Another Sentimental Argument

"Whoa, darling, let's head this way." Tre chuckles as he grabs my left arm and gently guides me through the hallway into the living room. I don't remember where I was headed three seconds ago, so I'm just a happy-go-lucky drunk Logan following Tre. He has purple hair now. Someone else dyed it, though.

My eyes wobble around to the few faces in the room. There's a lamp on and not much else. The blinds over the screen doors that lead to the balcony are open. It's a full moon. My swaying eyes begin the process again; bumping from one blurry face to another. Then I see green.

I make a move to tug away from Tre's grip, only to discover he'd let me go a little while ago. Stumbling forward, no one seems to notice. Even the green-eyed-angle-face-darling-boy is busy laughing at a joke that I didn't hear. I always miss the joke. Anyway, like a drunk ballerina (I am drunk, just not a ballerina) I collapse next to him on the floor. I think I made a loud thud when I hit the floor, but when I gaze around, no one notices me anymore than they did before. I huff and puff a little, poke my arm just to make sure I'm not completely vaporous, and cross my arms over my chest. Pouting and pouting.

Another joke was told, I am guessing, because the laughing starts up again. I always miss the joke but always hear the laughter. I slide my eyes over to Billie. His smile kisses his beer bottle and I pull in my bottom pouty lip just to bite it while I'm looking at him.

He notices me now. "Hey, babe." He seems cheerful. Not drunk. Just buzzed. I wish I was buzzed. I'm completely electrified.

"Hi." I can feel my eyes grow a size in microscopic amazement—silently surprised that I was able to speak without hiccuping. I guess he notices that and thinks I'm cute.

"You having a good time?" His eyebrow raises and he thinks he's being cunning.

I can only glare at him and nudge his cold hand, silently asking for the rest of his beer. He gives it to me and kisses my red cheek before he leaves to go to the fridge.

"Hey, sweetheart, let's get you a glass of water, huh?" Mike suggests to me before he disappears from me. I lull my head back onto the sofa and stare at the ceiling. The light isn't on. Billie isn't next to me anymore. I feel like I'm getting a fever.

"Here." There's a glass of water being pushed into my sweaty palm. I almost drop it, but Mike doesn't let it go until he's sure I have a solid grip on it. Well, the joke's on him because I don't have a solid grip on anything. Ha. With a bemused smirk, Mike says: "What are you laughing at?" I shake my head, not remembering. I watch distantly as he stares at me from the corner of his eye. He's standing above me. The staring goes on for a little longer than my brain can handle and I squeeze my eyelids together as I drink the water.

I notice Mike is still standing in front of me when I reopen them. Towering over me. I'm feeling queasy. I pat the empty spot next to me, inviting him. He cocks his eyebrow for a second, but happily obliges.

I place the empty glass on the table behind the sofa then turn toward Mike. He is grinning. "Hi." I say to him. I don't know what I'm expecting.

"Usually it's Billie acting like this." I see his eyes gloss over, thinking back.

I pull him back forward. "Like what?"

His lips still smiling, he shrugs. "The wasted one."

His face immediately softens when he sees I've hardened mine. "No, I mean, you're not wasted... I mean, you are, but not, like, sloppy or anything. Shit, Logan. You know what I meant." Funny thing is, I don't know what he means.

I think some minutes go by. Mike has on a maroon shirt with army green pants. "I like you and Bill together, by the way. I've seen him with other girls, and he has never put up with so much shit from anyone as he has with you."

"What the fuck, Mike." I deadpan. Then I see the look of absolute horror on his face and I laugh a little. "That's the exact opposite of a..." I pause, thinking of what the word is. Still thinking... "Compliment."

He throws his right arm, the only one littered with tattoos, over my shoulders. He's cold. It seems everyone's cold besides me. "He willingly puts himself through hell for you, Logan."

Me and Mike say some other things after that, but it was all just noise between our lips. My buzzing brain is processing Billie putting himself through hell. All my mind comes up with is questions—as always and forever.

Is that love? Going through hell? Is he a closet masochist? He has to be because he's in a band... Where is he anyway?

"Hey, baby..." Someone says and it's like I'm hearing him underwater. "Look at me." I feel rough fingers gently try to raise my head. "It's alright. You're fine, babe."

