Another kind of Idiot. (Sequel to Loser. Weirdo. Faggot.), chapter 6
A swift kick to his leg. "Fuuck," he moaned, not bothering to open his eyes. He tried to shoe away whatever was bothering him with his hand. But it didn't work. He was pushed this time, a little harder. His eyes fluttered open. Tre was sitting above him. Or at least he thought it was Tre. He could only see spots. His tried to adjust his eyes to the light, fumbling and dizzy.
"Billie?" Tre asked sweetly, shaking him by his shoulders. He could only see the silhouette of him. "Go away. Sleep," he grunted, shifting around. Tre's face filled with a certain smile. "Get up, bitch." He nudged Billie. He sniffled, looking around him. Where the hell was he?
His sweater was caked in dirt. He was sleeping there, out in the open. He made his way over to the outside part of the old train station, limping. Tre laughed a little, and supported him over. "Where's Mike?" he muttered, but was too tired to hear the answer.
Tre set him down, and sat next to him. Why did he seem so sober? If anyone, Tre had the worst hangovers of them all. He would be the one sick for days. Not Billie.
"Yeah," he rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "You just kinda passed out after a while, so we just kinda left you here." Billie smirked. "Who the hell decided it'd be good to leave me laying in the middle of Christie fucking Road?" Tre shrugged. "Dunno. Prolly Mikey."
Billie staggered to get up again. "Ya know, ya might wanna be careful, man. You got a..." he trailed off. Billie almost immediately hit the ground, kicking up dust. He clutched his hip in pain. It burned up from underneath the skin. After feeling like writhing forever, he propped himself up to examine. Lying there, under his jeans, was a white bandage. His eyes widened.
"Yeah. That was your thing. You wanted to get it." he slowly lifted it up. He could see, besides the red, two bright black numbers. "80," he read out loud. He felt the urge to throw up. And he did. He groaned, wiping his mouth.
"They were wondering why you got that tattoo...but I know why." He gave a small, stiff smile. Billie gasped for air. He shook his head. His entire head was thrown up into insanity.
He felt he was over Adie. Why did he get the tattoo? To remind him of the one that got away? Or to be able to take it as a joke, and to finally let it go? He shook his head again. He didn't love her. Correction. He didn't want to love her. Why had it been love at first sight? She was just some girl. One part of his life. He half decided he got it as a joke, ignoring what he wanted to.
"I-it was just a joke, Tre. You know how enamoured with her I was. Don't...believe it." Tre was still quiet. He still felt something wrong. Tre was never quiet. Ever. Half the time Billie swore he even yelled in his sleep. "What?" he said, a little too harsh than he had meant. What happened with Tre?
All of a sudden, Tre hugged him. Billie's moth went agape. He felt his face turning red. "No. He's my friend. My brother. He's Tre," he thought. Billie returned the hug. It was a little awkward. The two just sat there, hugging. Not like brothers, not like friends. Not like they were in love. Just hugging.
Finally, Tre pulled away. "Sorry. I needed that." Billie didn't question.
"Billie?" Tre asked sweetly, shaking him by his shoulders. He could only see the silhouette of him. "Go away. Sleep," he grunted, shifting around. Tre's face filled with a certain smile. "Get up, bitch." He nudged Billie. He sniffled, looking around him. Where the hell was he?
His sweater was caked in dirt. He was sleeping there, out in the open. He made his way over to the outside part of the old train station, limping. Tre laughed a little, and supported him over. "Where's Mike?" he muttered, but was too tired to hear the answer.
Tre set him down, and sat next to him. Why did he seem so sober? If anyone, Tre had the worst hangovers of them all. He would be the one sick for days. Not Billie.
"Yeah," he rubbed his neck uncomfortably. "You just kinda passed out after a while, so we just kinda left you here." Billie smirked. "Who the hell decided it'd be good to leave me laying in the middle of Christie fucking Road?" Tre shrugged. "Dunno. Prolly Mikey."
Billie staggered to get up again. "Ya know, ya might wanna be careful, man. You got a..." he trailed off. Billie almost immediately hit the ground, kicking up dust. He clutched his hip in pain. It burned up from underneath the skin. After feeling like writhing forever, he propped himself up to examine. Lying there, under his jeans, was a white bandage. His eyes widened.
"Yeah. That was your thing. You wanted to get it." he slowly lifted it up. He could see, besides the red, two bright black numbers. "80," he read out loud. He felt the urge to throw up. And he did. He groaned, wiping his mouth.
"They were wondering why you got that tattoo...but I know why." He gave a small, stiff smile. Billie gasped for air. He shook his head. His entire head was thrown up into insanity.
He felt he was over Adie. Why did he get the tattoo? To remind him of the one that got away? Or to be able to take it as a joke, and to finally let it go? He shook his head again. He didn't love her. Correction. He didn't want to love her. Why had it been love at first sight? She was just some girl. One part of his life. He half decided he got it as a joke, ignoring what he wanted to.
"I-it was just a joke, Tre. You know how enamoured with her I was. Don't...believe it." Tre was still quiet. He still felt something wrong. Tre was never quiet. Ever. Half the time Billie swore he even yelled in his sleep. "What?" he said, a little too harsh than he had meant. What happened with Tre?
All of a sudden, Tre hugged him. Billie's moth went agape. He felt his face turning red. "No. He's my friend. My brother. He's Tre," he thought. Billie returned the hug. It was a little awkward. The two just sat there, hugging. Not like brothers, not like friends. Not like they were in love. Just hugging.
Finally, Tre pulled away. "Sorry. I needed that." Billie didn't question.
