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

Chapter Thirty-Three: "My Own Fucked-Up Version Of Revenge."

Okay, I won't say much right now since I'm the middle of writing a news article for Journalism but, yeah...Here goes chapter thirty-three, loves!!

Chapter Thirty-Three: “My Own Fucked-Up Version Of Revenge.”

- Billie -

It felt as if my entire body was frozen on the spot, my mouth open and, eyes staring at Gerard.

It took both of us few moments to get down from the high of the situation. Gerard was first to recover.

“Was that what you wanted to hear before you could beat me senseless? Well, there it goes,” Gerard managed to mumble light-heartedly, “you could go beat me up now.”

“G-Gerard…you still…what? Is this a joke?” I ask him, laughing in distress.

He shook his head, “you heard me, Armstrong.”

My feet backed up to the arm chair once more; I sat down, my hands half-covering my face, “oh my God…” a thought suddenly buries itself in my brain. “What about Lindsey? Don’t you love her?”

His eyes widen, as he claims, “I do! I do love her, she’s amazing.”

I almost exhale in relief after he said those words but then…

“But Chelsea is different. She’s…she was my…I still love her, Billie…God, I’ll be kidding myself if I said I don’t,” Gerard sighed in desperation, looking at me with a pleading look.

“But I love Chelsea,” I say, looking in his hazel eyes.

“I know,” came his muffled voice from between his hands. He looked up at me with watery eyes, “I know that it’s wrong and downright pathetic since we fell apart such a long time ago…but I can’t help being jealous, Billie. Every-fucking-time I see you with her…and that kiss you shared in that park -- that, that broke me!”

I just sat and stared, ready for the things that Gerard might tell me. Heck, this is going to be the second time in two days that I’ll know things that I didn’t know can happen in real life.

“Well, if you love her so much,” I started, getting Gerard’s attention. “Why did you set me up to date her? I mean, you were single when we met…” I mentioned, my eyes averting from his to the creamy white ceiling.

“Because I was mad at her for leaving,” was his simple answer and let it hung over our heads. “She just left without telling anyone except her neighbour’s cat! Like what the hell kind of goodbye is that, you know?”

He was standing up, pacing the room. I remained seated on the chair, hoping that he’ll say more without me asking; I’ve never seen him this agitated yet so desperate.

Like he seemed so eager to let everything out.