My Stepdad, Billie Joe Armstrong (Daughter of Rage and Love)

Hear the Dogs Howling Out of Key, to a Hymn Called "Faith and Misery"

Well let's just say I did not expect something like this to happen. Never in my wildest dreams or nightmares. THE Billie Armstrong was standing in front of me.

Trying to blink the bullshit out of my eyes, I tightly shut them, and then reopened them to find Billie's smiling face still there, looking at me. What the flying fuck is going on? My idol is standing in front of me, close enough to poke and see that he really is real. His lips are moving, and he's staring at me, but I can't hear a word he's saying.

Fluffy cakes and rainbow bunnies.

"Hope, are you listening?" my mom asked me, and I was snapped out of my trance.

"No, uh, what did you say?" I asked, turning to her, and almost getting a heart attack from the intensity of her gaze.

"I didn't say anything, but Billie was trying to tell you..." she trailed off, glancing at Billie in the process, willing him to finish her sentence.

Not taking her hint, he chuckled and said, "I'm nervous too, no worries – I said that you are prettier in person and it'll be an honor to get to know you better," he said, his voice deep and soothing. I wanted so desperately to yell at him, 'I'm not fucking nervous, I'm just too fucking scared that this is going to lead to something more than I can handle!' – but I kept a composed face and flashed him a smile. God, let me out of here, please.

Find me weird or what not, but standing in front of my idol for no longer than a couple of seconds and already I wanted to get the hell out. Whatever is wrong with me?

"Anyways, your mom has said a lot of things about you and ever since then I've been dying to meet you. As I said before, I'm Billie Armstrong," he said, sticking his hand out, fumbling over his words.

"Hope," I said, shaking his guitar calloused hand and looking at him more closely.

Okay, just let go of his hand and act cool. Act cool.

"So are we ready for this?" Billie asked, positioning himself between my mom and me, then proceeding to put one of his arms around me and the other around my mom. God I need to get the hell out of here. I can't take this, and I don't even know why.

As we walked into the café, I willed myself to say the words, 'I don't want this, I want to get away!' but couldn't. Taking a seat next to Billie for God knows what reason I ordered 'only a coffee, nothing else, just coffee'.

Then I tried to stop staring at my mom and Billie, who would look at one another every couple of minutes, their eyes lighting up with love. For some reason I couldn't keep my eyes from this sore sight – the way they would glance at each other reminded me of the look she and dad would share whenever we would go out for a family dinner. And it hurt. After he died, we stopped going out because it wasn't the same, and all it accomplished was make us feel the hole in our souls that his death was responsible for tearing open.

I sighed and looked down at my lap. After what seemed like forever, I started to find the silence deafening. If Billie doesn't say something soon I fear I'm going to bolt out of here and never come back.