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

The Innocent Can Never Last

Dodging between cars, I checked my purse for a Metro card. Ah, thank the high heavens, there it is. I wouldn't want to be forced to go back home where Billie was waiting to sabotage me with questions.

The sky was a cloudless blue, a gentle breeze stirred my hair and the sun was gentle on my skin. Such good weather didn't seem to match the news I've received not 20 minutes ago. How can guys be so cruel and stupid and immature?

I don't think he even realizes that there is no waiting for me. If that son of a bitch thinks I'm going to wait until the end of the summer to get my heart broken again, he is dead pan wrong. By the time he gets home, I'll make sure to rub it in his face that no matter what he thinks I don't want to be with him.

Ever.

Crossing the distance to the bus stop I made it just in time to get on the D48. I sat all the way in the front, considering that I'll be getting off in five stops. The props of living in New York – you know wayyy too many people who can get you some good quality weed. And they're not even half an hour away from your house.

Every senseless act of self-destruction makes me feel alive, so unquestionably existent that nothing compares to it. Hence me making my way over to the one place that will provide me with exactly what I need.

Richie. The green eyed ginger with the physique of a professional body builder and the height of a basketball star is responsible for my mind numbing medicine for the past 4 years. We've grown quite close (not in that way), and I soon found out that he's also a great person to come to if you have any sort of problem: he's insanely smart – book and street smart. Sometimes I wonder if all that propaganda about weed being bad and horrible is just a kid's myth.

My phone rang, shattering my thought process. Picking up, I didn't even bother looking at the caller ID.

"Hello?" Billie's worried voice came from the other line. Ugh, overprotective much?

"Yes?" I answered his question with a question.

"Um, where are you? Your mom called and she was wondering where you are and what you're doing...oh! And when you'll be home..." Billie trailed off, sounding guilty even over the phone.

"Billie, you're lying and you're horrible at it. My mom, in the entirety of my 17 years of living, would never call and wonder where the hell I was or what I'm doing or when I'll be home. That's how we've maintained our relationship of mutual monotony – that is until you came along of course. So for the sake of Jesus H. Christ, stop bullshitting," I said.

He was quiet for a second before he said, "I was just worried because the way you took off and that look on your face – it made me wonder if you're hurt,"

"I'm fine," I said and hung up, not being able to take his honesty and real caring. No one really ever cared about me before, and this was new. I didn't know how to react to it.