A Note Never Came Easy, chapter 4
Tre got up from his bed and slowly pondered down stairs, an empty glass in his hand.
Rubbing his hand against his temple he yawned, taking each step slowly as he had just gotten out of bed and literally woken up.
It was about 2 in the morning.
Taking in a deep inhale of air, he stepped into the kitchen and turned on the light, taking a few minutes to take in his surroundings before actually stepping into the room.
Heading over to the sink, he slowly turned on the tap and filled up his glass again with water.
Talking a gulp with a satisfying sigh that followed, he closed his eyes for a few moments to try and clear his head.
Looking out of the window that only showed his reflection because of the lightened room compared to the dark world outside, he sighed.
He was in such a mess, and still he couldn't grasp what had happened.
He hovered over the sink for a while, groaning as he pressed his hand to his temple from feeling so groggy.
Billie Joe hated him, and he knew it.
The guilt he was feeling right now was overwhelming, and he couldn't fight it. He couldn't even think to face Billie again.
*
Looking up I saw the scaffolding situated in front of a building behind him start to topple.
"Tre!" I screamed at the top of my voice. "Tre! Get out of the way!"
I stood there, in the middle of the crowd, yelling at the top of my lungs for him to move.
"Move out of the way Tre!!!"
But he just looked around, slightly dumbfound and terrified by the whole thing.
And I was terrified for him.
Billie Joe and Mike had gone ahead, leaving me standing there and crying out hysterically at the drummer - my best friend.
"Tre! Move! Tre!" I screamed, panicking.
I saw the scaffolding start to tumble and then, like an instant reaction, shot forward and lunged at Tre. Everything moved so quickly around me as I neared him in a sprint. Shoving him out of the way I winded him, causing him to fall back and crash to the ground.
*
I killed her. I killed her, I killed her, I killed her. I fucking killed her.
It hurt him too much to even think about it. When things had finally just settled down, he then had had to go and ruin it all.
I'm a dipshit. Why was I standing there anyway? Why did I have to let her push me?
Why did she even care so much to push me out of harms way?
Drinking the rest of his water, he put the glass into the sink before drawing his arm across the bottom part of his face to wipe his mouth.
Letting out a shaky breath, he rubbed his eyes and turned to head back upstairs.
*
I was desperately searching through my suitcase to find something suitable to wear for the audition tomorrow.
All my shit was spread out across the bed and floor in heaps, making the place a shit tip.
I then realized I didn't have anything 'impressible' with me to wear. Everything was still at home. I hadn't intended to stay this long in America.
I knew that the only solution was to go out and buy some new clothes. I could do with some anyway. I knew I had a little bit of money left over in my bank, so I suppose buying a few things wouldn't hurt.
I shoved on my battered converse and grabbed my bankcard and hotel room key before plodding down the various sets of hotel stairs. As I ran hurriedly down the stairs, taking flight as I went, I crashed into someone and head butted them hard.
"Aw, fuck." I groaned, taking a step back and holding my head in pain.
"Fucking hell, what are you? Some kinda bull?" Tre sarcastically cried, rubbing his head too.
"Sorry dude." I groaned again, closing my eyes to see if it would make the pain any better.
"What the fuck were you doing?" He asked, frowning. "Taking flight?"
"Something like that." I replied, looking at him and winching.
"Where are you off too anyway, bounding down the stairs like that?" Tre asked, looking at me, still frowning.
"Shopping." I told him, feeling slightly light headed now.
"What for?"
What was with the questions all of the sudden? Did he have to know all the details? I wanted it to be a surprise what I wore tomorrow, not that it would mean much to them though.
"Clothes." I replied, before starting to walk back down the stairs again.
"I'll come with you." Tre called to me, smiling.
I spun round on the step, looking back up at Tre, trying not to laugh.
"What? You shop with me for girls clothes?" I mocked, smirking.
"I'm full of surprises." He laughed, cheekily smiling. "Trust me. I'm a pro when it comes to that."
