And You Can't Tell Anyone (Track Twelve: III) 2, chapter 38

*Tré*

"Would you quit pacing?" Mirabelle whined. "God, it's getting on my nerves."

Perversely, instead of simply walking back and forth through the living room, Tré began stomping with every step. Then, when that became boring, he commenced a two footed hopping that threatened to bring the living room down to the basement.

"Tré, knock it off," she snapped.

Abruptly, Tré came to a halt. "I do have right to be a little concerned, you know."

"Pssh," Mirabelle waved her hand dismissively. "She wants to go, then let her."

"She doesn't want to fucking go! I made her go!" Tré dragged his fingers down his face and moaned. "I should have never just stood by and let it happen."

"Let it happen? Tré, you made it happen."

"Not the part in the parking lot. I had no fucking idea about that. That dude came out of nowhere and I let him get in the car." He began thumping his forehead with the heel of his palm. With every hit, he spoke. "Bad...Tré...bad...bad.... For the love of sugar-coated, hickory-core, drumsticks--mm, now I'm hungry." He violently shook his head, "--I'm her friend! What kind of friend stands by and let's her get...get molested?" he roared.

Mirabelle rolled her eyes skyward. "Tré, she's gone. Get over it. People live on. You have to deal with right now, and forget the consequences."

"Not these consequence type things! This is just one big consequence! I hate consequences! My 'right now' is one big consequence." He cocked his head at her, "Live in the moment?" A wicked smile danced its way onto his lips.

She's never going to know what hit her.

In what he believed to be a rather sexy manner, Tré stroked his unshaven chin. As Mirabelle raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow in interest, he had to bite his lip to prevent himself from smirking. With as much cunning as any predator, he drew his fingers bath and forth across his lip. Leaving his mouth hidden, Tré angled down to his head to fix Mirabelle with an oh-so-dangerous stare.

Hell yeah, I'm fucking irresistible.

The thought had barely crossed his mind before Mirabelle was on him. She plastered herself against the drummer, with her arms wrapped tight around him. Tré tried to arch his back to get a little breathing room, but only resulted in having her hands skid up and down his spine.

Shit. She's fucking hornier than I thought. God, I should've just taken my chances with the dog.

Using the dog as a bit of a template, Tré gave the younger girl a sloppy, wet kiss. The average person should have been repulsed. To Tré's consternation, Mirabelle seemed rather the opposite.

This just keeps getting more and more interesting don't it?

If Mirabelle had not been attached via suction to his face, Tré would have been able to grin when a new plan popped into his head. Immediately, as was his way, he put it to action. Aside from a squeal, there was no effect at all from his groping of her butt. This was not quite working the way he planned.

I'm supposed to be the stud muffin seducer here! I guess a little more self sacrifice for the sake of revenge won't hurt too badly. Unless... Unless she rapes me, that might hurt. Euuugh. Nasty. Nastynastynasty-wrong!-nastynastynasty.

With a bit of temper, he pushed her back down onto the couch. Pinning her down and sitting with one knee on either side of her legs, he watched Mirabelle's lust-glazed eyes close.

You are so incredibly stupid

A minute ticked by and then she opened her eyes again. Tré widened his eyes, and cracked a grin that he knew made him look absolutely demented. Twitchily, he brought his face close to hers.

"You are a dumb bitch. You are a moron," he sing-songed, "You are a liar, and you've got it all wrong." He hooked his feet over her ankles so his calves were angling across her own. Warningly he shifted his weight, pinning her legs beneath his. "For your stupidity, you should be trampled to death by a rabid heard of...radioactive toilet seats or something. Did you really think that I would sleep with you?"

Her pale forehead furrowed into several lines as she remained in confused silence.

"You! You!" Tré laughed insanely. Every new burst of laughter made her flinch under his hands. "You thought that I would sleep with you? You tried to Mike in jail. Yeah, I'm going to fuck some bitch who lies so she can get my friend, into jail and my other friend, fucking kidnapped to God damn England!"

