"I Did It Billie. I Killed Him.", chapter 1

"I did it Billie. I killed him." My whole body was shaking as the gun fell out of my hand. Billie was utterly speechless. He kept glancing from me to the man on the ground, surrounded in blood. I put my hand to my stomach as tears filled my eyes. I felt like I was going to be sick.

"They're going to get me, Billie. They're going to take me away and lock me up."

"No they won't." He tried sounding confident, but came out sounding terrified. "We're going to get out of town."

"Where are we going to go?" I asked, growing more and more fearful by the second. Billie thought for a moment.

"I want you to take the car, the gun, and all of our money to this place and wait for me." He handed me a piece of paper containing an address.

"What about you?" I asked, looking at the dead man.

"Don't worry about me. I have to get rid of him and then I'll meet you there. Just go."

Without hesitation, I packed a suitcase with clothes, the gun, and our money and sped off down the street. As terrified as I was about my fate, I was more terrified for Billie. After all, he was the one with the dead body in his truck. What if they catch him? What if they lock him up instead of me? I began to wonder if I would ever see Billie Joe again. But I had to shake it off for the moment, as I searched for the mystery location on the piece of paper.
All I could do was hope that I would soon be back in his arms and we would be safe... in another town. I began thinking of a new name for myself. Maybe I should get a disguise. I thought as I drove, my hands trembling as I gripped the wheel tighter. Whatever our fate would be, I knew one thing was for sure: our lives would never be the same again. (As incredibly interesting as this all may sound, this isn't where it all started. It all began in the town of Berkeley, California.)

If you would have been at 924 Gilman Street in Berkeley, California on December 6, 1989, you would have seen a clutter of teenagers, complete with the entire punk attire, sipping beers and anxiously awaiting for the usual dose of struggling punk bands to perform.

Sitting alone, at a table in the corner, wearing a black Ramones tee, partially covered by a black hoodie sporting a small red and black star in the upper left-hand corner, long black pants with chains hanging out of the pockets and buckles along the sides, and a pair of black converse, was 17 year old Ashlee Harper. She had come to see the newest band perform, as she did every Saturday night.

Besides that, she longed to get away from her parents non-stop arguing. She wondered if they even noticed when she snuck out of her bedroom window. She thought it was safe to say that they didn't. She couldn't remember the last time her mother asked her, "So, how was school today? Did you learn anything new?" or when her father asked her, "Are you staying out of trouble?" They just didn't care and frankly, neither did she. She never cared if it was against the law to drink beer or smoke weed. She didn't care if people at school whispered and snickered whenever she walked by. She just hid behind the hood of her old black hoodie and secretly wished she could drop out. Maybe I will. She thought, as she stared at her beer she had gotten with her fake ID. My parents won't care anyways. They wouldn't even notice if I left. Between her fathers's non-stop drinking and smoking and her mother's heroin addiction, she knew they'd be too busy with their own hobbies to worry about her.

The crowd cheered and clapped as the curtain opened and the music started playing. Ashlee stood up and pushed her way to the front of the crowd to get a better look at the band. The bassist had spiky blonde hair with brown tips and crystal blue eyes. The drummer had spiky reddish-brown hair and a matching pair of the same crystal blue eyes. Then, she gazed at the lead guitarist. He had messy black hair, and piercing green eyes. He looked into her hazel eyes and she smiled at him. She listened to the music and found it to be her new addiction. She kept her eyes on the guitarist the whole time, catching glances from him every once and a while.

After the show, Ashlee began walking down Gilman Street through the cold, crisp air. Only a few streetlights lit the dead silent street and the fog made it difficult to see in front of her. But she couldn't go back home... not yet. She didn't want to walk through the front door to a beating from her drunk father, as she did every once and a while. Maybe there was a park bench somewhere that would welcome her for the night.

Chills ran down Ashlee's spine when she saw a shadow of a man behind her on the sidewalk. She could feel him getting closer with every step she took and could practically feel his breath on the back of her neck. She jumped slightly when she felt a hand on her shoulder.
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