Angel Blue {Billie Joe Armstrong}

Chapter 1 - The Beginning

TW: If anything you read, upsets you or you find it triggering, please feel free to stop reading. DM's are always open if you need to chat about anything x 

Your P.O.V:

It's true, you know, what everyone says about me. I'm just one big broken mess inside. Let's be honest with ourselves - no-one would want to try and fix me at this point. No-one can; I believe that I am past the point of salvation. Past the point of anyone being able to be fix me. That's how much people care about me. Get it? They don't. But, I can hardly blame them for it. The question is, can you really blame me for being the way that I am?

I have no parents, they're gone. I know what you're thinking, and the answer is, I don't know. I have no idea if they are dead or  simply just don't want me; either way they're gone and most of my life I've gone from one foster home to another. Now this point, is an important factor in what you are about to witness. Everything I am telling you now, is for a reason. Everything I am telling you now will help you to understand me, and how I ended up in the arms of a stranger. 

Back to the main point, my current foster parents treat me like something they scrap off their shoes. To them, I am merely a punching bag when they're drunk, or bored. They treat me like shit because I'm not really their child; therefore, in their minds, that makes all of this okay. If I didn't hate my life before them, they certainly make sure that I hate it now. I may be here slagging my foster parents, but I have to give them some credit in making me understand the truth; that truth being that no-one cares about me and no-one ever will. Hence, why I have to stop waiting around and hoping that someone is going to come and rescue me from this hell. I'm going to die here either way. The words of my foster father are echoing in my ear. "Who the fuck do you think you are?" He would spit, the smell of alcohol strong on his breath. "Some kind of fucking damsel in distress?" This is when he would lean in close to me, and I would fear for my life. "You are nothing."

He was right. Who the fuck did I think I was? 

Let's cut to the part of my day where shit really hit the fan. I was sat on the sofa in the living room of my foster parent's home. Let's get one thing straight; this isn't my home. I don't care if that's all you take away from this. It is not my home. I am not welcome here but at the same time they won't let me leave, as much as I've offered to get out of their hair for good. You see, as long as I am here, they're getting paid by the government. That's all that this has always been about; money. I've decided that I hate money. A lot of people who aren't like me, and are incredibly happy and well off, have the luxury to throw it around and assert their wealth into any situation. Money makes people greedy, it makes them crooked, and I  have seen first hand how money can change a person. So, I hate it. 

I found myself picking up the remote control and began flicking through the channels on the television set to see if anything was on to distract me from my total boredom when my Foster-dad stood in front of me. I took a deep breath and had no other choice but to prepare myself for the worst. "What the hell are you doing?" He spat. I looked up at him but my eyes never met his purely because I was too scared to make eye contact for the fear of what would happen to me if I did.  

"I-I-I'm just flicking through the channels." I stuttered as I looked straight past him. I went to turn to the television off, but I flinched at his sudden movement as he grabbed the remote control and threw it violently across the room, hitting the wall and smashing a picture frame as it did. "Who the fuck gave you permission to turn on the TV?" He screamed in my face, his saliva hitting me. I was shaking but was paralysed at the same time.  I couldn't help but think that this could be the last few moments of my life; I knew what this man was capable of. 

"No-one." I whispered, as the tears began to form in the corners of my eyes. I still wasn't looking at him. I couldn't bring myself to do it. 

"Sorry?!" He screeched, his voice getting louder and angrier causing me to shake with fear more than before. 

"No-one." I said again. 

"Do you pay the bills in this house?" 

"No." I said, my eyes darting around, looking for a quick exit. I knew that if he got hold of me, it was going to be bad and I'd more than likely wake up in a hospitable and like to the nurse about how I sustained my injuries. 

"No," He said, chuckling to himself. He threw his bottle to the floor and the last few drops of his beer soaked into the carpet that looked like it had been here since the eighties. "No, because you're a fucking freeloader!" Everything in the room went still. My ears were ringing from him screaming. Then, nothing happening for a second before I heard myself screaming as he grabbed my hair and threw me off of the sofa and onto the floor. He stood over me as I lay there trying to recover from hitting my head as I went down. He grinned at me before he punched my face and I began to bleed. After a few moments of pure pain, I found the strength the stand up, bravely push him out of the way and run to my bedroom. I grabbed a ready- packed rucksack from under the bed as I knew that living in this house meant that I needed to be prepared for any situation. He screamed at me as I threw the front door open and ran out of the house. He shouted my foster-mother, telling her that I was escaping and needed to be stopped, whatsoever the cost. 

I heard my foster-dad screaming at me down the street. It was just my luck that no-one else was around who could have possibly helped me, or maybe even saved me from the nightmare that I was living in that exact moment. I had seen all the films and read all the books; people in my position didn't come out the other side. The tears that were streaming down my face began to mix with the blood the was draining from my body at an alarming rate. If I hadn't of gotten out when I did; they would have killed me. They threatened to do it before so there is no doubt in my mind that they would have attempted. Maybe now though, I would be free from the sleepless nights and barricading the doors out of the fear of being hurt again. That's when it hit me. I had nowhere to go. I didn't know anyone, I had no friends. I was completely alone, without a roof over my head. If I wasn't going to die in that house; I would most certainly die on the street. 

But there was no time for me to stop and think about how shit my life, and my luck was. I continued to run, not once did I look back. I would rather be dead than go back there. For me, I think this was me making peace with death. "There's nothing to be afraid of," is what I always told myself when the thoughts of dying or suicide ever came up. I kept telling myself that I was 18 now. I could get a job and eventually home and everything was going to be okay. Right now, this was the only thing that was keeping me going. I knew that this moment in my life was an important one, if I hadn't have escaped, I would have never gotten out at all and never seen the light of day. 

I thought back to being a little girl, it would have been the best thing if a 'prince' came to my rescue and stopped the pain altogether but that didn't happen in real-life and fairy tales were there to give people unrealistic expectations of life and get their hopes up. "Pull yourself together." I told myself as I reminded myself that no-one was coming to save me and that I was in this alone. I wiped the tears from my eyes and looked at my hand to noticed that the tears hadn't only mixed with my mascara but it had mixed with the blood that was draining from my head at an alarming rate. "Shit." I said as I used my sleeve to try and wipe up the blood but it only appeared to smear it around my face even more. I was now crying more than ever and the pain was only getting worse.   

I was too busy trying to stop the blood that I didn't realise that I'd run straight into a man. "Sorry." I stuttered, crying hysterically and in pain. I try to carry on running but he grabbed my arm to stop me. "Are you alright?" He asked and the fact that he sounded genuinely concerned took me by surprise. Someone showing genuine concern for my welfare was not something that I was familiar. 

"Yeah." I lied but he saw straight through that. Of course he did, I was crying, in pain and covered in blood. 

"Let me help you." He offered, taking my hand. "Please." He added when I tried to protest, not wanting to bother him. I looked up at him after he said "Please." I could see him more clearly than ever. I could see him more clearly than I had ever seen anything else, as I agreed to let him help me. Could this be the prince that was going to save me?  Could I finally get my happy-ending after everything? 

**Updated 2021