Everything starts to swirl like the water in the toilet bowl. I'm wiping the back of my mouth with my sleeve. As I'm doing so, I hear Billie go "Uh..." and I realize that I shouldn't have done that because there is more puke on my mouth than I had anticipated. I can feel myself look up to him with big eyes, feeling like a complete child. A child lost in the supermarket, looking up at strangers like skyscrapers, hoping to see a familiar sight.

"It's fine. We'll get you changed." He crouches down in front of me, resting his arms on his knees, peering up at me through his eyelashes like I always like for him to do. I notice he's wearing a baseball cap backwards and I swear to god if this was the last moment I saw before I died, I would consider myself blessed. "Are you ready to get up?" He guides me up anyway—kinda puts his arms above my waist and seemingly effortless to me, pulls me up. He tells me he's gonna pick me up now and I just stand there waiting until he does. Bridal style, we walk out of the bathroom.

I'm quick to rest my heavy head against his neck. His cool skin is leaving goosebumps on mine. I press my head harder into him to lessen the rocking of my skull. I don't hear him complain or mutter under his breath once.

In the room, he tells me he's going to take my shirt off. I nod and raise my arms. He laughs to himself like a child before he slowly takes the clothing off. I feel instantly better and I collapse back onto the bed. Whoever's bed this is. He asks me if I want him to put one of his shirts on me. I shake my head, thinking of how good these bed sheets feel. Cool, cool, cool against my sizzling skin. I start fiddling with my jeans, trying to unbutton this death trap before Billie asks me if I want to put some different pants on. I tell him that I don't want any pants at all. He laughs again and I stop fumbling with my jeans and look up at him. I can't even see him because he turned the ceiling light on and it's like staring into the sun with binoculars. He is quick to spout off apologies and reaches to turn the light off. When he does, it's like heaven. The moon through the window is kissing his face.

"So no pants?" He laughs and it's like earlier when I'm missing the joke, because I don't think it's funny. I just want my goddamn pants off. He's still grinning like a fox and asks me if I want him to help. And all I can say is "please."

His hands pry my own away and rests them softly on the bed. I start watching my stomach go up and down, up and down, up and down, as my breathing gets heavier. I keep watching until my eyes want to look at Billie. And when I do, my breathing stops altogether.

He's tugging my pants off my knees. Looking so concentrated, as if not wanting to break anything. I appreciate that more than anything, because I feel like I most certainly could shatter to pieces at any moment.

He looks so cute in a backwards hat. I want to write him love letters and kiss the paper with red lipstick. I want to hold his hand all day and then kiss him on the cheek when he isn't paying attention. I want to have a mud fight with him and wash off under the hose in the backyard. I want to look for bugs and play hide and seek with him. I want grass stains on my jeans and scrapes on my hands that remind me of him. I want to smell like sunshine and sweat at the end of the day—with him.

A tear slides down my temple.

I hear him asking what's wrong and if I'm okay. And those questions don't seem like the right questions. I'm not sure myself what the right questions are, but I don't think those are it. I turn my head sideways and the tears fall across the bridge of my nose. They feel good against my skin. I start crying harder. Sobbing and it hurts my sore stomach.

I crawl to the top of the bed and hug a pillow. Shutting my eyes so tightly I start to see kid Logan running around in her neighborhood. Kid Billie is there too, with his backwards hat and all.

I hear myself start blubbering, "I just want to be taken care of I just want to be taken care of I just want to be taken care of." It's all one big sentence. One never ending, almost incoherent sentence that is rotting my brain. That has always been rotting my brain.

Billie has walked around the edge of the bed to reach my side. The moonlight is haloing him. Billie Joe Halo Armstrong. Beautiful boy.

I started hearing his voice underwater again. "But I am. I am, Logan. I am taking care of you." The light around him is blinding me and all I hear is "I am... I am..." before I start drowning.

Some minutes go by and he is finally beginning to cradle me. I feel too big in his arms. I rock into unconsciousness for a little bit, I guess. Behind my eyelids, I see kid Logan again. And she is dancing. But dancing alone.

When I come to, I am already talking. "I don't want to be alone anymore." I don't know how long I'd been saying it.

I look up at Billie Joe. He is looking out the window. The moon has gone behind a cloud.

And he looks out into the dark like it's going to swallow him whole. He is completely alone.