just one moment, we aren't getting anywhere.”

“Well maybe if you were to add your own input you would help,” Billie replied dryly. “Instead of just sitting around grimacing,” He added.

Mike stared at Billie. “Ah,” Was all that came out of his mouth before he stood up and grabbed his coat. “Well you know what, I have better places to be,” Mike said, walking out the studio door and closing it behind himself.

“Do you see what you did?!” Billie growled at Tré.

Tré stood up, now furious at Billie's attitude. “What I did?! Are you fucking kidding me Billie?! Oh fuck off!” He yelled, repeating what Mike had done previously and left the studio leaving Billie all alone.

He sunk into the chair next to his guitar and held his head in his hands in utter silence.

What had he done again? Why had he done it?

He felt all the anger leave his body, and was overcome with sorrow. He had a question running through his head that he didn't want to answer; he didn't even want to say it out-loud.

Was this the end of Green Day?

***

“The pain, although exaggerated, was a mixture of something that is natural and related by stress,” The doctor explained. “Plenty of expecting women have pains similar to their menstruation, but yours was possibly more intense because you've been under great amounts of stress with your personal life.”

I nodded and looked away almost ashamed of myself. “I get so worked up sometimes that I wrap myself in my head and I can't escape, sometimes it feels like I'm clawing my way out.”

The doctor nodded, his finger running over his moustache. “It's very common to feel like that with anxiety, but you must know that you are over exaggerating your worry, and now it is affecting your child.”

My shoulders sagged, my head hung. I was completely guilty. “What can I do?”

“I could recommended a therapist to help you out if you so wish, or after hearing your story... a plane ticket to California would help put your mind at ease.”

My head shot up. “What?!” I exclaimed, eyes as wide as dinner plates.

“Your worried about telling the father of your unborn baby, but you aren't doing anything to help... so it's just making the anxiety worse,” He explained. “If you go see him and tell him it will take the pressure off and be more beneficial to you and your baby,” He went on, not sugar coating a word he was saying to me. “I mean it's not exactly professional of me to suggest a life style change in such a way as telling the father of the baby you're pregnant, but... I'm recommending it.”

“Like ripping a plaster off in one go,” I quietly said, almost as if a wall had been taken away and now I could see everything much clearer. I knew I had to go back, I knew I had to pursue my goal like Will had done; I couldn't just shy away as that wouldn't get me anywhere. “Your right.”

The doctor smiled softly at me. “Good luck.”

**

It took awhile for the storm to blow over in their heads, but after a few hours Tré and Mike finally returned to the studio with cool heads. They were determined to get the album back on track, but more determined to help Billie out of the hole he dug himself.

They could see it was much more than angry songs and bitter words; Billie had completely changed over the past few months. He had become much darker, much more withdrawn. Not only had he relied on alcohol, but he had misused women and even drugs... he was completely on the wrong path.

Luckily for them Billie was still sat in the studio going over his notes when they walked back in. He looked slowly up from them, instantly frowning. “Oh, you're back,” He said, the anger hanging off his words and lingering around the room. “Didn't take long,” He muttered.

Mike said nothing, but slapped a few leaflets down onto the coffee table in front of Billie.

Mike wasn't about to play games; he had had enough of them. He was tired of playing cat and mouse with Billie and was almost at the point of grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking him to see if it would help.

Billie looked down at the leaflets and scoffed. “What are you trying to say?” He raised his brow and crossed his arms. “I'm not going to rehab,” He replied, almost to himself, sounding as stubborn as a five year old.

“Isn't it obvious?” Mike asked, tilting his head. “It's rehab or it's over.”

Billie narrowed his eyes and stood up slowly. His mood suddenly changing to a very dark one. “Excuse me?”

“You heard,” Tré added. “You need help, and if you don't get it... then Green Day are over.”

“Well isn't that just great,” Billie sneered. “My best friends ganging up on me,” He looked between both Tré and Mike. “Thanks,” He hissed.

Tré bit his lip, he could almost taste the sourness in the air as he watched Billie move closer to Mike. But Mike remained calm; determined not to bow down to Billie's new personality.

“Well I guess that's that then,” Billie said quietly, looking Mike up and down. “Green Day's over. Thanks a fucking lot, friend,” He pushed past Mike, purposely knocking into his shoulder as he did so. “Don't bother talking to me again,” Was all he muttered before storming out the building.

Tré slowly looked to Mike, unable to say anything to him at all. He had doubted the rehab method in his mind, but hoped that Billie loved Green Day enough to consider rehab over splitting the band up.

But both Tré and Mike had been wrong, and the only question plaguing their minds now was... what now?