Pure Massacre // Billie Joe

(1)

I stare down at the broken guitar in my arms, tears attempting to escape my eyes. I’m not crying in front of him. I will not.

“You’re crying over a fucking guitar you worthless piece of shit” He seethes at me. I slowly look back up, seeing his face only inches from mine. My quivering lip gives away the fact that I’m about to break down, scared. He narrows his eyes from me before storming out of my bedroom, slamming the door. The photo frames on my wall wobble from the impact of the door.

It wasn’t until I knew he was gone, I broke down into heavy sobs. The tears were streaming down my face as I clutched one of the most important things to me.

My father’s guitar.

Broken. Smashed right in front of me because I was late home from school.

I run my shaking hands over the body of the guitar, feeling the words carved in. My father was a very poetic man, always writing poems to my mother and singing me to sleep with this very guitar.

Hope

Love

Wisdom

Faith.

That finale word always stuck out to me. Imagine that, naming me after something I have none of. I guess I’m glad my dad named me faith. It was always something to remember him by. Especially now since he’s… gone.

I never use the word “dead” or “passed away”. He’s gone. And there’s nothing I can do about it.

I remember the night of the crash, just as if it was yesterday. It had been a normal day. I’d come home from school and start my homework and mom would be starting dinner. It wasn’t until it reached 7pm and dad wasn’t home yet, that something was suspicious. It must have been horrific. Being 10 years old and walking down stairs to find your mother on the ground, hysterical and in tears next to the phone.

“It was years ago” People would tell me.

“Cherish the good memories and be happy”

Happy.

Y’know maybe I could have started being happy again. Maybe I could have “Gotten over it”

It wasn’t until my mother couldn’t take it anymore and decided to take her own life in the bath tub. Ever since, I had been afraid of blood. Oh, how much blood there was. I couldn’t bare it. Life was getting worse and worse for me. I was only 13. Only becoming a teenager. My life was just starting and suddenly my only sense of faith was stripped away from me.

Forced to live with a fucking awful step dad who treats me like shit. Beats me. Enslaves me to do the work around a crumby apartment because he wastes his money on alcohol and drugs. What a fucking life.  I could hardly call it a life.

17 years old, and I’ve never made one real friend. Sure before my father passed, I had a group of friends. But after all I’d been through, having them was too much of an effort. I didn’t try, I didn’t want to. And it looks like they didn’t want to try either.

I walk around school as a no body. I’m not bullied or any crap like that, I’m invisible. No one says hi, or invites me to join them at a lunch table. Hell, I don’t even think anyone knows my name. I’m just the orphaned girl who walks around school with her head down and her hoodie up.

What could I do though? Only one more year of this, and I’m legal to move out. One more year of absolute hell and I’m getting the fuck out of here.

---

A strike of thunder makes me jump, the rain still plummeting down. I huff in anger, trying to ignore the water dripping down over my face. Of course it had to rain when I wanted to go out.

The front of the store looms up from me. The old, chipped sign reading “Vintage Records and Music” made me almost want to run back home. I needed to get the guitar fixed. There’s no way I’m walking back now.

To say I hated talking to people was an understatement. Yes, I was once a naïve child, living with my stepfather. He had always brought people into the apartment to gamble or whatever. I always thought they were nice people, until one drunken night, he had pinned me to the bed and tried to-

Enough of that mopey shit! I scold myself. I clench my teeth, and squint my eyes shut. I had to do this. This was the last thing I have to remember about my dad, and it needed to be fixed.

 With a heavy breath, I slowly make my way to the front door of the shop. My shaky hand grabs the knob, almost too quickly. A slight push makes the door creak open, the dim lit shop revealed. The musty smell of the records fill my nostrils, a pleasant vibe already radiating off the room. I step in, my dirty sneakers making no sound on the tiled floor. Guitars and old concert posters lined the walls, making it look like a teenager’s bedroom in the 80s.

I walk over to the shelves, stacked with Cd’s and records. It looked like hardly anyone came into the store. I trail my hand over my covers, walking along the isle. When I look back at my hand, a grimy layer of dust had formed, just by touching the covers. I quickly wipe it on my jeans, before turning around to look for a counter. It doesn’t seem like anyone was in here, but they could be out the back.

I come out behind the isle, revealing a black and white counter with no one behind it. My heart starts racing as I slowly make my way towards it. I really didn’t want to have to call out to someone. I shouldn’t have come here. I should just leave before I get in trouble. What if this place isn’t even open?

“Can I help you?” A voice startles me, making me jump in fright. I shoot around, my breath hitching in my throat.

It was a man. And not just any man. A very attractive man. The first thing I noticed was his eyes. The intense green colour was staring so deeply into my grey ones. The prominent bags under his eyes stood out, obviously inferring he was tired. And… old.

I couldn’t exactly tell how old he was. The pushed back jet black hair gave away nothing, and his face almost completely clear of wrinkles amazed me. He simply had a black shirt on, revealing colourful tattoos all over his arms. And a plain pair of dark denim jeans, accompanied by black converse. I probably looked like a wreck to him. Cold, wet and shivering in fright.

"Who are you?" I breathe, staring up at the man’s piercing green eyes.

"Billie Joe" he smirks, biting his lip. "I own the place" He says as his tongue swipes along his full, pink lips.

"C- Can you f- fix my guitar?" I stutter, intimidated by the man in front of me.

"I can do a lot of things" Billie Joe steps forward. His hot breath was fanning my rain drenched face and the immediate smell of cigarettes and coffee made me shiver. His rough hand gently takes a hold of my chin, tipping my head upwards to look directly into his face.

"And I'll do it all for you"

 A/N I have no clue where I'm going with this, I just really wanted to write a daddy kink fan fiction about Billie Joe since I have seen none.

If you're unfamiliar, daddy kink is when the male is presentably older than the female in a sexual relationship. If you're uncomfortable with this, I suggest you don't read a head and stick to my fan fictions with nothing of this sort. This is a finale warning so I shouldn't see shocked and angry comments. This is my wattpad account, I write what i want

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