Falling Out

“Holy fuck.” I took a swig of beer as I watched Tre and Mike look at me with complete surprise. I had explained to them that I just found out that I had a daughter and what had happened to her. I nodded my head.

“Is that why Amanda moved when we got back from tour?” Mike asked. I shrugged.

“I guess.”

“Are you sure she’s yours? Not that Amanda was a slut or anything, but you know that there are crazy people out there.” Tre said. I had that same thought.

“I got a DNA test when I was there. It was 99.9% certain that I was her father. I just can’t...I can’t believe Amanda would keep her from me. I know we were young and I was trying to pursue a music career but I would have taken care of Amber. I know I would have.” I shook my head, taking another swig. Mike patted my back.

“We know you would have, man. Amanda probably thought she made the best decision. Don’t hold it against her.” He reassured. He was right. Even though what Amanda did was wrong, she thought it was right. At least, I hope she did.

“I can’t believe Amanda is dead, though. She was the coolest chick ever. She could out drink me, for crying out loud.” Tre said as he stared at his beer bottle. He and Amanda were close. I always thought something was going on with the two of them but he reassured me numerous times that he and Amanda didn’t do anything. He was actually the person who introduced us.

I walked into Gilman and smiled as I looked at the crowd that was forming to see my new band, Green Day. I was surprised that people were still loyal to us after Sweet Children became no more.

I walked over to my bass player, who happened to be my best friend. He was sitting next to our new drummer who had a pretty girl sitting next to him.

“Bill-ay!” Tre shouted, already drunk. I nodded in his direction and sat down across from them. The pretty girl that was sitting next to Tre smiled at me. I had never seen such a beautiful smile. Tre wrapped his arm around the girl and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

“Billie Joe Armstrong I would like you to meet my very best friend in the whole world, Amanda Jean Benson. You two can fuck, if ya want. She ain’t giving it to me!” He laughed. Amanda removed Tre’s arm from around her.

“Thanks for giving him permission to fuck me, Tre. I’m so happy that you gave us your blessing because I didn’t think I could possibly do it with him without it.” Tre smiled.

“Happy to oblige, m’lady,” he said in a country accent. He tried to wink at me but both of his eyes wound up closing, which made me laugh. She turned to me and smiled.

“Please to meet you.” She held out her hand. I took it and shook it.

“She was so awesome and she could cook awesome.” Mike added. I didn’t say anything. We sat outside on the patio in silence, remembering the girl who changed our lives in some ways. I honestly think if it weren’t for her encouragement that Green Day wouldn’t have went past Gilman.



“Why did you do this to me?! Why!?” Aunt Carol’s tears fell on my face as her hands tightened around my throat. I was struggling underneath her, trying to break free. My eyes felt like they were about to pop out.

“You are nothing but a stupid whore!”

“Amber!” I sat straight up, barely missing someone’s head with my own. I brought my hands to my throat and started coughing. I couldn’t catch my breath. It was all too real.

“Amber, calm down!” I didn’t feel the tears stroll down my cheek but I knew they were there. I felt someone touch my leg. I jerked it back and looked up. Five set of eyes, all varying in colors, were staring at me. Billie Joe sat on the bed, his eyes full of concern and worry.

“Are you okay?” Adrienne asked. I wiped my face and nodded.

“Just a, uh...nightmare.” I took my hand from my throat and looked away from them. I didn’t like people staring at me. Especially famous people. They all looked at me with concern and pity. I couldn’t stand it.

“Can you guys leave, please?” I asked lowly. I hated being here. I didn’t know if I meant being here, as in Billie Joe’s house, or here, as in on this earth. I’ve always thought about suicide as a way out of the crazy life that I had. I mean, why wouldn’t I want to take my life with what I was going through? But I never did, obviously. I knew Mom wouldn’t want it.

“Sure, dear. If you want I can start a bath for you-”

“No!” I said a little louder than I had intended. Adrienne was taken aback by how loud my voice was.

“I’m sorry. I just...can’t ever take a bath. I’ll take a shower, okay?” She nodded before walking out, along with the other members of Green Day. I got off the bed and locked the door. I walked over to the desk grabbed my wooden butter fly shaped box. It was actually a simple Japanese puzzle box. It wasn’t as intricate as most of them. In fact, all you had to do to open this one was too move the lid at a slight angle and the rest unfolds open. I looked at the single object that inhabited this box. A silver blade.

