I stood in the shower for what seemed like forever; watermelon-scented suds and the evidence of mine and Billie's passion from earlier disappearing together down the drain. The evidence may had been washed away now, but the heat of our embrace continued to radiate inside of me as large drops of soft water fell down comfortingly over my body. For just a moment, I closed my eyes and let past memories of the two of us sharing a shower flood my mind. It was one of our favorite places to make love. Something about sex in the water was just so sensual and exciting to us both. Plus, cleaning up afterwards was always easy: an added bonus.
I loved the way he would pant and beg against the shower door as I went down on him; his hot breath leaving temporary mounds of steam behind on the glass. I loved the way his moans and pleas would bounce from wall to wall in the shower; reminding him over and over again who he belonged to as I rode him cowgirl style. I loved the way his balls would slap my clit with a splash of warm water every time he'd thrust into me from behind. And I loved the way he'd scream in ecstasy and throw his trembling hands up against the door for balance as he exploded inside me; leaving traces of desperate handprints against the glass.
Goosebumps overwhelmed my body as I continued to lose myself in thought about all of the wild, crazy passionate embraces I had shared with him over the years, and all those yet to come. I was especially ecstatic for the one I had planned that he didn't even know about yet. I couldn't wait.
I opened my eyes and let the hot steam of the shower fill my lungs. Painfully slowly, I grazed my soapy loofa across my nipples; imagining it was his soft lips instead.
Maybe it's because my senses were heightened from the erotic thoughts swarming my head, but as I stood there with the mellow sound of water falling around me, I swore I could hear intermittent sniffling coming from our bedroom. It sounded like someone was crying. Was I dreaming?
Fuck. No.
I knew that sound.
Billie was back from the studio.
With one last, semi-inattentive rinse, I shoved the shower faucet off, threw my towel around my waist and rushed across the memory foam rug that ran the length of the bathroom; leaving a wet trail behind me. Pushing open the double doors that separated our bedroom and bathroom, my anxious eyes confirmed my very fear.
There sat Billie on the edge of our California King, surrounded by at least a dozen wads of Kleenex. He was carefully writing something in his lyric journal, pausing every few words to wipe his nose.
Seeing him cry again made my heart feel like it had permanently descended into my stomach.
"Billie, honey, what's the matter?" I asked, hastily making my way to his side.
I was almost certain I knew the answer. I wanted him to talk it out, though. After several seconds of fervent writing, he acknowledged my presence.
"Hey, baby," he murmured through heavy tears, not looking up from his journal. "I'm okay, don't worry."
For some reason, his assurance didn't make me feel any more at ease. I knew the sheer concern in my voice pierced his heart like a double-edged sword, but he was trying his damndest to be brave.
"Bullshit, Billie Joe," I replied, trying to ignore my breaking heart. Taking hold of his journal and pen, I gave them a toss across the bed and replaced his hands with mine. Kneeling in front of him, I desperately searched his glossy eyes for signs of life. "Baby, please talk to me. I know this album is eating you up. I know you're scared. You're so strong, love...but you don't have to try and be a macho man for me or put on a mask. You know that. Please, just be yourself. Talk to me...tell me what's on your mind," I pleaded, squeezing his hands with what felt like my last bit of strength.
"Adie, I just..." he started, pausing to swallow tears that lingered in his eyes. "I just...feel so overwhelmed about this whole thing," he whispered as scattered teardrops slowly cascaded down his soft cheeks and bounced off the back of his hands. "I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I just feel so empty. Like, me, Mike, and Tre...we've all put so much love into this album...fuck, we produced it ourselves and everything, you know?" He squeezed his eyes shut tightly; taking away the leverage for his tears, allowing them to fall freely. "We want everyone to enjoy it...but there's something inside me telling me it's not going to be good enough. We've grown up, you know? I just don't know if people are gonna get that. I feel like I've lost control. I fucking hate it," he cried, releasing my hands to wipe his weary eyes.
Standing up, I took him into my arms and cradled his head close to me. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around me and sobbed against my chest; drops of water from my hair falling in time with his hot tears. This didn't happen a lot, so the amount of hurt he was holding inside was undeniably burdensome. In fact, Billie hadn't been this anxious about an album release since 21st Century Breakdown.
There was so much I wanted to say. Right now, though, he needed me to just listen.
If there was one thing I had learned after being on this journey with him for more than 22 years, it was that not every single person was going to love (or even like) every single album. Every musical genius had critics. He knew that, too. He also knew, though, that the people who really mattered - their loyal fans who remained supportive through every high and every low, come Hell or high water - would get it. It's just that right now, his judgment was being clouded by the perfectionist in him - by the artist in him.
As I held his sweet face close to me with one hand, I wrapped my free hand in his hair and stroked it lightly, gently rocking him back and forth.
For just a moment, I reconsidered what I had planned for him tomorrow. I wondered how he'd react and whether I'd just make things worse. My own brain was scolding me now for letting it wander how I did.
Glancing over his shoulder at the lyric journal that remained open, I squinted; trying to interpret the black, tear-stained ink on the page.
I got paranoia, baby, and it's so hysterical...crackin' up under the pressure...looking for a miracle...
"That's it...this is your sign, Adrienne," I thought to myself as we both melted further into one another's embrace.
He had said it himself...he feels like he's lost control.
I knew how to help him feel it again, though.
I'd become putty in his hands. I'd obey his every command.
![](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/260448849-288-k448516.jpg)
YOU ARE READING
Bouncing off the Wall
FanficOctober 5th, 2016. It's Adrienne's birthday tomorrow and Green Day are releasing their new album, Revolution Radio, on the 7th. Lots of reason for celebration in the Armstrong Household. However, Billie is feeling more overwhelmed and anxious than e...