Billie Joe Decided to Shut the Door to His Past, Once and For All, chapter 17

* * *

"Something to confess?" Mike asked frowning. Showing a minimal trace of interest, or something closely related to that emotion.

"Yeah," Tré nodded intensely. "Yeah, but first I just have to tell you what your dream means. I really think you need to know."

Mike frowned even more but this time he looked more like he couldn't make up his mind whether to tell Tré to go on or object and demand that his friend comes forth with the confession first. Finally he nodded once, and all of his emotions seemed to be thrown away by the movement.

"Okay," he agreed. "I'll listen and take what you say in consideration. But you do understand that in my opinion it's stupid and childish?"

"I do," Tré said, then laughed quietly to himself. "Heh, sounds like we're gonna get married," he giggled.

"This is obviously a serious situation to you, so what's so funny?" Mike asked monotonously.

"Nothing, dear" Tré answered trying to keep a straight face. "Nothing at all."

"I'm pretty sure you're breaking beneath the pressure here. You're goin' nuts Tré." Mike established.

"Maybe. But you and Billie have already caved in," his friend pointed out.

They where both silent for a while and the atmosphere felt really awkward, almost uneasy, as son as they had stopped talking. Therefore Tré hurriedly continued by telling Mike what Kathy had said about the nightmare. Mike listened to his friend's confusedly blurred out account without moving a mussel. When Tré finished at last he didn't say a word for a long time. He simply stood there watching his friend with his intense blue eyes. Tré squirmed while looking around in effort to avoid his friend's eyes.

"I didn't need some soothsaying to figure that out Tré," Mike said with a head shake.

"Well, no, but. No neither did I and yeah, but, well," Tré babbled, confusing himself.

"So, what was it that you wanted to confess?" Mike asked to end his friend's jabber and Tré did indeed fell silent.

"Well, eh, I don't know. It wasn't that important I guess," he shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

"Really? Then why did you come looking for me?" Mike wondered as he quirked an eyebrow.

"Um," Tré mumbled.

"Don't tell me you only came 'cuz of my dream," Mike sighed.

"Well, yeah that, and because I was sorta worried about you," Tré whispered like he was afraid to upset his friend. It wouldn't have to worry. Mike didn't have enough will to live to get upset anymore.

"You said that you had something to confess. Now do you or don't you?" he demanded to know. At least Tré thought it was a demand. It was so very hard to tell because of Mike's still monotone voice and empty, dead eyes.

"Fine," Tré muttered even though he had been the first one to mention it he acted like Mike was snooping. "There's something. Kinda important. But, I just need to know one thing. You won't think less of me will ya?"

Mike studied his friend's facial expression for a minute. Tré seemed very nervous. So unlike the person he usually was.

"Of course I won't," Mike assured him with a tiny smile. The smile only appeared forced and maybe tired though.

"No matter what?" Tré asked in a small voice and Mike simply nodded in response. "Good," sighed a somewhat relived Tré.

"First of all," Tré started, " It's not a big deal so keep your skirt on."

He tried to be funny to ease things up a bit, but unfortunately Mike didn't move a muscle, which made the whole situation even more unpleasant.

"Right," the quite stressed out drummer mumbled. "So this is the case. I think you know already. Well, in fact, I know that you know. Even though I didn't say it aloud the last time it got brought up.

Mike quirked an eyebrow and Tré swallowed hard. He realized that his friend knew exactly what he was talking about. A confession wasn't really necessary. His eyes had already said it all.

"Go on," Mike spoke as soft as his dead voice allowed. The drummer smiled gratefully at him.

"I," he started. Then he took a deep breath as if he was about to make a dive, and he sort of was. He was, more or less preparing himself to plunge into unknown reactions.

"I cut," Tré finally got out, "Myself. Here." He pointed at his thigh.

"I figured that much." Mike nodded. "So that's your confession, huh?" he asked softly.

"Pretty much, yeah," Tré said, smiling wryly. The rest would be classified as 'explanation' I think."

"I guess it would," Mike agreed. "But you don't need to explain yourself. Of course, if you want to talk about it, I will listen."

