Murder City

Chapter Fourteen

sorry about the lack of updates, ive been busy

14 | Billie Joe Armstrong

I've been parked outside of Fletchers house for half an hour, scoping out the area and hoping he doesn't come back anytime soon, luckily his driveway and the street around us is clear. Aurora told me to stop here when we drove past, so she could collect a few things. I wanted to come with, but she told me to stay put. I wonder if Fletcher is already home, but thats just paranoia, I hope. 

A knock on the window releases the feeling from my body. 

She sits in the passenger seat once I unlock the car door, holding a box of her possessions. I'm sad to see shirts in the box, as I liked our silent deal of sharing clothing. Well, actually it was her taking my clothes, because I'd never be able to squeeze into hers. 

Resting on the top of the scrunched up shirts is a purple book, thick with scrap pages of paper sticking out from the top, a leather strap keeping it from popping open. "My therapy diary." She smirks, passing it to me. I'm glad she trusts me enough to hand me something so personal, but I don't want to read it. I don't want my presence disturbing her already shaky past. She smiles at me. "Read it." She says, combating my thoughts without even realizing.

I peel off the leather strap, finding Velcro keeping everything together. It practically explodes, papers popping out and sliding into my lap. She grabs them in one swoop, flicking through them. 

I flip to the first page.

Its a photograph of her, she looks young and unfamiliar. I can see how much she's changed. The girl in the photo has a darker shade of blonde coloring her flat hair. I'm used to seeing Aurora with a bright, bouncy style. I'm yet to ask her if she owns a hair straightener.  In the photo, she's wearing a shirt which completely consumes her tiny frame, along with jeans, the silver bracelet is wrapped around her wrist, . Next to her, is a taller man crouched down to meet her level. He smiles into the camera. His nose shape, long and thin, is exactly the same as Aurora's. Above his thin lips is a mustache, neatly combed and trimmed. His hair is slicked back, and his arm is around Aurora. 

"Thats my dad." She points to him, before I continue flipping through the journal. 

Its mostly entries, all dated almost 10 years ago. I skim through the words, its mostly just what you'd expect from a 15 year old. Some entries interest me, especially one where she talks about someone named 'M'.

"Who's 'M'" I ask, passing the diary back to her.

She looks confused at first, before reading the pages for herself and cringing. "He was some guy I had a crush on in high school. He took me to prom, then left me to make-out with some other girl." She drops the diary back into the box. "Shit, thats rough." I laugh. I never went to my high school prom, I saw it as nothing but a meaningless waste of time. 

"Its fine." She smirks, leaning over to kiss my hand.

Her confession of love felt forced. She meant it, I'm sure, but it felt panicked. I don't mind, to be honest. I've waited so long for her to accept who she is so we can be together. It was just unexpected. We spent less than an hour in that place after all.  

She tosses the box into the backseat, I see the journal slip out and hit the floor, but I don't mention it. Instead, I keep driving to our house. 

Thats weird to admit now. Its our house. The one we will live together in for the rest of our lives. Or atleast, I hope. I'd be a shame for this to end before even starting. I want to see the day she gives birth to our children, or the day we get married. I would prefer both. I've always wanted kids, but I can't bring it up now, especially since this is our first day of officially being together. 

We've moved so fast its almost like our wedding is right around the corner. I feel like I've known Aurora for years, when in reality its been less than six months. Maybe it has been years, the timeline is too muddled now. Thats the beauty of scenarios like this. Many have experienced situations like this, but nothing exactly like this. The love I feel for her isn't something anyone has ever felt or ever will feel. 

I reach over and I squeeze her hand, pulling into the driveway of our home. I get out first, walking over to the passenger seat to open the door for her. She steps out, and I grab her hand to lead her inside. 

I take her up the stairs, and lead her into the room at the end of the hall. Opening the door, I watch as she slowly steps inside, looking at the walls lined with awards, along with some vinyl records displayed. I haven't let anyone, except my other band members, step foot in here. It feels like I'm letting someone directly into my heart, which I wasn't ever prepared to do. But I'm ready now. 

I guide her to two chairs, she takes a seat on one of them, and I on the one opposite her. Our knees are touching, she doesn't pull away. I grab a guitar, which had been displayed in the corner. I sit it on my lap, before repositioning it to play for her. I've been preparing for this moment for too long now. I'm never nervous for any show or event I play at anymore, but this is nerve-racking. In fact, I think this is the most vulnerable I've been. 

I begin to sing, but I can't hear myself. Everything fades to nothingness. She's all I think about. She's all I am. She's my past, my present, my future. She's all I ever will be. 

I hear my heart, beating right against my ear. The ones who belittle the feminine touch are the ones I don't want to be around. Before I know it, I'm no longer singing. I wonder if I sung the right song. If I strummed the right chords. She wraps her arms around me, hugging me deeply, her tears dripping onto my shirt as she nuzzles into my neck. Putting my guitar on the floor, I wrap my arms around her waist. 

This is where I belong.