Pâle Septembre, chapter 9
"Where exactly did you say the bruises were from?" Andrew, the official Green Day Attorney inquired, leaning back in his leather chair and tapping his pen against his head in thought.
"I tripped," Adrienne responded softly, Billie's hand secured tightly in her own.
"Tripped from what? The side walk? The bed? The grass? The roof of the empire state building?" Andrew pressed, leaning forward with an intent gaze.
"The staircase," she replied, feeling the pressure of both her husband and Andrew's stare—she looked down at her shoes and bit her lip in trepidation. "I tripped on one of Jake's toys and—"
"Who's Jake again?" Andrew interrupted.
"Our son," Billie answered slightly annoyed.
"And you are both his parents?" He continued disregarding Billie's opposition.
Adrienne and Billie glanced at each other uncertainly.
"Look" Andrew threw in, shifting in his seat and grabbing a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. "I'm just gathering facts so we can write an article explaining the deal. I simply need to know the facts."
"And this article will shoo the tabloids out of stores?" Billie asked hopefully, accepting the cigarette from Andrew's outstretched hand.
"It should, yes. If not, we'll schedule some sort of press conference in which you both can freely discuss the problem at hand."
Adrienne gave Billie another questioning look.
"Look, I know this is an extremely burdened load and it's hurt you both—I am working to make it look like this never happened. Now—are you both his parents?"
"Yes," Adrienne replied in a stronger voice than she had homed for the past few weeks. Billie squeezed her hand in assurance.
3 months later
"'Billie fervently giggled when Adrienne's hand brushed against his—smiling adoringly when she paused in her conversation to glance in his direction'" Mike read aloud in amusement, holding the magazine arms length away and dictating the pure banality of the whole article.
The living room of occupants laughed along, Adrienne's blush gradually growing as the whole room zeroed in on the couple perched on the front porch's swing—each balancing a glass of wine.
"Yea, he makes a lot of noises when Adrienne touches him," Tre announced, elbowing Billie in the side "and giggling isn't one of them."
Adrienne playfully slapped Tre as Billie smirked in agreement.
"Wait, wait—hear this!" Mike held up a halting hand before the debate could commence. "It says here that Billie and Adrienne Armstrong were nominated couple of the year by Alternative Press magazine!"
"Yea, well we had to pay them a shit load of money." Billie rolled his eyes, "People kept voting Travis Barker and blondie."
"Didn't they divorce?" Mike inquired, sipping from his beer.
"Yea—but don't let the stupidity of that vote let you down. The runner up was Kurt Cobain and Mrs. Love." Adrienne interjected, pushing the swing along with the nudge of her toe. She progressively tuned out Mike's slaughtering of the freshly printed article circling her and Billie's oh so spotless marriage and concentrated on the topic that had now been eating away on the corners of her mind. It was less of a topic and more of a question now the time was taken.
Was it over?
She had hid away the damage with a suitable replacement—love, laughter, and family. The routine sensation of loss when her husband had left her had unintentionally healed a few wounds—a sense of regular hurt has a way of faltering new sensations. She had concurred the process of obsessive thought by keeping her hands full with life. And although a close call with the tabloids reopened a few sores, the relief of knowing no one knew had dressed the wounds.
And as she looked at her current situation—sitting languidly on her front porch, the love of her life dotingly holding her hand, her sons merrily kicking the soccer ball around in the front, her two closest friends drunkenly tossing comic relief into the air—peacefully latent as the day came to a closing.
It was over.
Billie threw a pillow on the tranquil Adie—closely following it's path, leaping on the bed and attacking her with fluttery kisses. Lips gracing the spaces between her neck and her collarbone—behind her ears and along her waist—all the while her light giggles softly shaking her body and swaying him onward. And onward he went—his nose nestled in the nape of her neck whilst he blindly tickled her—the giggles turning to laughter as he flipped on top of her. Fingers brushing against her most ticklish skin—his smile growing as he observed his wife, the happiest she's been in a while.
He stopped momentarily, allowing her to catch her airy breath. All the while he remained straddling her hips, sitting back on the curves of her thighs and watching his wife smile up at him.
Thoughts crossed his mind as she coughed slightly, eyes closing momentarily before gazing back silently at her captivated husband.
"Hey," He whispered, letting a hand down to wipe a few strands of hair from her eyes—fingers vigilantly placing them behind her ears.
"Hi," she whispered back—giving into the feeling of vulnerability as he leaned on to her—matching her body with his as he kissed her nose tenderly and worked his way downwards.
As he reached her awaiting lips, he hesitated—a small smile playing on his lips as she looked up expectantly.
"Do you ever..." he trailed off—breaking the distance between their lips and kissing her devotedly—tingling sensations remaining for both parties as he pulled back again, eyes still closed from the brief bliss. "Think about having another baby?"