"Mike," Tré snuffled, smiling a heartwarming smile.

"Yeah?" Mike uttered with a voice that kept getting softer.

"I love you man. You're a great friend," the drummer said in a muffled voice.

Mike almost smiled. Or at least his lips twitched a bit.

"No, not really," he said. "I just thought that I misunderstood you quite a bit last time you tried to explain, "Mike made clear.

"Nah, I would appreciate if I didn't have to," Tré agreed. "I'll simply tell you what's worth knowing. Like a little story."

"A rather sad story," Mike assumed.

"Very," his friend confirmed. "And sickening," he made a small pause. To think or, perhaps, to collect his courage. "Anyway, it started out as an accident. I think I mentioned that the last time we talked about it."

Mike nodded.

"It was the truth," the drummer continued. "I was cutting some cheese-"

"Cheese? Go figure," Mike interrupted with a half smile.

"Then I slipped, being my clumsy, but might I add super sexy, self. The blade touched my hand and left a tiny line. The line slowly turned red by a rivulet of blood. I just watched the minimal wound bleed until it dried up. To tell you the truth I was kinda fascinated. After a while I snapped back to reality and everything just slapped me in the face. I mean really. All worry, anxiety, everyday chords, just e.v.e.r.ything. That's when an idea started to take shape. Like, what an easy and simple way to escape from all my troubles. It actually even worked better than playing the shit outta my drums."

"Tell me about it," Mike muttered, his voice going monotone once more while his face went blank.

"Man," Tré sighed, "I feel like some emo kid. Talking about that cutting shit."

"I guess it's mainly teens that harm themselves in that way," Mike started.

The drummer laughed a joyless laugh.

"You would think that grown ups, especially as old as us, would know better." He shook his head in disgust. "Pathetic."

"Most of all it's just sad though," Mike said.

"How do you mean, sad?" Tré asked somewhat puzzled.
"Cutting is kinda common among teens now days, right?" Mike started.

"Right," Tré said even though he wasn't quite sure where Mike was going.

"They do it for different reasons and feel and think differently," Mike carried on. "Some of them, maybe most, won't admit that it doesn't help. Not in the long run."

"What's your point?" Tré asked still confused.

"Well, at least I should know better than to cut myself. It's just sad that I do it none the less. I guess it's just like ay other addiction in a way, but still, "the bassist explained.

"Yeah, that's true, "his friend said. "But, at least for me, it feels like time starts going counter clockwise. You know, like returning to your teenage years."

"That's pretty much exactly what it feels like," Mike agreed.

* * *

Billie Joe strode over to the front door and simply opened it. He smirked a little at the Canadians' way of leaving their doors unlocked. He was always intrigued by a behavior which put so much trust in the goodness of fellow beings. He himself wouldn't ever consider trusting people around him to such a degree. Especially since he didn't even trust himself.

The short, black haired man silently shut the door behind him and started sneaking through the house, ever moving towards the attic, and as he moved he could feel the lurking shadows of old memories in every step he took. His smirk turned into an evil smile as he reached it. The thing that conjured his wicked smile was the fact that it was very clean. There was no dust covering the attic's floor. No dust meant less work for Billie Joe. Had it been dirty it would have been necessary to clean up. Otherwise there would have be a lot of footprints. Very unwanted footprints.

Billie Joe carefully put down his shoes. He had taken them of before he entered the house. One can never be too careful. And Billie Joe was always very, very careful.

After making some vital arrangements the guitarist silently headed to the bedroom, where he knew that she was sleeping for the moment. While he slowly made his way there he sensed Jimmy lurking just beneath the surface. He watched, and he waited. Waited patiently in every breath, every blink of the eye and in every feverish thought. Quietly consuming the last doubts, the last fear and hesitation. Billie Joe had been shattered by him. Simply ripped apart, then collected piece by piece to finally be reconstructed. Put together into a different person with the help of Jimmy. That person was the one who reached the bedroom.

He entered the room, walking inside almost like a shadow, stopping right by her bed.