*
Creeping up the stairs again, the drummer reached the 2nd floor and slowly dragged himself back into his room.
He headed towards his bed and lowered himself in, draping the sheets over him once again and snuggling up to the pillow.
He seemed to stare out across to the other side of his room for what seemed like ages, but his mind was focused elsewhere.
Was she in a lot of pain when it happened? Is she safe up there now? Is she looking over Billie Joe? Keeping him safe?
If she were still here, she'd hate me.
Closing his eyes for a few moments, he tried to rest his mind and fall back to sleep again.
Because the only way he felt he could get away from it all was through sleeping.
Unlike Billie Joe, who even dreamt about Stef and could never escape what had happened, no matter what he did or tried.
Tre felt so sad for his friend, but whether Billie wanted him to be his friend or not was a different matter.
He didn't even know if he would be allowed to attend to the funeral or not, or whether it would be safe for him.
He didn't want to start uproar by showing up and causing another fight between him and Billie, but he did also have the right to be there.
Just as much as Billie Joe did.
Just because it had been him that Stef had pushed away the way, it didn't change anything.
He was her close friend. He had always stuck by her, helped her when things got tough. She always opened up her heart to him when she didn't know what to do between her and Billie Joe, and he had always done his best to try and help her.
He even knew things that she had told him that she hadn't Billie Joe.
And that made him feel even guiltier. He felt as if he was constantly lying and cheating on his friend.
He wanted to tell Billie Joe, just so that he knew. But he also knew that if he told him, then Billie might turn against him even more.
It was a vicious circle that he loathed.
He opened his eyes again and sighed, draping back the sheet that lay over him and rolling out of bed.
He was wearing a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms with a slightly over larged Ramones T-shirt that hung on his frame loosely.
His feet padding across the hallway, he headed into the end room, turning the light on once he had opened the door.
The smell of polish met his nose as he entered the room, looking around once he was fully inside.
This was his music room, where he kept his awards that weren't already on his walls in the living room, a cabinet full of various awards as well as framed ones also decorated the room.
An issue of 'Drummer' magazine hung on the wall in a frame on the wall to the left of him, with a picture of himself on the front that had been taken back in 2004.
One of his many drum kits stood in the corner of the room, polished to the finish as the light bounced off of the cymbals.
Looking around saddened, he walked up to the cabinet that held a set of drumsticks along with the awards. Looking across the top shelf, his eyes laid upon a photo of the band in a photo frame.
Twitching his lips to the side slightly, he picked up the frame and looked at the photo carefully.
There were 7 of them in the photo. To the right was Mike with Jason Freese who had his arm around the bassist, next was Tre himself smiling like there was no tomorrow, his drumsticks situated in his hands. Next to Tre was Ronnie Blake, a plastic cup in his hand as he beamed at the camera, standing next to Jason White who was smiling too, and stood with one of his hands on his hip. And then there was Stef, and Billie Joe on the far left was his arm around her, pulling her close to him as they both joined in with everyone else in smiling at the camera.
They all looked so happy, it pained on Tre's heart to know that someone from that picture was no more.
And it was all because of him.
Looking away from the picture saddened still, he placed the frame back onto the shelf, but instead of standing it up, he placed it face down so the picture couldn't be seen no more.
Walking away and sighing deeply, he turned to face his drum kit that had the Green Day name logo and heart grenade on the bass drum.
Glancing up, he took in all of the various awards he had received through out the years for different reasons.
He couldn't help but feel both sad and angry at the same time and think that maybe it was all over.
Green Day had finished and it had all come to an erupt end.
It killed him slowly inside because he loved the band, and he knew they were great at what they did - making music.
But he knew things could never be the same again.
For some strange reason, he really wanted Frankito or Ramona to be there with him, just so he wasn't on his own.
He just wanted somewhere there with him right now, to make him feel loved and wanted by someone still.
Because right now, he felt so cold inside and lonely, like everyone was rejecting him.
