Billie Joe Armstrong is my step-father... and I hate it [EDITING]

13. Give Me Novacaine [Edited]

It felt like I had been sitting on the floor for ages, staring at my Irish dancing dress. It was far too small for me now but it was the first one my dad had ever bought me for my seventh birthday. It was very traditional but then my dad would have it no other way. It was green at the top and down the sleeves, and just after the chest it turned black. Celtic design was sewn into it in white and then some more green once it turned black. I had managed to make it last until I was nine and then I had to get a new one. I kept every one I ever owned because each one was special to me.

And only to me, it would seem.

I let out a long breath, trying not to cry all over again. My phone buzzed and the screen lit up but not even Aiden was going to cheer me up. However, I gave it a quick glance and it wasn't him at all.

Joey: Heard you storm into your room after a lot of shouting downstairs...

I sighed. I almost hated him for making me like him, honestly. I had every intention of despising him and it seemed he had the same idea. And we did... for all of five minutes. I guess we were just too similar to hate each other.

Me: Yeah. Big arguement. I'd avoid going down there for a while if I were you.

Joey: Are you alright?

I read it over and over again. I literally screamed at his dad and he was asking me if I was alright. I let out a short breath and tried to find the right way to say no. However, I must have left it too long because before I even started typing, there was a knock on my bedroom door and I didn't need to guess who it was.

I dried off my eyes - Joey had seen me cry once, I wasn't going to put him through that twice - before I went to answer the door, holding up my phone. "What, you can't wait two minutes without a reply?" I joked, but my voice sounded flat.

"I guess I got bored waiting, what can I say?" he replied, giving me a smile. Which made me smile. "You alright?"

"Um... Yeah," I said, running my hand through my hair. "I mean... as alright as I can be, I guess. Do you wanna come in?"

"I don't think I've actually seen your room," he commented as he walked inside. "It's very... girly."

He was right. It was. I had purple walls with white furniture for Christ sake but if he thought mine was girly, he should have seen Andy's. I shrugged a bit and went to pick up my old dress again. "It's kind of been like this since I was thirteen. It could use a new coat of paint but... I don't know, I don't have the heart, you know?"

"Your dad painted your room?"

I nodded and just before I could open the wardrobe, he actually noticed the dress I was holding. "Whoa, I've never seen a dress like that," he said, almost jokingly. "Is that yours?"

I laughed softly and shook my head. "It's not a dress you wear out, you idiot. It's an Irish dancing dress. It's the first one I ever owned when I was seven."

I laid it out on the bed for him and he seemed a little confused, studying it carefully. I found it a bit funny how confused he looked but I didn't want to say anything. He looked up at me, "You dance in this? Isn't it restricting?"

"Not to your legs. See, this bit flares out at the bottom and it's kept pretty short. You're upper body is always pretty stiff when you Irish dance - you have to keep a straight back and your arms have to be by your side," I told him. "Well, at least for most of it. If you get a more technical or a solo dance, sometimes you have to move your arms." I realised that I was probably talking too much after that and I trailed off. "Sorry, you don't wanna know all that."