For a while he simply watched her thinking how strange it was to face memories from so long ago. There she was. Real. Present. Not a fading, flickering light flashing in the back of the mind. Seeing her threw him back in time and inside his head he relived that part of his life.

When returning to the present Billie Joe imagined taking a big scissor. No, not just an ordinary one. This one was different, special. This one was silver. All the way through. Silver. He turned the made up object in his hand. Then he lifted it putting it against the obscure line attached to his past. For a second he let it rest, hovering in the air, like he was hesitating. Next he made a cutting motion, ripping himself apart from the person he had created during the decades. He blinked a few times as if he were surprised before he again focused on the sleeping woman.

"Hello," he whispered and his smile changed until it was a monstrous grin. "Hello, dear Whatsername.

* * *

Half awake and half asleep she rolled onto her back. There was an unpleasant feeling hanging over her. It felt like someone was watching her. Someone who didn't exactly have her best interest in mind. Slowly she opened first one eye and then the other, blinking because of the bright light. When she finally was able to see anything she sat straight up in bed, staring at the wide eyed at the stranger in front of her. At first she was too shocked, and way too scared to even make a noise. Eventually she settled down enough to talk since the unknown man in her bedroom did nothing but looking at her.

"Are you human?" she asked with a shaky voice. Perhaps it was an odd thing to ask but it [i]is<i/> rather strange to find an unknown man staring at you when you wake up.

"Honestly?" he said grinning. She nodded. The short man laughed a cold laugh which didn't contain the slightest trace of joy. "To tell you the truth I have no idea. I'm not a ghost if that's what you meant. Neither am I some kinda demon. At least I don't think so," he added thoughtfully then smiled wryly.

"You're a human being. You must be. Either that or this is a nightmare. Wake up, wake up. Oh, please wake up," she whimpered.

"Wouldn't be too sure about me being human, missy," the man said while watching her intently. "I guess you could say that I'm a figment of my father's rage and my mother's love."

"What?" she questioned even more bewildered.

"In here," Billie Joe tapped with two fingers against his forehead, "there is a person. He calls himself Jimmy. Or perhaps I gave him that name. That's not what's important however. What's important is that Jimmy, as much as an illusion he might be, wants to get rid of certain memories. Maybe he wants to, shall we say, rest in peace," the guitarist added thoughtfully.

"I don't understand," the words came as a tiny, scared whisper across her shaking lips.

"You don't need to," Billie Joe said in a soft but cold voice. Then he added sort of afterwards. "You're right. This might be some kind of insane nightmare. Only, you'll never wake up."

"I don't understand," she repeated on the verge of tears. "What have I done? I don't understand, I don't understand-" and as she spoke her voice died into whisperers.

"Shhh, don't you cry now," Billie Joe hushed, or was it Jimmy? "The only thing you need to do for me m'dear, is to die," he ended. Then he started to laugh manically and she screamed.

* * *

"Why are you doing this to me?" she sobbed. "What have I done?" Her teardrops fell silently as she went things over and over again.

"Mommy?" a voice came floating towards her from across the room. By the door stood her upset and confused son.

"Mommy, why aren't my brother or daddy coming home? Why don't they wanna be with us?" he sobbed while clinging to the door handle.

"Come here, sweetie," Adie said in a comforting voice and Jakob walked over to her.

"Don't they lover me anymore?" the young boy sobbed, his lower lip trembling.

"Aww, of course they do, honey," his mother assured as she picked him up and embraced him. "Of course they do."

Adie's mood swung from almost apathy to anger and despair. At times she would more or less stare blankly ahead while sometimes she did everything possible in order to locate her husband. While she tried to cheer her youngest son up the familiar anger returned. It spread through her body like wildfire, burning an already signed soul. She felt as if her blood boiled in its veins.

"How could he," she thought bitterly, gritting her teeth. "Fuck him. I'm not gonna waste my time searching for him. No way."

For an hour or so Adie quietly raged against Billie Joe. Jakob had finally fallen asleep by then. His worry had kept him up all night long. Adie decided to carry him to his room and tuck his in. Thereafter the tears came trickling once more. It was around that time Adie made up her mind. She wouldn't take it anymore. She just couldn't.