Even Mike had been too occupied with Billie Joe lately to even see how he was doing.
It hurt him inside.
If it was one thing that he wanted, it was to turn back time and make sure that the scaffolding had fallen on him instead of Stef.
Heck, he knew Billie Joe would have been happier that way.
Thinking back to all the times he and Billie had fought over the last year, it only occurred to him then that it had always been over the same thing.
Over the same person even.
If he had died instead of Stef, then at least Billie Joe could have put his mind to rest and not have to worry about him and Stef getting too close for his liking.
He was really bitter about it, so much that he even thought for sure that Billie Joe wanted him dead right now.
Turning out of the room and turning off the light before drawing his hand down the wall, he closed the door.
Slowly he trudged back to his room down the darkened hallway once again, entering back into his room.
Leaning back down onto the mattress, he felt as if he was falling endlessly.
He draped the sheets back over his tired aching body and rolled onto his side where he stared at the alarm clock that shone through the darkness.
2.24 AM.
He wondered what Billie would be doing right now, whether he would be asleep, in a hotel, sitting on a bench in the dark somewhere, or even passed out in a ditch drunk.
He also thought about Adrienne and the boys, wondering if they knew yet and how they were coping.
Even Mike crossed his mind. He hadn't seen him in such a long time; he didn't even know what he was feeling or how he was dealing with the sudden death.
Tucking his hands together under his head so they were wedged between his head and the pillow, he nestled down, curling his legs up a little so he was in a spooning position.
And as he continued to think of just about everything that happened in the last year, he found himself crying himself to sleep.
Just like Billie Joe had done two nights ago alone in the hotel room.
I couldn't help but love her.
* * * * * * * *
Hitting the bottle was the only thing that Billie Joe was good at doing at the moment.
Downing another Jack Daniels his mind seemed to faze out for a few seconds before he could just about make out a few lights here and there.
Still, it didn't stop them from being blurry though.
He found it quite amusing, but only because he was so smashed out of his face to even know what he was doing.
Unknown to him, he was also gaining a few curious looks over in his direction from the public.
He sat slumped on a stool, leaning onto the bar with his head in his hands, his eyes closed and his world continuously spinning.
"You alright mate?" The bartender asked him, stopping in front of him on the other side of the bar and leaning in.
Billie Joe just let out a loud agonizing groan. Even doing that hurt his head.
"How much have you had tonight?"
"Don't... know... " Billie grumbled, shaking his head in his hands in between groans of discomfort.
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before looking up, bloodshot and oblivious to what was happening, whom he was talking to or where he was.
"My wife hates me." He mumbled letting out a sob that was somewhat pathetic considering the state he was in.
"I'm sure she doesn't." The barman told him, wiping up a spillage a few feet away.
Billie slouched in his stool and he sat up a bit.
"Yes... she does," he added, sighing. "She hates me and she says that I'm - I'm a bad fa-father... "
He couldn't even speak properly.
"Oooo, that's harsh." The sober man commented, frowning, but still not looking at the wreck that was Billie Joe Armstrong.
He was probably used to these sort of conversations, considering the job he was in.
After a few seconds, Billie Joe put his elbow onto the bar and started pointing around in a protest.
"You know, I was - I was going to leave her." He hiccupped.
"You were?"
"Yeah," Billie started to ramble, his focus of sight ahead of him and so blurry he couldn't see anything, only hear. "I was going to leave her for someone else."
"Ah, ... see. It doesn't always turn out as planned." The barman told him raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. "We all try it sometimes."
"No, but - but this was different!" Billie cried out trying to get him to understand. "We were going to get married, have a place together, maybe start a family... "
"I hate to tell you this mate, but maybe she didn't really love you. Maybe it was just a bit of fun to her. Maybe she used you."
Billie Joe bit the inside of his cheek. He kept doing because he couldn't feel the pain from the amount of alcohol he had been drinking.
She didn't use me. She loved me. She loved me. Did she? Did she love me? What if she didn't love me? She must have loved me. She must have! I loved her...
