And You Can't Tell Anyone (Track Twelve: III) 2, chapter 35

Tré woke up from his spot on Mike's floor. It was the unspoken rule in the household that if someone was going on a date, his room was automatically vacated to the dater alone. Tré had no worries about Mike being annoyed about his borrowing the room. After all, Mike was somewhere else entirely.

A bit of guilt pricked Tré for his actions. Nervously, he chewed on his lip. It's not like I did anything really wrong. It's all part of the Game. No matter what, I'll come out the winner. There's no rules, so I can't technically cheat. Still, his conscience persisted in making him feel miserable. I gotta go do something.

After all, if he had done all this work, why not enjoy the rewards? Tré had the feeling he should be more excited than he was feeling. With less exuberance than usual, he pulled on his clothing. Slowly, he padded down the hall to the kitchen. The site of Billie Joe, sitting on the counter with his head in his hands, made the drummer pull up short.

Concerned, Tré asked, "Hey? What's up?"

Billie Joe shook his head and mumbled, "Nothing."

Like hell there isn't.

"Did Adrienne dump you last night?" Tré asked sweetly.

"Tré, could you just shut up?"

"Well, fuck me upside down, someone's in a bitchy mood." Tré came over and stood in front of the guitarist. "C'mon, tell me."

"I'm not saying anything. I promised. Besides, you've got a big mouth and it'll be all over the house in seconds." Billie Joe slid off the counter and brushed coldly past the bewildered drummer.

Hands propped on his hips, Tré frowned as Billie Joe disappeared into the bath room. A terrible dread started his guts to churning. What's going on? Quickly, Tré paced down the hall and stopped in front of Wren's room. With suddenly chilly hands, he opened the door and looked inside.

It was empty. Now, Tré's nerves started knotting his intestines into a series of knots. He wrenched open a dresser drawer, and found it vacant. All her clothing was gone. Hopefully, he opened others and found the same result. She had left, and it looked like she was not coming back.

Tré barged into the bathroom without knocking.

"Jesus!" Billie Joe quickly pulled up his boxers. "Tré, what is your problem?"

"Where is she?"

"Where's who?" Billie Joe kept his eyes on his hands as he grabbed a bar of soap.

"Fuck," Tré hissed as he stormed out. Great. Just great! Of course it would turn out like this. He broke into a jog, skidding through the kitchen. As he rammed on his shoes, Billie Joe came into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" Billie ran his hand through his bleached hair.

"I'm going out for a drive." Tré exited snatched up the car keys from the counter before heading outside.

Billie Joe followed him onto the driveway. "Tré, she doesn't want to be found."

"Is this a whole Mike thing? Are you just going to let her do this? I mean they can break up if they want to, but this fucking off without a trace? I don't think so." Tré jumped into the car, "Billie, tell me where she went."

"I can't. Tré, she's pretty level headed. If it was that big of a deal to make her do this, then maybe we should just let her." Billie threw up his hands in agitation. "I don't know!"

"Billie, please. Quit being a noble prick. Sometimes it's hot, but right now, it's just fucking annoying!" Every second that Tré wasted here, she was getting that much farther away. Mike will kill me if he finds out.

Instead of replying, Billie Joe ran into the house. Tré felt a wild desire to gnaw on the steering wheel in order to repress a scream of frustration. He was throwing the car into reverse when the guitarist returned. He tossed a cell phone into Tré's lap.

Confused, Tré picked it up and put it on the dash. "And what the fuck am I to do with this?"

"She made me promise not to tell until eight this morning. I'll phone you okay?"

"Billie, just tell me now! She'll be anywhere by then!" Tré snarled as Billie Joe shook his head. Tré sighed and slammed the car door shut. "You phone me at eight and not a second later!"

In very little time at all, Tré was parked a few blocks from the Latertons. As fast as he could, he scuttled into the yard and around to the pool house. Dancing in agitation, he knocked on the door rapidly. Sleepily, Mirabelle opened the door.

Tré put on what he believed to be his sexiest smile. "Hey, how's things?"

She raised an eyebrow, "He hasn't done anything. What brings you around so early?"

God, this is disgusting. But hey, all for the greater good, right?

Tré leaned forward and pressed a smouldering kiss upon her lips. "Nothing much. I just want to make sure he's alright. I should probably take him back home."

Mirabelle rolled her eyes, "Whatever. He's still in the basement."

*Mike*
A searing calf cramp caused his leg to spasm painfully, and he awoke . Groaning, the bassist tried to shift to a better position to relieve the tense muscles. He had to get free before he died. It seemed like it had been ages since he had last taken a drink; his mouth was so incredibly dry. Mike leaned against the post he was tied to and rubbed his face against it. Maybe, just maybe, he could rub off the blindfold.

A door opening made him freeze. Hope sprang up as he heard the footsteps come down the stairs. They kept coming, and then scuffed across the cement floor.

"Oooh fuh fuff arr ooh?" Damn gag!

Mike tensed as a hand rested on his shoulder. A second later, lips grazed his cheek. Muttering swears, Mike jerked his head away. The hands slid down his chest possessively. Anger boiled in the bassist's veins.

This is fucking sick!

He continued squirming as the person rested their cheek against his. Mike was shocked into a moment of pity. He stopped squirming. It was with startling clarity that he noticed two distinct things. The other person's cheek was wet with tears, and they bore stubble.

Mike blindly looked in the direction of his obviously male captor. "Thray?"

The bassist's query made the other man remove himself immediately. Mike snarled muffled incomprehensible curses at the person as he heard them leave. Their immediate departure told Mike he was perfectly correct in his assumption of the man's identity.

The anger and disbelief started simmering anew. "Fuh ob a bifth." The stupid senselessness of the situation struck him full force. Mike sat in silence as it sunk in.

As soon as it had, he roared his captor's name so loudly that it clearly penetrated the cloth in his mouth.

"TRÉ!"