Dirty, Rotten Bastard
Eleven
Billie Joe wandered down the newly ruined carpet of the basement stairs, cringing a little as he couldn’t avoid stepping on the stains that marked where Adrienne had spilt soup just yesterday. His mind said “spilt” but he’d known she’d thrown the bowl in what he guessed was frustration. He’d heard a clatter of dishes and at first, had thought she’d dropped something. Once he saw her sitting on the stairs crying her eyes out and covered in minestrone soup, he worried that she’d fallen.
“Are you okay?” He’d asked her that question again and again until the individual words themselves made no sense in his mind or hers; until the soup was cold and the kids were staring because the phone had been ringing for a straight five minutes. He hadn’t meant to yell at them. He certainly hadn’t meant to make Jakob cry. He wished Adrienne would have said something, something that might have hurt him back in return. But she was never the spiteful one.
Just the image of the two bowls lying face down on the carpet was enough to wipe his mind clean of everything else. The idea that she’d bought two bowls. The idea that she’d been intending to have dinner with him. And that was the thought, of all the thoughts that had lifted themselves out of his recent nightmares, that broke Billie Joe.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was sure it was familiar. His feet took him from the taxi to the curb as he fell out and to the gutter, face first in crud but not caring at all. His first few attempts to get back up hadn’t been so great, but then he could hear the drunken chatter and smell the scent of cigarettes and blood and it gave him a dangerous bout of newfound strength. He was at the bar surrounded by strangers, sipping then guzzling then asking – demanding – more. The people surrounding became a blur and their voices a haze as bottle by bottle Billie Joe lost himself at the bar without the intention of seeing himself return in the morning. In the back of his mind, he recalled the pills he’d been taking a few too many of lately. Even further back was a voice that screamed, that deafened Billie to all other voices. His Adrienne would do that, he thought to himself as his eyes began to droop. The lights above were blinding him, but through it all he saw a face.
“Bridget?” The face didn’t move, didn’t disappear as he had expected it to. He kept his focus on the booze, on the pills, on his screaming wife as he tore her heart straight from her chest once again just at the whisper of that name. The face still wasn’t moving, wasn’t blinking. Hands reached out towards him and he sprung up, almost shocked at what his mind was doing to itself, and he ran, kept running, until he could run no more.
It was an odd thing, to lose one’s self like that. Billie Joe thought about it for a while as he woke up in a hospital, feeling ill and feeling hungry but not wanting to care about any of it at all. He received a lecture on the way he’d been neglecting his injury as a nurse re-bandaged the wound at his side for him, and on how much harder it was going to be for him from now on without pain medication to soothe it. He figured that might happen. He didn’t even bother arguing about it, figuring it served his sorry ass right for abusing it in the first place, and partly knowing that there were other things to get his fix with, but not mentioning the medication he was on as the doctor came back in to ask him a few questions.
They informed him that his emergency contact must be out of date, as they weren’t answering the phone for the 4 hours he’d been under for and the many calls they’d been making.
“A Mrs Adrienne Armstrong? She is your wife and emergency contact, yes?” The pain wasn’t able to penetrate Billie Joe in his state as he tried to wrestle his clothes from the nurse who’d taken them from him as she realised he was trying to leave.
“You’re not leaving without somebody here to sign you out, I’m afraid.” Billie Joe could feel the anger rise at her uppity tone as she finally managed to snatch his belongings from his hands, now balled into the fists he wanted to use. And good God did he have a good think about that, really imagining that look being wiped straight off her face as he screamed at her: “Do you know who I am!? Do you know who I fucking am!?”
But they were gone before he could act on any of his stupid compulsions. He didn’t bother to check if they’d locked the door behind themselves, seeing as now that his vision was clearing up, he realised why the walls had looked so funny all this time, and it wasn’t because they’d been closing in all around him.
He got up and started to let it all out. The soft cushions of the adjacent wall only built his frustration as he continued to punch and felt only relief on his knuckles, leaving the anger and confusion behind as something else to ball up and stuff inside his already muddled mind.