"If I'm that horrible," she hissed, "then what are you, pray tell? Not a saint, that's for sure. You could have stopped her from leaving. You wrecked your nice little home more than I did. You're the one at fault."

The words punctured the bubble of denial he had been trying to create. Roughly, Tré got off of the couch.

"Forget it. I'm leaving. Do whatever the hell you want. There's not much you can do to make things worse."

Tré swept up the pile of tattered, ruined, black clothes that was Mike's costume into his arms. Sternly, he grabbed his sneakers from the mat at the door and shoved them on. For a half second, he paused at the door. There was nothing but cold silence.

Why am I waiting here? he wondered in disgust.

He opened the door and stepped out into the cool morning air. Shaking his head, he started walking for home.

*Billie Joe*

According to Tré, it had been over three hours since Mike had last been spotted. Billie Joe was getting nervous. He picked up the phone and dialled the cell phone's number once again.

"The number you are trying to contact is currently out of service, please ha--"

Sighing in disgust, Billie Joe slammed down the phone.

Tré looked up from his spot on the corner of the counter. "Phone's still shut off?"

"Yeah. Why the fuck would he do that? He should at least remember that we want the news too."

From her seat at the kitchen table, Adrienne mused, "They don't allow cell phones on air planes."

Billie Joe raised his eyebrows at Tré who nodded.

"Yeah," the drummer conceded cautiously, "he could have got on the plane."

Unhappily, Billie Joe sighed. "No. He would need money to get a plane ticket."

"Maybe he got into a suitcase and is in the plane's cargo area?" Tré supplied hopefully.

Adrienne gave a wry smile, "We're talking about what Mike would do, not what you would do. Besides, isn't he a little large to fit in a suitcase?"

Tré waggled his eyebrows, "Not if the suitcase was big enough."

A sound of an engine outside sent Billie Joe sprinting to the kitchen window. Tré came crashing right behind, while Adrienne peered over their shoulders.

"Aw fuck," Tré breathed.

Billie Joe closed his eyes and hung his head. Adrienne's hand squeezed his shoulder. The intent was well, but it did not lessen the pain he felt at seeing Mike get out of the car alone.

"No, no," Tré mumbled. "He had to...." His speech quickly faded and became nothing more than an unfinished breath.

Slowly, the guitarist shook his head in shock while reopening his eyes. Stepping away from the counter window, he turned to plant a heavy-hearted acknowledging kiss on Adrienne's cheek.

In return, she put her hands on both his and Tré's shoulders. "It's horrible that she's gone," she said softly. "It's hard for me and I barely knew her. It's even harder for you two, and I can't even imagine what it must be like for him to lose her."

Damn, I should have never let her get away. Why am I so stupid? This is all my fault.

Adrienne touched Billie Joe gently on the chin. A sad smile just fractionally lifted the corners of her mouth. "I know you're trying to blame yourself. Don't. Whatever it was that caused her to leave, it was between her and Mike."

Before he could reply, the front door opened. Everyone remained silent as Mike stepped inside. Not making eye contact, the tall teenager shut the door. The finality of the movement killed off the last vestiges of hope in Billie Joe's heart.

Mike stood staring at the floor for a long time, saying nothing.

Man, I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say. If I ever lost Adie, I'd die. To reassure himself, Billie Joe pulled Adrienne close. Pityingly, he watched his friend in continued silence. Mike, you look two steps away from just lying down and dying.

Finally, Mike raised his head. His blue eyes were empty and lacklustre. There was no trace of emotion whatsoever. This kind of pain, Billie Joe had never seen. This intense apathy in a person normally so vivid and energetic was almost frightening.

The bassist sucked in a tiny breath and let it out, almost as if it hurt for him to breathe. When he spoke, his voice was low and hesitant. Dropping his gaze again he shuffled away down the hall alone.

Billie Joe despairingly buried his face into Adrienne's long black hair. In his mind, Mike's hushed words resounded like a thunderous death knell.

"I didn't make it."