I love you, chapter 1
Billie Joe
I wake up with a headache. I hate headaches. That's my first thought when I awake, that I have a headache. I take a Motrin and wash it down with vodka. That's what my life has become, I don't really eat anything anymore I just drink and swallow pain killers. Mike is the only one who visits me anymore because I'm divorced and every other person I know won't talk to me. I drink some more vodka and call Mike. By the time he answers the phone I'm crying and inaudible. He says he's going to come over and take the alcohol away so this won't happen again. But we both know it will.
Mike
My BMW waits in Billie Joe's driveway and I walk inside. He sits on the couch and plays with a butcher knife with a bottle of grey goose sitting beside him. I know he just woke up and he's drunk. I try to take the knife away but he groans and moves away and if I keep trying he'll just hurt himself trying to stay away. I grab at the bottle of vodka but he throws it across the room before my hand can grasp the bottle's shape. Finally he stabs the knife into the couch and starts to cry.
I go to clean up the bottle while he sobs but then I hear him scream. I embrace him while he mumbles something I can't understand.
"What?"
"I fucked up."
"No you didn't."
He keeps crying so I pull him closer to me. I pull off his shirt to check his wrists but I think he expects something more. The cuts on his wrists are fresh and open and bleed all over my gray mock-mechanic shirt. He looks up and has a sickly angry glare slapped on his face. Tears streak his face and I remove the knife from the couch.
"I'm sorry," he says to me while I walk into the kitchen.
"I know."
I open the all the kitchen drawers and grab a trash bag. I stuff the all the knives I can find into the bag and look for the alcohol. I count seven empty bottles just lying around and another five or six full or half full.
"Do you have any coke or anything like that in the house?" I ask him bluntly.
He nods so I go searching for his drugs. The only thing that keeps him remotely happy anymore and one of many things that makes him very sad is his drugs. Since Adie left he's been a wreck and the coke and vodka hasn't exactly helped.
Billie Joe
Mike searches my house like I'm a criminal. He confiscates knives, coke, alcohol, and my one gun: a twelve gage shotgun. He drags me to the car and we stop at a local convenience store and make me sit in the car. He comes back with a snickers bar and bottle of Dr Pepper.
"Eat," he commands.
"I'm really not hungry, thanks anyway," I say.
"Eat," he says again.
"No, Mike!"
"Billie Joe, I have your blood all over my shirt; you are very frustrating and kind of a mean drunk, if you die I don't want to be blamed for it so eat!"
"I won't die," I mumble.
"What?"
"I'm not going to die."
"If you keep doing what you're doing you will and it will happen soon."
Mike
I drive him home and clean out his cuts with peroxide and bandage them. He stares at his wrists and I hug him. He rubs his face against mine and pecks me on the cheek. His lips move closer and finally touch mine and then I pull away.
"What."
"Don't kiss me, it wouldn't be right," I say.
"Don't you love me?"
"Don't ask me that, Billie Joe."
"Oh, I see," he says and begins to cry.
"Yes, I love you."
"No you don't."
"How can you say that? I try and take care of you! I try to keep you clean and make sure you eat. I just cleaned out your cuts and bandaged them so you wouldn't bleed to death! Don't even start that bullshit because honestly I think you don't love me!"
I drag him back into the car and I don't tell him where we're going. It isn't until he sees the hospital building that does anything. He bangs his arms against the car door until their bruised and his wounds bleed through the bandages. I carry him out the car kicking and screaming and have him admitted on an involuntary basis. While the nurses lead him away he turns his head to say something.
"I was wrong, Mike, you do love me." He says and then he's gone.
The End
I wake up with a headache. I hate headaches. That's my first thought when I awake, that I have a headache. I take a Motrin and wash it down with vodka. That's what my life has become, I don't really eat anything anymore I just drink and swallow pain killers. Mike is the only one who visits me anymore because I'm divorced and every other person I know won't talk to me. I drink some more vodka and call Mike. By the time he answers the phone I'm crying and inaudible. He says he's going to come over and take the alcohol away so this won't happen again. But we both know it will.
Mike
My BMW waits in Billie Joe's driveway and I walk inside. He sits on the couch and plays with a butcher knife with a bottle of grey goose sitting beside him. I know he just woke up and he's drunk. I try to take the knife away but he groans and moves away and if I keep trying he'll just hurt himself trying to stay away. I grab at the bottle of vodka but he throws it across the room before my hand can grasp the bottle's shape. Finally he stabs the knife into the couch and starts to cry.
I go to clean up the bottle while he sobs but then I hear him scream. I embrace him while he mumbles something I can't understand.
"What?"
"I fucked up."
"No you didn't."
He keeps crying so I pull him closer to me. I pull off his shirt to check his wrists but I think he expects something more. The cuts on his wrists are fresh and open and bleed all over my gray mock-mechanic shirt. He looks up and has a sickly angry glare slapped on his face. Tears streak his face and I remove the knife from the couch.
"I'm sorry," he says to me while I walk into the kitchen.
"I know."
I open the all the kitchen drawers and grab a trash bag. I stuff the all the knives I can find into the bag and look for the alcohol. I count seven empty bottles just lying around and another five or six full or half full.
"Do you have any coke or anything like that in the house?" I ask him bluntly.
He nods so I go searching for his drugs. The only thing that keeps him remotely happy anymore and one of many things that makes him very sad is his drugs. Since Adie left he's been a wreck and the coke and vodka hasn't exactly helped.
Billie Joe
Mike searches my house like I'm a criminal. He confiscates knives, coke, alcohol, and my one gun: a twelve gage shotgun. He drags me to the car and we stop at a local convenience store and make me sit in the car. He comes back with a snickers bar and bottle of Dr Pepper.
"Eat," he commands.
"I'm really not hungry, thanks anyway," I say.
"Eat," he says again.
"No, Mike!"
"Billie Joe, I have your blood all over my shirt; you are very frustrating and kind of a mean drunk, if you die I don't want to be blamed for it so eat!"
"I won't die," I mumble.
"What?"
"I'm not going to die."
"If you keep doing what you're doing you will and it will happen soon."
Mike
I drive him home and clean out his cuts with peroxide and bandage them. He stares at his wrists and I hug him. He rubs his face against mine and pecks me on the cheek. His lips move closer and finally touch mine and then I pull away.
"What."
"Don't kiss me, it wouldn't be right," I say.
"Don't you love me?"
"Don't ask me that, Billie Joe."
"Oh, I see," he says and begins to cry.
"Yes, I love you."
"No you don't."
"How can you say that? I try and take care of you! I try to keep you clean and make sure you eat. I just cleaned out your cuts and bandaged them so you wouldn't bleed to death! Don't even start that bullshit because honestly I think you don't love me!"
I drag him back into the car and I don't tell him where we're going. It isn't until he sees the hospital building that does anything. He bangs his arms against the car door until their bruised and his wounds bleed through the bandages. I carry him out the car kicking and screaming and have him admitted on an involuntary basis. While the nurses lead him away he turns his head to say something.
"I was wrong, Mike, you do love me." He says and then he's gone.
The End
