The Loser's Girlfriend [A Billie Joe Armstrong Fan Fiction]

Chapter Twenty-Seven: "You Thought That Low Of Me That You Could Just Leave?"

Okay guys, as promised! 

Chapter Twenty-Seven: “You Thought That Low Of Me That You Could Just Leave?”

 

- Lindsey -

I was nibbling on my bottom lip, looking expectantly at Donna, who was holding their house phone like a priceless treasure. Donna sat on the couch, her face buried in her hands, I heard her mumble something like, “Damn it, Gerard…where are you?”

I took the space next to the distressed woman gently, patting her back.

It was one to have a boyfriend who suddenly goes missing, another if you’re that boyfriend’s mother.

“Lindsey, I don’t know what to do,” she sobbed, her body shaking. “I don’t want to lose him again…I don’t want…”

“You won’t,” I tell her firmly, stopping the circular motion I had made on her back. She turned her bloodshot eyes to look at me, “you won’t lose Gerard, Donna. I promise you.”

She looked vulnerable and, although the situation might be the entire opposite right now, I am forced to tell her everything’s going to be okay when she asked.

“You really think so?”

I nod my head.

There was silence throughout the entire Way household. Donald came home for a week upon finding out that Gerard had some vices going on. He’s currently driving around California, hoping to get some news.

Mikey volunteered to stay behind until I came to visit and he asked if he could go with his dad as well.

Donna had been crying for the past 10 minutes since they left and I was becoming anxious. What the hell is taking them so long?

Do they have ANY idea on where to find him?

Where were they, exactly?

What if they got all their clues wrong and they end up searching somewhere where Gerard wouldn’t be in?

Oh God.

“Lindsey, Gerard’s going to be okay,” Donna said in between sniffles, noticing my worried expression.

I felt tears prick my eyes and I blinked them away, saving them for later.

“Yes, he’ll be okay.”

I hope.

My eyes kept on locking themselves to the door, hoping that somebody would come bursting in at any second. What if he’s beaten up and bleeding to his death somewhere?