"I tripped," Adrienne responded softly, Billie's hand secured tightly in her own.
"Tripped from what? The side walk? The bed? The grass? The roof of the empire state building?" Andrew pressed, leaning forward with an intent gaze.
"The staircase," she replied, feeling the pressure of both her husband and Andrew's stare—she looked down at her shoes and bit her lip in trepidation. "I tripped on one of Jake's toys and—"
"Who's Jake again?" Andrew interrupted.
"Our son," Billie answered slightly annoyed.
"And you are both his parents?" He continued disregarding Billie's opposition.
Adrienne and Billie glanced at each other uncertainly.
"Look" Andrew threw in, shifting in his seat and grabbing a carton of cigarettes from his pocket. "I'm just gathering facts so we can write an article explaining the deal. I simply need to know the facts."
"And this article will shoo the tabloids out of stores?" Billie asked hopefully, accepting the cigarette from Andrew's outstretched hand.
"It should, yes. If not, we'll schedule some sort of press conference in which you both can freely discuss the problem at hand."
Adrienne gave Billie another questioning look.
"Look, I know this is an extremely burdened load and it's hurt you both—I am working to make it look like this never happened. Now—are you both his parents?"
"Yes," Adrienne replied in a stronger voice than she had homed for the past few weeks. Billie squeezed her hand in assurance.
3 months later
"'Billie fervently giggled when Adrienne's hand brushed against his—smiling adoringly when she paused in her conversation to glance in his direction'" Mike read aloud in amusement, holding the magazine arms length away and dictating the pure banality of the whole article.
The living room of occupants laughed along, Adrienne's blush gradually growing as the whole room zeroed in on the couple perched on the front porch's swing—each balancing a glass of wine.
"Yea, he makes a lot of noises when Adrienne touches him," Tre announced, elbowing Billie in the side "and giggling isn't one of them."
Adrienne playfully slapped Tre as Billie smirked in agreement.
"Wait, wait—hear this!" Mike held up a halting hand before the debate could commence. "It says here that Billie and Adrienne Armstrong were nominated couple of the year by Alternative Press magazine!"
"Yea, well we had to pay them a shit load of money." Billie rolled his eyes, "People kept voting Travis Barker and blondie."
"Didn't they divorce?" Mike inquired, sipping from his beer.
"Yea—but don't let the stupidity of that vote let you down. The runner up was Kurt Cobain and Mrs. Love." Adrienne interjected, pushing the swing along with the nudge of her toe. She progressively tuned out Mike's slaughtering of the freshly printed article circling her and Billie's oh so spotless marriage and concentrated on the topic that had now been eating away on the corners of her mind. It was less of a topic and more of a question now the time was taken.
Was it over?
She had hid away the damage with a suitable replacement—love, laughter, and family. The routine sensation of loss when her husband had left her had unintentionally healed a few wounds—a sense of regular hurt has a way of faltering new sensations. She had concurred the process of obsessive thought by keeping her hands full with life. And although a close call with the tabloids reopened a few sores, the relief of knowing no one knew had dressed the wounds.
And as she looked at her current situation—sitting languidly on her front porch, the love of her life dotingly holding her hand, her sons merrily kicking the soccer ball around in the front, her two closest friends drunkenly tossing comic relief into the air—peacefully latent as the day came to a closing.
It was over.
Billie threw a pillow on the tranquil Adie—closely following it's path, leaping on the bed and attacking her with fluttery kisses. Lips gracing the spaces between her neck and her collarbone—behind her ears and along her waist—all the while her light giggles softly shaking her body and swaying him onward. And onward he went—his nose nestled in the nape of her neck whilst he blindly tickled her—the giggles turning to laughter as he flipped on top of her. Fingers brushing against her most ticklish skin—his smile growing as he observed his wife, the happiest she's been in a while.
He stopped momentarily, allowing her to catch her airy breath. All the while he remained straddling her hips, sitting back on the curves of her thighs and watching his wife smile up at him.
Thoughts crossed his mind as she coughed slightly, eyes closing momentarily before gazing back silently at her captivated husband.
"Hey," He whispered, letting a hand down to wipe a few strands of hair from her eyes—fingers vigilantly placing them behind her ears.
"Hi," she whispered back—giving into the feeling of vulnerability as he leaned on to her—matching her body with his as he kissed her nose tenderly and worked his way downwards.
As he reached her awaiting lips, he hesitated—a small smile playing on his lips as she looked up expectantly.
"Do you ever..." he trailed off—breaking the distance between their lips and kissing her devotedly—tingling sensations remaining for both parties as he pulled back again, eyes still closed from the brief bliss. "Think about having another baby?"
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