Earlier that day...
Billie's POV
"Billie Joe Armstrong!"
An angry, disappointedly familiar voice's booming call startled me out of sleep. I blinked awake and sat up with a start, rubbing my eyes and sighing. It had had a really good dream, and I was trying to get my foggy mind to remember some sort of detail from it when
"BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG!"
I groaned, resisting every urge to throw myself back down on the bed. I could hear his obviously pissed off footsteps (his walk always sounded different when he was out for blood) and counted the seconds before he burst into my bedroom, practically frothing from the mouth.
"Do you mind telling me what the HELL this is?"
He raised a large fist which had a brown paper bag crumpled in it. I knew immediately, but decided to beat around the bush just to get him annoyed.
"A bag, sir?"
His eyes narrowed and I practically could hear him growl like the dog he was.
"Very good. You're not as dumb as you look. Now, do mind telling me what these are?"
And in went one gorilla hand to retrieve a bunch of freshly-rolled joints. His eyes were glinting in between rage and some sick satisfaction.
"It's weed sir."
He ground his teeth again and met my innocent stare with a venomous one. I was starting to wonder if toying with him was worth the shit I was going to be in.
"Can I ask you why I found it in your backpack?"
"Can I ask why you were looking in my backpack?"
I knew he had enough at that point, and in one stride he had crossed the marginal distance between us to loom over me, a deeply set snarl contracting his face. I refused to flinch, I knew it would be worse if I showed fear.
"I have to go out. I'll deal with you when I get back." Were his parting words as he scrunched the bag back up in his hand and stormed out. I waited until the front door slammed and I could hear the car screech out of the driveway before I clambered out of bed.
"Like I'll be here when you get back you sonava bitch." I muttered to myself before pulling on a shirt and some jeans and venturing out into the house.
It was 9 already, so Mom and Anna had gone to work, meaning the house was relatively empty. The basement door opened abruptly as I was starting to hunt around the mostly hollow cupboards for breakfast, revealing a seriously dishevelled and uncommonly depressed looking Mike.
"Wow, what's up with you?"
He didn't answer, only shuffled into the kitchen and plopped himself on the counter next to me. His silence confirmed that something was definitely up. I tried to lighten the mood.
"You better get ready for your date with Annabel. I mean, you're still a sexy bastard as you are but maybe a shirt would be the way to go. Then again, it's gonna end up coming off anyway."
I smirked at him and waggled my brow. His frown hardened, and he began picking at the chipping paint on the countertop.
"She cancelled."
"What?"
"She cancelled. She said her step dad grounded her."
Disappointment was evident in his voice as a tidal wave of thoughts and emotions tumbled through me. On one hand, as a faithful best friend I felt genuinely sorry for Mike. On the other, I couldn't deny a sense of contempt, a strange relief, that swept through my head, clouding it. I dropped the spoon I was holding, and fumbled to pick it up. Thankfully, Mike didn't seem to notice.
