Billie Jo, chapter 7

[u]Billie Jo
Part Six: Tre[/u]

Billie Jo spared Mike a small sympathetic smile before turning back to the other boy. "Your name's Tre?" she said, trying to steer the conversation away from her . . . and Mike.

"Well, you see baby," Tre started, grabbing a chair from another table and moving as close to the girl as possible, "Tre is French for 'very'."

"No shit," Billie shot back, eyes widening as she said it. She gave Mike a quick glance, relaxing when she saw his broad grin.

"Ooh, feisty," Tre said, causing the girl's attention to turn back to the almost stranger. He looked up from Billie's chest as she turned. "I'll have to keep my eyes on you."

"You already are," Mike said, almost a snap. He stood and pulled Billie up by the arm, gently despite his tone.

"C'mon, man," Tre said, following the pair out of the restaurant. "You know I'd never steal your chick."

"She's not my chick," Mike said as Billie opened her mouth to protest being called one. The girl's lips closed, however, after the boy's statement.

"Well, the way you fucking go on about her . . ." Tre muttered, lighting a cigarette and unlocking his car door.

"And how's that exactly?" Billie said in a slightly impish tone, sliding into the seat as close to Tre as was possible.

* * *

"He just fucks girls!" Mike snapped, slowly backing Billie up against the wall, more to keep her from disappearing into the kids packing the club than to intimidate her. "He just takes one home and fucks her. And then he does it again."

"Like you," Billie snapped back, blinking rapidly to hold back tears. She couldn't understand why she was on the verge of breaking down, why she would have gladly fucked Mike's friend if it would have meant Mike would pay more attention to her. "Just like you."

"Stop being such a bitch, Billie!" Mike yelled, bringing his fist down on the wall to the right of her face. The girl's eyes widened. "I brought you here. Not him. So why the fuck is your hand practically down his pants?"

"Why the fuck did you bring me here if you were just going to ignore me?" Billie wanted to scream it, but it came out with a flood of tears. She ran, tripping over her heels, but up and moving again before Mike could reach her. The girl reached for her purse, for her cell phone, but realized it wasn't with her. Sobbing and refusing to return to the club for it, Billie started walking down the crowded, foreign street, wiping at her cheeks with fingers coated in mascara stains.

She made it two blocks before she fell to her skinned knees. It's impossible. I don't even know where I am. I can't call Mom . . . I don't have any money for a cab . . . She knew she looked like shit and that Mike would, more likely than not, grab her and physically keep her from leaving, but she couldn't find an alternative. Wincing, she stood up, holding her hand out to keep from being blinded by a pair of headlights.

"Billie?" The car door opened and the girl saw Tre, the boy she had been acting like a shameless flirt with, walking toward her. "Hey, babe, Mike left with some blonde chick and told me to take you home. You all right?" It was the first time Billie had heard him lower his voice all night.

"I'm fine," she murmured, sliding into the passenger seat of Tre's car, pulling the purse she found on it into her lap.

"You left it," he said. There was a moment of silence before Billie spoke. "So, you need to know where I live right?" she asked, her voice raising nervously.

There was an even longer pause before Tre muttered 'sure' and put the car into drive. The directions she occasionally spoke to the uncharacteristically quiet boy drove them right by Mike's house where a bright red car that didn't belong to his mother was parked.

"You guys got into it, huh?" Tre asked, noting her still soaked eyelashes blinking.

"He doesn't make sense," Billie all but whispered. "I mean, he acted like it was . . . like it was . . ."

"A date?" Tre supplied.

Billie's eyes turned a darker shade of green when Tre said the word she had been avoiding—even in her thoughts—all day. "There's a place right here," she told him. "On the right. Pull in." As Tre put his car into park at the abandoned park, Billie's lips pressed hard against his. She didn't know what did it, or how she could be so stupid, as she crawled into the backseat with him.

She took great care to make sure his hands never touched anything but her face or hair during the clumsy kissing. Then her fingers found the button on his jeans . . .

"M-Mom?" Billie asked, her hands sweaty on the black telephone. "I-I need you to come get me." This time the tears wouldn't come. "Me and this g-guy . . . we got pulled over."

* * *

Ollie Armstrong was frantic as she stormed into the police station, pulling her daughter tight into her arms as Billie ran over to her. "I'm sorry, Mom. I'm sorry," she whispered, burying her face in her mother's shoulder. "I didn't mean to."

"Is she in any legal trouble?" Ollie asked, keeping one of her arms tight around a still sniffling Billie Jo, as she walked up to the front desk.

