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

This Sensation's Overwhelming

A long two weeks passed, which meant another two weeks closer to the wedding. At that point, there was only three weeks left, and I was dreading it. I would have to walk down the aisle, following my mother to her fatal doom. Joy, oh joy. In the same church dad’s funeral took place. In my head, I thought it was going to be a sick... sick day.

“BILLIE, GET THE FUCK OFF YOUR ASS!”

I yawned as I sat up, after hearing mom scream at Billie about something. I felt extremely well rested for some reason, and in a particularly good mood. I swung my legs off the side of the bed, rubbing my eyes. I looked around at Billie’s spare bedroom. Two weeks had passed since I had dinner with Green Day, but it seemed so recent. I pulled on my fuzzy slippers and shoved on my dressing gown before making my way downstairs.

“Morning all,” I said, waltzing my way into the kitchen. My eyes fell onto Billie. “Morning... you,” I said, bitterly.

“Oh, hey G-”

“BILLIE JOE ARMSTRONG!” Mom appeared at the doorway, seething with rage. It seemed like I made it in time to watch the baby hormones fly. “You get your lazy ass upstairs and pick up your used underwear, because I’m not touching that toxic shit!” What was weird about this was that this wasn’t even her house...

“Yes, dear,” Billie sighed, standing to obey her orders. Mom crossed her arms, a look on her face that looked like it came straight from hell. Her eyes were flaming and her bottem lip was stuck out slightly, showing her disapproval, her arms crossed high across her chest, her legs spread out, almost as if she was a child, denied of a toy, and she was sulking about it.

“And put on something decent today, we’re going for a scan,” mom snapped, her eyes dragging upwards to scowl at her fiancé. “None of that ‘I’m such a rebel’ shit to the docters.”

“Whatever you say, honey.”

“Damn fucking straight,” mom muttered. Once he was gone, she strolled into the kitchen, still looking rather pissed.

“Baby working you up again?” I asked, casually.

“Yes.”

“Strong coffee?”

“What?! I’m with child, Grace, I can’t have COFFEE! What are you, mad in the head?! Do you WANT me to have a miscarriage?!”

“Mom! Calm down!” I said, raising my voice to get through to her. She took a deep breath, before plopping herself into a seat.

“I’m sorry, Grace. I didn’t mean to lash out at your coffee,” she apologized. “All I can really drink is fucking water, milk or orange juice and it’s pissing me off.”

“I know,” I said. “I would be too. Why don’t you eat something?”

“Just for me to throw it up again? Ha. I think not,” mom growled.

“Sammie?”

“What do you want, Billie?!”

“... nothing,” he said, knowing now wasn’t a great time to be asking shit. I rolled my eyes.

“Almost enough to dump him all together,” I said, glancing back, hopefully. She scowled back at me. “I tried...”

Later, the phone rang. I answered it, knowing mom wasn’t going to get up from hogging the sofa, leaving Billie to sit on the floor. It amused me highly. I chewed off a bit of my chocolate I was eating, tearing the toffee away from the remaining bit of the bar before picking it up.

“Hello?” I asked, my mouth full of chocolate, nuts and toffee.

“Hiya, sweet stuff!” said a familar Brooklyn accent. I nearly choaked on my chocolate. I must’ve sounded like a total slob.