Private Ale

3 - Sleeping Without Pants On

I begin to come to my senses, opening my eyes. The room is still spinning. Hearing the blurred voices of everyone in the room mesh together, I feel a major headache forming. I realize I'm still on the concrete floor of Gilman and reach over to touch my cheek, seeing crimson red on my fingers. Fuck.

"God damnit, everyone can ya just pick people up if they fall over?? What the fuck. Who did this to you?" The blonde haired boy comes into my field of vision, crouching over me. His front teeth look even more jacked up from this angle as he speaks.

"Uhhh... umm..." I try to remember how I got here in the first place but my memory fails. I feel my cheeks get hot in frustration and humiliation. "I... don't know."

He extends a sweaty hand to help me up.

"Here, come over here. I'll fix you up. What's a girl like you doing here in the first place?" He cocks his brow.

"What's that suppose to mean?" I reply, rubbing my aching cheek.

"Uh well, I didn't mean it like that." He laughs awkwardly. "You just look... I don't know, a little more delicate than most of us here."

I shrug, in too much pain to foster up a reply. He doesn't let go of my hand as we walk back behind the stage, which I'm grateful for, because I feel myself getting more disoriented with each step. Billie runs up to the mic as I resignedly plop down on a stool.

"So uh, that'll be the end of our gig tonight. Next up is Operation Ivy. See ya fuckers." A mixture of rowdy boos and cheers ensue. Billie Joe runs backstage and crouches in front of me, studying my face.

"I didn't catch your name." He says, placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Stella Brenson. You're Billie?"

"Billie Joe Armstrong. You can call me Billie. Or Beej. I'm gonna find some ice for your cheek, okay?"

"Thanks for helping me. Do you... um... remember what happened to me?"

"I think some dumb motherfucker whacked you in the cheek on accident. Yeah, accidents happen, but no one even tried to help you or anything. I told the crowd off. If you see a cute girl at a punk show, you wanna help her up, ya know? Even me who's stoned outta my mind knows better."

I feel my cheeks burn red again. The only word my brain could muster up was, "Right."

I can't go home looking like this. My makeup is smeared and blood is all over my face. Then, it dawns on me that Diana was my ride home and she left a while ago... fuck.

"How bad do I look..." I ask him shamefully, trying to avoid meeting his eyes.

"Eh, not too bad. Here..." He walks away and comes back with a ripped up, dirty blue t-shirt.

"This is my shirt, but it's okay. Want me to clean up your cheek?"

"Billie, you don't have to ruin your shirt. It's just blood."

"Nah, it's fine." He kneels down to match my height and places his finger on my jawline, delicately tilting my head to the right. He dabs the open wound on my left cheek, wiping the blood away.

"Ow. Ow. Shit. OW!" He puts a little too much pressure the last time, causing me to wince in pain.

"Did I hurt you?" He worriedly asks.

"No, I'm just a baby."

"Just a baby? Don't act like I didn't notice you moshing with all those guys out there. You're pretty hardcore if you ask me."

I laugh, flashing back to the amazing time I had moaning and dancing at Gilman. My hair becomes untucked behind my ear and falls in my face.

"All done. Well, you're as clean as you're gonna get, especially with what I've got with me at Gilman, which isn't much. Clean isn't really in the vocabulary here."

He lets out a little laugh, obviously amused by his own joke, as his crooked teeth peek through his smile. Billie matches my gaze again. Feeling his intense green eyes, which seem to pierce through me, a sense of humiliation comes over me and I look away.

"One last thing," He notices the hair that fell in my face and tucks it back behind my ear gently. "Now you're good."

We lock eyes for a split second and then I hear the familiar voice of my best friend.

"STELL, IS THAT YOU? WHAT THE FUCK, YOU STUPID BURNOUT, GET OFF HER!" Diana snarls, Emma following behind her, with crossed arms.

"WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU?" Emma demands.

"LISTEN, BITCH, I WAS JUST HELPING HER AND-"

"Yeah, sure... Let's go Stell." She turns to Billie Joe and gives him a dirty look. "Stay away from her."

Emma grabs my wrist and before I could ever muster up a 'thank you', I'm dragged out the door.

I glare at my friends. "Guys, what the fuck? Some guy accidentally whacked me in the face in the crowd, and Billie Joe helped me."

"Oh, so now you know his name? Did he try to make you do drugs? You don't know that kid, we go to school with him, Stell. He's a major deadbeat." Diana rants.

Emma adds, "Yeah, you don't know him, don't let him influence you. Everyone at school ignores him 'cause he's going nowhere in life. As a matter of fact, he-"

"GUYS." I interrupt, "He was helping me. Helping. That's it. We barely even talked."

"Whatever." Diana sighs, flipping her hair. "I better not catch you talking to that burnout again."

"What're you, my mom?" I never talk to my friends like that typically, but the whole 'burnout' comment really got to me. Again, she's doing the whole judgemental thing.

A silent car ride home ensues. Closing my eyes, I replay the night over in my head. Up until, well, I got knocked the hell out, tonight was incredible. I felt like I could finally be myself. I felt the bass pounding in my chest like it was before and I realized not only did my cheek hurt, but my throat was sore from yelling. Sore or not, tonight was one of the best nights I've had in a while.

We finally arrive at my house and I go to open the door. Locked.

"Fuck." I think out loud.

The last thing I want is my mom to see me like this, coming home with a bloody cheek at two o'clock in the morning. Drastic times call for drastic measures, I guess.

I eye down the tree I used to climb when I was little, taking note of how the largest branch is long enough to climb onto and reach my bedroom window, which I always keep cracked open an inch.

I shrug my shoulders in defeat and just as I'm about to climb, I realize I have something in my hand. A ripped up blue shirt, spotted with blood. I smile, keeping it in hand, and begin to scale the tree.

I finally reach my window, quietly crack it open, and slip through.

I rip off my bra, and my tight white shirt and take off my pants. My whole outfit felt way too tight and it was seriously bothering me. I stumble around in the darkness of my room, looking for something to wear to bed. After a few minutes of searching, I sit down in defeat, and pull Billie's bloodied shirt over my head and get in bed with no pants on.

I lay in bed after a few hours of tossing and turning and look over at my alarm clock.

3:37 am.

Fuck. My cheek starts to ache again and I touch it tenderly. A scent wafts from the shirt I'm wearing, which is a mixture of coppery dried blood and cigarette smoke. My mind drifts to Billie Joe Armstrong, the only guy with the decency to help me tonight. His hair was bleached blonde, but you could see hints of natural reddish-brown peeking through at his roots. His eyes were green, with specks of gold that became visible up close. He was dirty and rough around the edges, but something about when he touched my face... it felt so gentle.

"No..." I whisper and ball my fist up under the blankets in frustration. I close my eyes, just for a minute, and clear my mind of everything. Every thought. So much was happening already, and it was only my first night back home. I drift off to sleep, and dream of my night at Gilman.