"No, she didn't use me." Billie told him, a mist sadly. "I know she didn't. Because she said that she wished she -- could be here to spend the rest of her life with me."
The last statement was more of something to tell himself. What he didn't know was how loud he was speaking to himself.
*
He nodded, his lip trembling and his nostrils flaring as he cried. It was like he knew I was going to die, but he just didn't want to believe it.
"And remember I'll always be with you yeah? I always love you no matter what and I'm just sorry I can't spend the rest of my life with you."
"Stef, please... " He sobbed, as if telling me to stop as he dipped his head.
"I love you with all my heart and I would have loved to have spent the rest my life with you."
He quivered as he cupped the side of my face with his hand and lent the side of my head onto it.
"I would of loved to have had our family... "
*
"She said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me."
The barman smiled as he finished wiping up the mess someone had left at the bar from a drink and went to stand in front of Billie, cleaning up a glass at the same time.
He looked up every now and again during his conversation with the broken guitarist, noticing how far gone he actually was in the land of drink-today-throw-up-tomorrow.
"Well, if you say so mate." He told him, putting the glass away under the bar.
"I would be with her now - If - she hadn't died."
The barman suddenly looked up into the eyes of Billie Joe, quite shocked at what he had just said.
"I'm - Oh shit man, I'm sorry." He apologized, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
"No, it's... it's ok." Billie told him, cupping his empty glass. "Not that many people understand. I just sometimes wish someone would help me and listen to what I have to say without shouting back."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean by that." The barman added, thinking about an issue related to what Billie had just said.
Looking at the guitarist, he realized the empty glass in his hands as he stared at it.
He understood how much the guy wanted to drown his sorrows in the drink, but he also, quite heartlessly, thought about how much money he could squeeze from him for more drinks.
"Another Jack Dan?" He offered, pointing to the glass.
Billie passed the glass to him across the counter top, grinning a little at the thought.
"You know it."
Rubbing his hand against his temple he yawned, taking each step slowly as he had just gotten out of bed and literally woken up.
It was about 2 in the morning.
Taking in a deep inhale of air, he stepped into the kitchen and turned on the light, taking a few minutes to take in his surroundings before actually stepping into the room.
Heading over to the sink, he slowly turned on the tap and filled up his glass again with water.
Talking a gulp with a satisfying sigh that followed, he closed his eyes for a few moments to try and clear his head.
Looking out of the window that only showed his reflection because of the lightened room compared to the dark world outside, he sighed.
He was in such a mess, and still he couldn't grasp what had happened.
He hovered over the sink for a while, groaning as he pressed his hand to his temple from feeling so groggy.
Billie Joe hated him, and he knew it.
The guilt he was feeling right now was overwhelming, and he couldn't fight it. He couldn't even think to face Billie again.
*
Looking up I saw the scaffolding situated in front of a building behind him start to topple.
"Tre!" I screamed at the top of my voice. "Tre! Get out of the way!"
I stood there, in the middle of the crowd, yelling at the top of my lungs for him to move.
"Move out of the way Tre!!!"
But he just looked around, slightly dumbfound and terrified by the whole thing.
And I was terrified for him.
Billie Joe and Mike had gone ahead, leaving me standing there and crying out hysterically at the drummer - my best friend.
"Tre! Move! Tre!" I screamed, panicking.
I saw the scaffolding start to tumble and then, like an instant reaction, shot forward and lunged at Tre. Everything moved so quickly around me as I neared him in a sprint. Shoving him out of the way I winded him, causing him to fall back and crash to the ground.
*
I killed her. I killed her, I killed her, I killed her. I fucking killed her.
It hurt him too much to even think about it. When things had finally just settled down, he then had had to go and ruin it all.
I'm a dipshit. Why was I standing there anyway? Why did I have to let her push me?
Why did she even care so much to push me out of harms way?