I picked it up and looked at it. I knew my mom didn’t want me to kill myself, so I never did. But that didn’t stop me in finding other ways to escape, even for a second, the horrors of Jim and Carol. I sat on the bed and held the blade in my fingers. I hated resorting to this. I hated it. But I had to. This was the only constant in my life; the only thing that never disappointed me or let me down.

Sometimes this is how I shut things off. Well, most of the time. Jim and Carol never cared that I did this. All they cared was that I hid my scars and bruises, kept my mouth shut, did my chores, and take my beatings quietly.

I pulled my sleeve up and looked at the permanent reminders of how I escaped. They will never leave me. I will always be reminded of why I became a monster and tore at myself. Each scar carried with it a loaded memory that I tried to tuck away with its tissue. I placed the blade on my tinder inner forearm skin and closed my eyes. As I slid blade across my skin I exhaled slowly through tight lips, my body feeling calm as I did. When I did it a few more times, my eyes still closed, I felt my body relax more. I didn’t need to cry anymore. I didn’t need to remember anymore. I just needed it all to be threaded in scar tissue. All I did was concentrate on the coping mechanism that has left me scathed and filled with relief. This mechanism that has gotten me through these past years.

But like all things, it came to an end.

I stared at my arm as I watched the blood bubble up and pop. The crimson liquid fell down the curve of my forearm, coming to a halt right in the middle, almost falling. I pulled my sleeve back down, the fabric instantly absorbing the blood. I should probably hide this shirt. I don’t think my new father would like me doing this. I got up and placed the blade back in the box and closed it. I walked over to the chest and drawers and got some night clothes, making sure I had a long sleeved shirt. People always looked at me weird when I walked around school or at the grocery store when the weather got hot and I was wearing long sleeves. I had gotten used to it. It was really the only way to hide everything that I did to myself and what they did to me.

I unlocked and opened the door, jumping a little as I saw Billie Joe standing there. I shifted the clothes to my left arm, where the cuts were. I didn’t want him to see the blood stains on the shirt. He might take it away.

“You okay?” He asked. I shrugged.

“Look, I know we don’t know each other-” I interrupted him. I didn’t want to start getting mushy or sentimental or even talkative for that matter.

“Billie Joe, I would really like to take a shower. All I have had these past few days is a sponge bath and, well, I still feel dirty.” He nodded.

“Okay, well, when you get done I want you to come downstairs and meet the guys.” I shook my head.

“I’m not-um-I can’t, Billie. No-not right now, I can’t meet anybody. I just need to take a shower and try to go back to sleep.” I stammered. I didn’t want to meet anyone, especially two people I already knew their names. After what just happened, I felt embarrassed and didn’t want to meet anyone.

“I understand. But you have to meet them eventually. You can’t hide in your room, okay?”

“Alright.” He nodded once before walking away. I closed the door and walked down the hall silently to the bathroom. The bathroom was big, probably the size of my old room, and the tub and shower were separated. I set my clothes on the counter and looked at myself in the mirror. I still had bruises on my face and around my neck but they were starting to heal. There was a cut on my forehead where Carol had slammed my head against my desk. I took off my clothes, my sleeve sticking to my cuts. I looked down at my body. I wasn’t even surprised at the amount of bruises that littered my body. It was a familiar site.

I turned on the shower and walked in. I let the warm water cascade over my body, my eyes closing as it did. I began to clean my body, gently cleaning the dried blood from my arm. If I was a normal person, I would probably cry right now, thinking of everything that has happened to me in the past few days and my life. It all warranted crying. But I didn’t. I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to cry. I had already let the blood do that for me.

I got out and dressed in some cloth shorts and a big long sleeved shirt that was black. I grabbed my dirty clothes and put them back in the room, mentally reminding myself to wash them myself when I had accumulated enough clothes for a load. When I sat down on the bed, my stomach growled. I groaned. I hadn’t eaten since the nasty hospital food.

I sighed before getting up. I looked down at my legs, which were very bare with these shorts. My bruises and some scars from beatings and self-infliction were visible but the bruises hit the scars. I ran my hand through my long hair. I looked at the alarm clock, because I didn’t have a cell phone, which was on the table beside the bed and saw that it was a little past midnight. I had taken at least a 30 minute shower. Maybe everyone left or went to bed. I walked out of the room and went downstairs. I made sure I didn’t make any noise. When I was at the bottom of the stairs, I could hear the TV. My heart started thudding faster. I knew I shouldn’t come down here. Jim and Carol were awake. I was about to turn around and go back up the stairs before I remembered where I was at. I was in Billie Joe Armstrong’s house, who just so happened to be my father. I was sure that he wouldn’t be mad at me if I wanted to get some food.