"No, ma'am. We just need your signature and hers on some papers." The police officer was digging through a file when Tre finally appeared into the lobby.

Billie Jo caught his eyes, the blue sincerely apologetic. He opened his mouth, but she gave a small shake of her head, eyes flicking toward her mother for a moment. Ollie, however, didn't need to her a word to know what was going on. "You," She moved toward Tre, anger apparent in her face. "If you ever, ever come near her again—"

"Mom!" Billie pulled on the woman's arm. "Mom, stop it."

"—I swear to God, I'll—"

"He didn't make me do anything!" Billie protested desperately. "Mom, I wanted to."

* * *

Ollie wouldn't even look at her daughter as they drove home down the streets, slightly wet from the rain that had fallen while Billie Jo was at the police station. Her face was set and her eyes were dark.

"Mom—"

"Stop," Ollie said, cutting the rest of her daughter's sentence off. "I don't want to know." she added as she pulled into their driveway.

"But Mom—" Billie's voice was full of tears.

"Billie Jo," her mother said in a restrained voice, "I'm damn close to slapping you right now. So do us both a favor, don't say anything, and go to your room." There was a pause, ended when Billie slammed her car door and stormed into the house.

Other girls do it. Her slippery black heels kicked anything they could reach as she made her way toward her room. All those girls do it with Mike. They probably do more.

She buried her face in her pillow, sobs filling the house. "I hate you!" she screamed suddenly as the front door opened. But it wasn't her mother she was screaming at, it was the tear-stained face of the girl in her mirror.

* * *

It was noon the next day when Billie Jo finally woke up, her eyes still puffy. Her head was pounding and her hair was a mess, matted slightly in parts by remnants from the night before. The girl stumbled out of her room and into the shower. The triple washing of her hair was followed by ten minutes of brushing her teeth.

"Who was he?" came a voice from the doorway. Ollie was leaning against it, a robe tied over her pajamas.

Billie nearly choked on the toothpaste when she heard the question. She spit into the sink and rinsed her toothbrush, turning to her mother. "What?"

"You heard me."

"He was . . . I met him at . . . he's a friend of Mike's," Billie said, her voice and eyes both lowering.

"Do you know his name?"

"T-Tre," Billie stammered, face flushing as her mother continued to stare at her.

"Does 'Tre' have a last name?" Ollie asked, moving from the doorway to the living room without looking back.

Billie followed her, watching her mother straightening the magazines as if it were a normal day. "I-I don't know it," she said softly, voice shaking.

"Did he come over while you were 'studying'?" Ollie looked up at her daughter, her eyes daring the girl to lie.

"M-Mike and me . . . we didn't study," Billie admitted, voice low. "We went to eat and then Tre drove us to a club."

"And how did you and this Tre get to be the only two people in his car?"

"Mom, I'm sorry," Billie said desperately. "I am. I didn't mean—"

"Answer the question, Billie Jo Armstrong," Ollie snapped.

Billie's voice cracked. "I-I got in a fight with Mike. And I left. Tre said he left with some girl and he was going to bring me home."

"But he took you to some park instead."

"N-No," Billie whispered. "I asked him to."

". . . go to your room. Now," Ollie said in a dangerously soft voice, eyes widening when Billie, instead, closed the three feet between them and hugged her.

"Mom, just say it." Billie begged. "Just call me a slut, okay? I know you want to. It's okay. I know I am. I won't get mad."

"You're not a slut, baby," Ollie said, voice returning to the maternal one it so often went to when comforting her daughter. "You're just . . . Billie, what if he wanted to touch you?"

"I made sure he didn't, Mom, I swear."

"Billie, if he wanted to he could have."

". . . I know."

* * *

Billie answered her ringing cell phone while her mom was in the shower. "Hello?"

"Billie?"

"Mike, what do you want?" she asked, coughing. "Because unless you're calling to apologize—"

"To what?" Mike asked in disbelief. "You go down on my friend and you want me to apologize to you?"

"If you wouldn't have left with her, I wouldn't have done it!"

"If you wouldn't have left the club, I wouldn't have left with her!"

"If you wouldn't have fought with me—"

"You were acting like a slut."

"You were ignoring me. He wasn't!"

"Well, I guess he got what he was going for, didn't he?" Mike snapped, voice laced in anger.

Billie hiccupped, fighting tears. "Y-You said you wanted to go with me. With me. Not with that blonde girl, with me. And you barely talked to me. But you held my hand on the way to your house, Mike! Just tell me what you want. Please. Because I can't handle it anymore."

". . . I'll see you at school, Billie Jo."