Drinking the rest of his water, he put the glass into the sink before drawing his arm across the bottom part of his face to wipe his mouth.
Letting out a shaky breath, he rubbed his eyes and turned to head back upstairs.
*
I was desperately searching through my suitcase to find something suitable to wear for the audition tomorrow.
All my shit was spread out across the bed and floor in heaps, making the place a shit tip.
I then realized I didn't have anything 'impressible' with me to wear. Everything was still at home. I hadn't intended to stay this long in America.
I knew that the only solution was to go out and buy some new clothes. I could do with some anyway. I knew I had a little bit of money left over in my bank, so I suppose buying a few things wouldn't hurt.
I shoved on my battered converse and grabbed my bankcard and hotel room key before plodding down the various sets of hotel stairs. As I ran hurriedly down the stairs, taking flight as I went, I crashed into someone and head butted them hard.
"Aw, fuck." I groaned, taking a step back and holding my head in pain.
"Fucking hell, what are you? Some kinda bull?" Tre sarcastically cried, rubbing his head too.
"Sorry dude." I groaned again, closing my eyes to see if it would make the pain any better.
"What the fuck were you doing?" He asked, frowning. "Taking flight?"
"Something like that." I replied, looking at him and winching.
"Where are you off too anyway, bounding down the stairs like that?" Tre asked, looking at me, still frowning.
"Shopping." I told him, feeling slightly light headed now.
"What for?"
What was with the questions all of the sudden? Did he have to know all the details? I wanted it to be a surprise what I wore tomorrow, not that it would mean much to them though.
"Clothes." I replied, before starting to walk back down the stairs again.
"I'll come with you." Tre called to me, smiling.
I spun round on the step, looking back up at Tre, trying not to laugh.
"What? You shop with me for girls clothes?" I mocked, smirking.
"I'm full of surprises." He laughed, cheekily smiling. "Trust me. I'm a pro when it comes to that."
*
Creeping up the stairs again, the drummer reached the 2nd floor and slowly dragged himself back into his room.
He headed towards his bed and lowered himself in, draping the sheets over him once again and snuggling up to the pillow.
He seemed to stare out across to the other side of his room for what seemed like ages, but his mind was focused elsewhere.
Was she in a lot of pain when it happened? Is she safe up there now? Is she looking over Billie Joe? Keeping him safe?
If she were still here, she'd hate me.
Closing his eyes for a few moments, he tried to rest his mind and fall back to sleep again.
Because the only way he felt he could get away from it all was through sleeping.
Unlike Billie Joe, who even dreamt about Stef and could never escape what had happened, no matter what he did or tried.
Tre felt so sad for his friend, but whether Billie wanted him to be his friend or not was a different matter.
He didn't even know if he would be allowed to attend to the funeral or not, or whether it would be safe for him.
He didn't want to start uproar by showing up and causing another fight between him and Billie, but he did also have the right to be there.
Just as much as Billie Joe did.
Just because it had been him that Stef had pushed away the way, it didn't change anything.
He was her close friend. He had always stuck by her, helped her when things got tough. She always opened up her heart to him when she didn't know what to do between her and Billie Joe, and he had always done his best to try and help her.
He even knew things that she had told him that she hadn't Billie Joe.
And that made him feel even guiltier. He felt as if he was constantly lying and cheating on his friend.
He wanted to tell Billie Joe, just so that he knew. But he also knew that if he told him, then Billie might turn against him even more.
It was a vicious circle that he loathed.
He opened his eyes again and sighed, draping back the sheet that lay over him and rolling out of bed.
He was wearing a pair of baggy pyjama bottoms with a slightly over larged Ramones T-shirt that hung on his frame loosely.
His feet padding across the hallway, he headed into the end room, turning the light on once he had opened the door.
The smell of polish met his nose as he entered the room, looking around once he was fully inside.
This was his music room, where he kept his awards that weren't already on his walls in the living room, a cabinet full of various awards as well as framed ones also decorated the room.
