Private Ale

18 - Outsiders

THUMP.

I hear the loud noise again and I pause, frozen in my tracks. What the hell is Billie doing? I look at Tre and Mike, and their mouths are agape in shock and most likely, fear.

"Should we... go check on him?" I slowly manage to spit out.

Mike toys with the collar of his shirt nervously.

"If you're brave enough to go up there and deal with him when he's in a mood like this, then I give you props."

I sigh in frustration and think for a moment, then decide to go check on him. Making my way up the wooden steps, I bite the inside of my cheek anxiously as I approach his door that reads 'Billie's Room, stay the fuck out' scribbled hastily in chicken-scratch handwriting. I pause, and then slowly push the door open and peek my head in.

Billie is sitting in the middle of his bedroom floor. The veins in his neck are thick and bulging, and his face looks flushed and red in agony. Beads of sweat are slowly dripping down his forehead. I look down and suddenly become aware of his left hand, balled up in a tight fist, with crimson red blood oozing from his knuckles. The wall next to his bed has two holes, both going through the dry wall all the way down to the wooden planks underneath.

"Jesus, Beej..." I motion to the wall.

"I know what I did, okay? I'll get it fixed, you don't have to tell me." His dark green eyes dart around the room apprehensively.

"Why haven't you said a word to me since we got back home?" I demand.

Billie bites his bottom lip and looks down, silently.

"Huh?" I repeat.

"Stella, don't fucking be like this."

"Don't be like this? If you don't give me at least an explanation, I'm gonna just leave, okay?"

I look at Billie, and he avoids my gaze, sullenly looking at his feet.

"Fine." I spit through my teeth. I turn around, making my way to his door, boiling with rage.

"Wait." He mumbles.

I stop walking, but keep my back towards him.

"This whole thing was my fault. It was my fault that I brought you to the fair, it was my fault for not keeping my eye on you there, it was my fault that I couldn't kick his ass, it was my fault that you..." His lip quivers and his face appears hot and flushed. "FUCK, that you almost got raped."

His voice is shaky and vulnerable, a tone that sounds alien coming from his lips.

"It's my fault for dragging you into my life like this. You don't belong here. I'm not good for you, Stella. You're smart, and pretty as hell, and do good in school, and you don't do drugs or anything. I'll never be half the man that you deserve in your life. It was selfish of me to even think we could ever be anything."

I stand there in the doorway, in disbelief. I'm at a loss for words, scared to say the wrong thing, and set off the volatile time-bomb that he currently is. Billie's breathing is rapid and shallow, and he's adjusting his nose ring anxiously.

"You know I'm right." He adds, locking his gaze with me seriously.

I turn around and walk out the door. I make my way down the stairs and grab a red dish towel from the kitchen, and then walk back up again. I quietly open his bedroom door and sit down on the floor next to him.

His brows furrow together in confusion, his eyes looking glassy and cloudy.

"Give me your hand." I whisper.

He slowly lifts his hand up and places it in my lap. I lace my fingers through his, slowly, feeling his bloody knuckles, his calloused fingertips, his tough, clammy skin. I lift his hand up to my lips and press gently, carefully. I feel a lump in my throat forming, but choke it down, refusing to allow myself to cry in front of him.

"None of this is your fault." I take the dish towel and press it tenderly across his bloody fingers. "I want you to say that."

"But it is." He clenches his jaw.

"But it's not. And don't you ever say that I don't belong here, with you guys. Because my whole life, I just feel like I've been drifting. Mindlessly going to parties, making friends with girls who would just talk behind my back, dating guys who spent all their free time at the gym caring about their appearance. For the first time in a while, I do feel like I belong. And for you to judge me like that, saying I'm too good for you, well... you're being just as shallow as everyone else that goes to Pinole."

He hastily runs his hand through his course blonde hair. "You're right. God damnit."

"Can you say it now?"

"Say what?" He looks at me.

"That this wasn't your fault."

He pauses for a minute, which feels more like an eternity. The air feels so thick that a knife could go through it.

"This wasn't my fault." He breathily whispers.

I smile, and grab his hand, lacing my fingers through his. Billie kisses the top of my palm gently.

"I don't know what the fuck we are, or what we're doing, but all I know is I'm glad I have you. God." His green eyes are beaming as he studies my face.

"Same." I laugh.

"My mom is probably going crazy wondering where I am. Plus, we have school tomorrow. I should probably go home now."

The light in Billie's eyes dim a little.

"Want Mike to give you a ride?" He offers.

"I feel like walking would be good for me right now."

"I'll walk you home." He gets up and digs around in his closet for his jacket. "Is your mom gonna say anything about you wearing my hoodie?"

"I'll just say it was Diana's brother's."

"She has a brother?" He mumbles as he zips his black jacket up.

"Nope, but she doesn't know that." I say dryly.

Billie laughs and slouches his arm around me, leading us down the stairs.

"I'm gonna walk Stell home!" He yells to Mike and Tre, who are watching old cartoons on the living room couch.

"Nooo!" Tre gets up and gives me a bear hug. "Don't leave us."

"I'll see you tomorrow in chem." I wink at him.

"Bye, Stella! I'll see you tomorrow." Mike smiles warmly from the couch.

Billie opens the door, still with me tucked under his arm, and we start down the paved side road back to my house. We walk silently and contently down Christie Road. I can't help but admire the mountains in the distance. I hear the birds singing and chirping around us and a sense of peacefulness sets upon me.

Billie reaches in his jacket pocket and pulls out a cigarette, lighting it, and then takes a slow drag.

"You want one?" He breaks the silence.

"Sure." I smile, taking the cigarette, in spite of the fact that I'd never smoked before. I mindlessly take a drag, studying every minute detail of Billie's face next to me.

Billie and I don't say a word after that the whole way home, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it feels nice. Whatever we are, I like it. Maybe it's because we both feel like outsiders, not exactly fitting into this world that everyone else seems to have figured out.