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

Chapter Thirty-Six: "It Still Hurts."

Oh my God, guys, your 'good luck's' WORKED!! Whoo, I'm just glad that nearly 65% of my requirements for this term are over and, done with. THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SO VERY MUCH! <3

PLEASE READ: Our finals are coming next week and, I know that it's like the 4th to the last chapter of this fic (I know, time flies by SO fast) but I'm going to have to 'leave' this site for a bit...maybe I'll update another chapter in two/three days' time but, other than that, I'm gonna have to stop updating for the entire week next week.

I. Am. So. Not. Excited. And. I. Haven't. Reviewed. For. The. Exams.

But, remember that this story is NOT ON HIATUS, okay? NO. Absolutely not. Just me, heh.

Alright, guys, I gotta leave stuff to write for later, k?

Chapter Thirty-Six: “It Still Hurts.”

- Gerard -

I wake up, not in Chelsea’s bed, but some bunk that I call my own. The last words she said before falling asleep kept replaying itself in my head.

Then I’ll let go of you…

Then I’ll let go of you…

In the middle of the night, I managed to sneak from her bedroom to her apartment door, walking out and making sure that the locks are secure before I finally jogged down the stairs and drove home.

I saw my mom pacing nervously in the living room and, I had gotten into a mini-argument with her about the time, saying that I wasn’t out doing anything stupid and damaging.

“Mom, I’m fine, seriously,” I had reassured her for what seemed like the fiftieth time before she finally gave me her consent to go to my bedroom.

And, we go back to my current situation.

I drag my body to the mirror on the door of the old, wooden closet, getting annoyed with the same black, messy hair and, dull eyes.

I turn away from my reflection.

I walk upstairs to the kitchen, noticing that both my parents’ cars are gone. It’s a Sunday and, I hear the coffee machine running inside the kitchen.

Mikey was leaning casually near the coffee machine, waiting for it to finish when he caught sight of me in my onesie.

“Hey, Gerard,” he greeted me as I passed. “What time did you go home last night? Mom was freaked.”

I shrugged, “went to Chelsea’s.”

He raised his eyebrow, “and? What happened?”