An issue of 'Drummer' magazine hung on the wall in a frame on the wall to the left of him, with a picture of himself on the front that had been taken back in 2004.
One of his many drum kits stood in the corner of the room, polished to the finish as the light bounced off of the cymbals.
Looking around saddened, he walked up to the cabinet that held a set of drumsticks along with the awards. Looking across the top shelf, his eyes laid upon a photo of the band in a photo frame.
Twitching his lips to the side slightly, he picked up the frame and looked at the photo carefully.
There were 7 of them in the photo. To the right was Mike with Jason Freese who had his arm around the bassist, next was Tre himself smiling like there was no tomorrow, his drumsticks situated in his hands. Next to Tre was Ronnie Blake, a plastic cup in his hand as he beamed at the camera, standing next to Jason White who was smiling too, and stood with one of his hands on his hip. And then there was Stef, and Billie Joe on the far left was his arm around her, pulling her close to him as they both joined in with everyone else in smiling at the camera.
They all looked so happy, it pained on Tre's heart to know that someone from that picture was no more.
And it was all because of him.
Looking away from the picture saddened still, he placed the frame back onto the shelf, but instead of standing it up, he placed it face down so the picture couldn't be seen no more.
Walking away and sighing deeply, he turned to face his drum kit that had the Green Day name logo and heart grenade on the bass drum.
Glancing up, he took in all of the various awards he had received through out the years for different reasons.
He couldn't help but feel both sad and angry at the same time and think that maybe it was all over.
Green Day had finished and it had all come to an erupt end.
It killed him slowly inside because he loved the band, and he knew they were great at what they did - making music.
But he knew things could never be the same again.
For some strange reason, he really wanted Frankito or Ramona to be there with him, just so he wasn't on his own.
He just wanted somewhere there with him right now, to make him feel loved and wanted by someone still.
Because right now, he felt so cold inside and lonely, like everyone was rejecting him.
Even Mike had been too occupied with Billie Joe lately to even see how he was doing.
It hurt him inside.
If it was one thing that he wanted, it was to turn back time and make sure that the scaffolding had fallen on him instead of Stef.
Heck, he knew Billie Joe would have been happier that way.
Thinking back to all the times he and Billie had fought over the last year, it only occurred to him then that it had always been over the same thing.
Over the same person even.
If he had died instead of Stef, then at least Billie Joe could have put his mind to rest and not have to worry about him and Stef getting too close for his liking.
He was really bitter about it, so much that he even thought for sure that Billie Joe wanted him dead right now.
Turning out of the room and turning off the light before drawing his hand down the wall, he closed the door.
Slowly he trudged back to his room down the darkened hallway once again, entering back into his room.
Leaning back down onto the mattress, he felt as if he was falling endlessly.
He draped the sheets back over his tired aching body and rolled onto his side where he stared at the alarm clock that shone through the darkness.
2.24 AM.
He wondered what Billie would be doing right now, whether he would be asleep, in a hotel, sitting on a bench in the dark somewhere, or even passed out in a ditch drunk.
He also thought about Adrienne and the boys, wondering if they knew yet and how they were coping.
Even Mike crossed his mind. He hadn't seen him in such a long time; he didn't even know what he was feeling or how he was dealing with the sudden death.
Tucking his hands together under his head so they were wedged between his head and the pillow, he nestled down, curling his legs up a little so he was in a spooning position.
And as he continued to think of just about everything that happened in the last year, he found himself crying himself to sleep.
Just like Billie Joe had done two nights ago alone in the hotel room.
I couldn't help but love her.
* * * * * * * *
Hitting the bottle was the only thing that Billie Joe was good at doing at the moment.
Downing another Jack Daniels his mind seemed to faze out for a few seconds before he could just about make out a few lights here and there.
Still, it didn't stop them from being blurry though.
He found it quite amusing, but only because he was so smashed out of his face to even know what he was doing.
Unknown to him, he was also gaining a few curious looks over in his direction from the public.