“Are you okay?” He’d asked her that question again and again until the individual words themselves made no sense in his mind or hers; until the soup was cold and the kids were staring because the phone had been ringing for a straight five minutes. He hadn’t meant to yell at them. He certainly hadn’t meant to make Jakob cry. He wished Adrienne would have said something, something that might have hurt him back in return. But she was never the spiteful one.
Just the image of the two bowls lying face down on the carpet was enough to wipe his mind clean of everything else. The idea that she’d bought two bowls. The idea that she’d been intending to have dinner with him. And that was the thought, of all the thoughts that had lifted themselves out of his recent nightmares, that broke Billie Joe.
He wasn’t sure where he was going, but he was sure it was familiar. His feet took him from the taxi to the curb as he fell out and to the gutter, face first in crud but not caring at all. His first few attempts to get back up hadn’t been so great, but then he could hear the drunken chatter and smell the scent of cigarettes and blood and it gave him a dangerous bout of newfound strength. He was at the bar surrounded by strangers, sipping then guzzling then asking – demanding – more. The people surrounding became a blur and their voices a haze as bottle by bottle Billie Joe lost himself at the bar without the intention of seeing himself return in the morning. In the back of his mind, he recalled the pills he’d been taking a few too many of lately. Even further back was a voice that screamed, that deafened Billie to all other voices. His Adrienne would do that, he thought to himself as his eyes began to droop. The lights above were blinding him, but through it all he saw a face.
“Bridget?” The face didn’t move, didn’t disappear as he had expected it to. He kept his focus on the booze, on the pills, on his screaming wife as he tore her heart straight from her chest once again just at the whisper of that name. The face still wasn’t moving, wasn’t blinking. Hands reached out towards him and he sprung up, almost shocked at what his mind was doing to itself, and he ran, kept running, until he could run no more.
It was an odd thing, to lose one’s self like that. Billie Joe thought about it for a while as he woke up in a hospital, feeling ill and feeling hungry but not wanting to care about any of it at all. He received a lecture on the way he’d been neglecting his injury as a nurse re-bandaged the wound at his side for him, and on how much harder it was going to be for him from now on without pain medication to soothe it. He figured that might happen. He didn’t even bother arguing about it, figuring it served his sorry ass right for abusing it in the first place, and partly knowing that there were other things to get his fix with, but not mentioning the medication he was on as the doctor came back in to ask him a few questions.
They informed him that his emergency contact must be out of date, as they weren’t answering the phone for the 4 hours he’d been under for and the many calls they’d been making.
“A Mrs Adrienne Armstrong? She is your wife and emergency contact, yes?” The pain wasn’t able to penetrate Billie Joe in his state as he tried to wrestle his clothes from the nurse who’d taken them from him as she realised he was trying to leave.
“You’re not leaving without somebody here to sign you out, I’m afraid.” Billie Joe could feel the anger rise at her uppity tone as she finally managed to snatch his belongings from his hands, now balled into the fists he wanted to use. And good God did he have a good think about that, really imagining that look being wiped straight off her face as he screamed at her: “Do you know who I am!? Do you know who I fucking am!?”
But they were gone before he could act on any of his stupid compulsions. He didn’t bother to check if they’d locked the door behind themselves, seeing as now that his vision was clearing up, he realised why the walls had looked so funny all this time, and it wasn’t because they’d been closing in all around him.
He got up and started to let it all out. The soft cushions of the adjacent wall only built his frustration as he continued to punch and felt only relief on his knuckles, leaving the anger and confusion behind as something else to ball up and stuff inside his already muddled mind.
♠ ♠ ♠
OMG WHAT AN UPDATE!?No but really guys (all 20 of you poor lost souls trapped upon the deck as this ship sank last year some time) I'm so sorry this turned into one of those stories that was never updated.
But alas! I may have found my way again. So ALL ABOARD Capt'n Billie is on deck!