I took a deep breath in and held it for two seconds before letting it out, calming my heart beat. I walked into the living room, making sure I didn’t look at whoever was on the couch, and walked to the kitchen, or what I thought was the kitchen. I didn’t really get a full tour of the house.

I sighed in relief when I walked through the right door that led to the kitchen. They had a nice kitchen. Granite counter tops with tiled back splash. They had all stainless steel appliances and an island in the middle. I walked over to the refrigerator. Before opening it, I looked at the happy smiles of the Armstrong family at some beach. I continued to examine the rest of the pictures and other mementos. About a fourth of the refrigerator was covered in magnets from all over the world and all the states that I am assuming Billie Joe and the rest of Green Day has been. I felt a little jealous. I never have been outside of Sacramento, California. I wasn’t even allowed to go on school trips when I was younger.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” I looked up and saw Tre standing in the door way, two empty beer bottles in his hands. I started to panic.

“I’m sorry. I was just hungry and I didn’t know if I was allowed to come down and get some food because I’ve never been allowed but I thought maybe Billie Joe wouldn’t care and I’ll just leave.” I said really fast, feeling like my heart was about to explode my chest.

“Whoa, hey, calm down. You can eat whatever you want. Billie won’t care.” He walked over to the garbage can and threw the bottles away. He walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. He started pulling out food. Butter, eggs, bacon, and sausage.

“Do you like breakfast food?” He asked. I nodded, afraid if I opened my mouth I would word vomit on him again. He walked over to the island and pulled out a pan.

“Okay, good because that’s all I know how to cook. Being hung over a lot has made my breakfast making skills improve. I can also cook all this food within ten minutes, all in the same pan.” He bragged.

“You don’t have to cook. I’m fine eating like yogurt or something.” He laughed and started cracking eggs into the pan, it already sizzling with melted butter.

“Really? Yogurt? I don’t even know why they invented yogurt. You can’t get full off of yogurt. Yogurt is a joke and its name sounds like something that comes out of your nose.” The room instantly started to smell of bacon when he put three pieces in the pan. I was still standing by the refrigerator, afraid to move. Tre only looked at my face, not at the rest of my body. I appreciated it.

He walked over to a cabinet and pulled out a plate and cup. He put all the food on the plate.

“Why don’t you sit down? You’re making me nervous just standing there.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I said. I walked over to the counter and sat down on a stool. Tre put the plate of food in front of me. He walked over to the refrigerator again and looked in it.

“What do you want to drink? They have apple juice, grape juice, milk, tea, and beer.” He looked at me.

“Um...apple juice.” He pulled out the jug and poured it in the glass, setting it in front of me. He walked to a random drawer and pulled out a fork, handing it to me. He looked at his watch.

“Damn, that took me 11 minutes.” I smiled a little before I started eating. Him cooking all the food in one pan made the eggs taste great. I looked at him. He was leaning against the counter, his chin resting on his hand, watching me eat. I wasn’t used to so much attention on me. Especially from someone who was doing it with a goofy smile.

“Do you like it?” He asked. I nodded.

“I need voice confirmation. Carbon dioxide helps inflate my ego.” He was trying to make me laugh. I appreciate it.

“Yes, it’s good.” I continued to eat it and he continued to stare at me. When I was done he grabbed the plate before I could put it up. He put it in the sink and left it there. I wanted to get over to it and wash it.

“Thank you for cooking.” I told him before walking out of the kitchen and up the stairs, making sure to not make eye contact with anyone that was in the living room. I gently closed the door and walked over to the bed. My ribs started to hurt. I usually ignored any pain that I was feeling but this pain did not want to be ignored. I grabbed the pain pills and took one without water. I got under the comforter and stared at the ceiling, it dark from the lack of lights. I was used to the blackness and silence. If it wasn’t for the pill I took I’d be more nervous; a big ball of nerves forming in the pit of my stomach. Because I would be waiting.

I reminded myself of where I was. I was safe or at least I thought I was. I don’t know how this man and his family were. They could be just as ruthless. Just as mean.

I took a deep breath, holding it until I couldn’t anymore and let it out. I waited for the pill to kick in and slowly went to sleep when it did.