He sat slumped on a stool, leaning onto the bar with his head in his hands, his eyes closed and his world continuously spinning.
"You alright mate?" The bartender asked him, stopping in front of him on the other side of the bar and leaning in.
Billie Joe just let out a loud agonizing groan. Even doing that hurt his head.
"How much have you had tonight?"
"Don't... know... " Billie grumbled, shaking his head in his hands in between groans of discomfort.
He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands before looking up, bloodshot and oblivious to what was happening, whom he was talking to or where he was.
"My wife hates me." He mumbled letting out a sob that was somewhat pathetic considering the state he was in.
"I'm sure she doesn't." The barman told him, wiping up a spillage a few feet away.
Billie slouched in his stool and he sat up a bit.
"Yes... she does," he added, sighing. "She hates me and she says that I'm - I'm a bad fa-father... "
He couldn't even speak properly.
"Oooo, that's harsh." The sober man commented, frowning, but still not looking at the wreck that was Billie Joe Armstrong.
He was probably used to these sort of conversations, considering the job he was in.
After a few seconds, Billie Joe put his elbow onto the bar and started pointing around in a protest.
"You know, I was - I was going to leave her." He hiccupped.
"You were?"
"Yeah," Billie started to ramble, his focus of sight ahead of him and so blurry he couldn't see anything, only hear. "I was going to leave her for someone else."
"Ah, ... see. It doesn't always turn out as planned." The barman told him raising an eyebrow and shaking his head. "We all try it sometimes."
"No, but - but this was different!" Billie cried out trying to get him to understand. "We were going to get married, have a place together, maybe start a family... "
"I hate to tell you this mate, but maybe she didn't really love you. Maybe it was just a bit of fun to her. Maybe she used you."
Billie Joe bit the inside of his cheek. He kept doing because he couldn't feel the pain from the amount of alcohol he had been drinking.
She didn't use me. She loved me. She loved me. Did she? Did she love me? What if she didn't love me? She must have loved me. She must have! I loved her...
"No, she didn't use me." Billie told him, a mist sadly. "I know she didn't. Because she said that she wished she -- could be here to spend the rest of her life with me."
The last statement was more of something to tell himself. What he didn't know was how loud he was speaking to himself.
*
He nodded, his lip trembling and his nostrils flaring as he cried. It was like he knew I was going to die, but he just didn't want to believe it.
"And remember I'll always be with you yeah? I always love you no matter what and I'm just sorry I can't spend the rest of my life with you."
"Stef, please... " He sobbed, as if telling me to stop as he dipped his head.
"I love you with all my heart and I would have loved to have spent the rest my life with you."
He quivered as he cupped the side of my face with his hand and lent the side of my head onto it.
"I would of loved to have had our family... "
*
"She said she wanted to spend the rest of her life with me."
The barman smiled as he finished wiping up the mess someone had left at the bar from a drink and went to stand in front of Billie, cleaning up a glass at the same time.
He looked up every now and again during his conversation with the broken guitarist, noticing how far gone he actually was in the land of drink-today-throw-up-tomorrow.
"Well, if you say so mate." He told him, putting the glass away under the bar.
"I would be with her now - If - she hadn't died."
The barman suddenly looked up into the eyes of Billie Joe, quite shocked at what he had just said.
"I'm - Oh shit man, I'm sorry." He apologized, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.
"No, it's... it's ok." Billie told him, cupping his empty glass. "Not that many people understand. I just sometimes wish someone would help me and listen to what I have to say without shouting back."
"Yeah. Yeah, I know what you mean by that." The barman added, thinking about an issue related to what Billie had just said.
Looking at the guitarist, he realized the empty glass in his hands as he stared at it.
He understood how much the guy wanted to drown his sorrows in the drink, but he also, quite heartlessly, thought about how much money he could squeeze from him for more drinks.
"Another Jack Dan?" He offered, pointing to the glass.
Billie passed the glass to him across the counter top, grinning a little at the thought.
"You know it."
