I Think The Rain Is Calling Murder (Sequel of We Will Run Away), chapter 14
See, Billie and I are exactly the same. We both lived in fear of another person, just in case we did something wrong. Tempers could flare at any moment at any given statement or movement.
There was one time when Billie had Mike and Tré over after band practice. They were all about sixteen years old; Tré was still fifteen. They were discussing school, more importantly, midterms. Billie Joe hadn't been going to school that much, so the grades would reflect that. Well, Billie was a smart kid, there was no denying that. However, Brad would know if Billie had skipped school by looking at the grades. Billie and his siblings had never liked Brad. When he and Ollie were married, the children refused to attend. The hostility toward Brad was so strong, that each of the Armstrong children escaped the household as soon as they could. Eventually that only left Billie Joe. Well, he had me, but I didn't make that much of an impact then. All I seemed to do was take the pain from the physical abuse put to Billie's already fragile system. Mainly all it was, was a smack to the face or kick to the ribs.
"Billie Joe!" came a male shout. "Get your ass here now, you little shit!"
Billie would flinch every time Brad even walked into the room. Poor guy, I know exactly what he went through. Mike and Tré looked at Billie as he excused himself from their presence. I watched on from the somewhat safe environment of Billie's mind. He had a lot of thoughts in there: girls, songs, more girls, guitars and even more girls. Something that stood out to me was the vivid memories of his dad.
"Your mother had a call at work today...from your principal," Brad said. Billie backed up to the kitchen door; Brad came close, a waft of booze came with each and every breath, "Seems to be you've been skipping school...you didn't think I'd notice? You're a little shit, Armstrong. Useless, worthless, just like your father"
"Don't you dare bring my father into this!" Billie shouted in defence of his father.
The honourable defence for Andrew Armstrong brought the young Billie Joe a swift sucker punch to the side of the head. Billie fell to the floor, and all I could see was this shadow of a man. Standing above me/us. Brad's eyes were dark and menacing. The left side of his upper lip curled into a snarl. His shoulders heaved with the exhaustion to keep himself upright. The fingers on his right hand flexed and curled into and out of a severe fist. When the fist was clenched, Brad's knuckles were almost a pure white; his whole arm trembled, and the veins in his lower arm protruded from the surface of his skin. I could feel the boundaries of my captivity shaking. I knew Billie was scared, and believe me, he had reason to be.
Brad just crouched down over Billie and beat the living shit out of him. Once Brad had finished on Billie's head, Billie was barely conscious and found it hard to breathe without being in agony. Then, almost predictably, Brad's left leg swung back. Even before Billie could draw his knees up to his chest, Brad brought his leg forward and forcefully kicked Billie's chest repeatedly. When Brad had finally satisfied himself with the amount of pain his step-son was in, he spat on Billie Joe and left the house to continue binging.
After around three and a half minutes, Billie Joe began to silently weep unable to nurse his own injuries. He'd flinch every time a body part twitched involuntarily. The kitchen door opened once again for Mike and Tré to walk in. The expressions on their faces were of pure shock. Tré ran off down the hall to phone one of Billie Joe's sisters, while Mike came over to try to soothe Billie Joe's pain.
"Bill?" Mike asked his best friend, "Bill say something to me mate...come on, man, say something," he said with this voice squeaking in concern for his friend of six years.
"Let me die," Billie said monotonously. "Take Tré outside and leave me here to die," Billie said, his eyes never leaving the hallway.
Even though Billie's eyes were fixed on one location, I could still look around. So I saw the pain in Mike's eyes. When Tré came back into the room, I could see the look of despair and concern etched onto his face. Had Billie Joe really given up on life in that moment?
The answer to that is no. Otherwise Billie wouldn't be in a padded room twenty-three years later.
There was one time when Billie had Mike and Tré over after band practice. They were all about sixteen years old; Tré was still fifteen. They were discussing school, more importantly, midterms. Billie Joe hadn't been going to school that much, so the grades would reflect that. Well, Billie was a smart kid, there was no denying that. However, Brad would know if Billie had skipped school by looking at the grades. Billie and his siblings had never liked Brad. When he and Ollie were married, the children refused to attend. The hostility toward Brad was so strong, that each of the Armstrong children escaped the household as soon as they could. Eventually that only left Billie Joe. Well, he had me, but I didn't make that much of an impact then. All I seemed to do was take the pain from the physical abuse put to Billie's already fragile system. Mainly all it was, was a smack to the face or kick to the ribs.
"Billie Joe!" came a male shout. "Get your ass here now, you little shit!"
Billie would flinch every time Brad even walked into the room. Poor guy, I know exactly what he went through. Mike and Tré looked at Billie as he excused himself from their presence. I watched on from the somewhat safe environment of Billie's mind. He had a lot of thoughts in there: girls, songs, more girls, guitars and even more girls. Something that stood out to me was the vivid memories of his dad.
"Your mother had a call at work today...from your principal," Brad said. Billie backed up to the kitchen door; Brad came close, a waft of booze came with each and every breath, "Seems to be you've been skipping school...you didn't think I'd notice? You're a little shit, Armstrong. Useless, worthless, just like your father"
"Don't you dare bring my father into this!" Billie shouted in defence of his father.
The honourable defence for Andrew Armstrong brought the young Billie Joe a swift sucker punch to the side of the head. Billie fell to the floor, and all I could see was this shadow of a man. Standing above me/us. Brad's eyes were dark and menacing. The left side of his upper lip curled into a snarl. His shoulders heaved with the exhaustion to keep himself upright. The fingers on his right hand flexed and curled into and out of a severe fist. When the fist was clenched, Brad's knuckles were almost a pure white; his whole arm trembled, and the veins in his lower arm protruded from the surface of his skin. I could feel the boundaries of my captivity shaking. I knew Billie was scared, and believe me, he had reason to be.
Brad just crouched down over Billie and beat the living shit out of him. Once Brad had finished on Billie's head, Billie was barely conscious and found it hard to breathe without being in agony. Then, almost predictably, Brad's left leg swung back. Even before Billie could draw his knees up to his chest, Brad brought his leg forward and forcefully kicked Billie's chest repeatedly. When Brad had finally satisfied himself with the amount of pain his step-son was in, he spat on Billie Joe and left the house to continue binging.
After around three and a half minutes, Billie Joe began to silently weep unable to nurse his own injuries. He'd flinch every time a body part twitched involuntarily. The kitchen door opened once again for Mike and Tré to walk in. The expressions on their faces were of pure shock. Tré ran off down the hall to phone one of Billie Joe's sisters, while Mike came over to try to soothe Billie Joe's pain.
"Bill?" Mike asked his best friend, "Bill say something to me mate...come on, man, say something," he said with this voice squeaking in concern for his friend of six years.
"Let me die," Billie said monotonously. "Take Tré outside and leave me here to die," Billie said, his eyes never leaving the hallway.
Even though Billie's eyes were fixed on one location, I could still look around. So I saw the pain in Mike's eyes. When Tré came back into the room, I could see the look of despair and concern etched onto his face. Had Billie Joe really given up on life in that moment?
The answer to that is no. Otherwise Billie wouldn't be in a padded room twenty-three years later.
