To know you is to hate you: Living bad dreams.

In a week there was almost no activity. Billie Joe stayed with me every night and I held him as he slept. He would often wake up in the middle of the night whimpering or finding himself unable to breath at which point I would be on hand to help and comfort him. It was really taking a toll on the singer. Not only had Tre and I noticed it but the rest of the crew were beginning to see it as well. His absence from meals was enough to raise suspicion but if they were to catch a glimpse of his swallow skin, his dim green eyes with their dark and yellow bags and his matted hair, they would surely call a medic.

His bones were beginning to jut out of his skin. I could feel his shoulder blades and his spinal cord as clear as day when I lay next to him. His hip bones protruded from his pelvis and when he lay stretched out his ribs boldly appeared. We had prompted him to eat but he just refused, he refused activity, writing and even strumming his guitar. He just slept. Each time his wife or one of his kids called him he acted like everything was peachy. When asked about the cancellation of the tour he claimed that he was just exhausted.

Of course Adi worried. She called me asking for the truth and I told her, bluntly, it was not my place to say and begged her to wait until Billie was home to ask any further questions. So, she stopped calling and resorted to texting her husband.

For a few days I lay with Billie in bed, holding him tight and keeping him warm. Eventually, though, I got frustrated with hanging around indoors all day and left to explore the streets of Berlin with Tre. Not that Billie Joe even noticed. I would come back each day, or night, and he would be in the same position I left him, except with maybe a few more cigarette butts in the ashtray.

In fact that’s all he did apart from sleep and drink tea. He smoked continuously and I was running back and forth to the hotel store buying cartons upon cartons of the cancer sticks. Watching him puff one after the other made my own desire for the nicotine dwindle; in fact, it made me feel queasy.

***

Mike sat with his feet balanced on the coffee table, the German magazine given to him by Tre sitting in his lap. He couldn’t even read the damn thing; all he did was stare at the picture.

I snuggled into the warmth of the duvet and did my best to concentrate on the television. I had been watching it but never fully grasping what was going on. Needless to say my mind was on other things.

“So what? You’re going to lie on your fat ass all day?”

“Cool it Fink. Leave the puppy alone.”

I cringed and bit down on my lip. The two of them, the latter I knew to be Twitch and the former ‘Satan’, had begun to bicker and argue continually. For a while sleeping had been my only freedom, but they had even taken to controlling my dreams.

‘Satan’ was a glutton for punishment. He may have been in my body, feeling what I felt, but he sure as hell liked to inflict pain upon it. Twitch I knew to be more of a lover than a fighter, but his presence still gave me a strange feeling in my gut.

“Fuck off faggot. I’m just trying to get limp dick to stop wallowing in his own self pity.” ‘Satan’ sighed, “What a pussy.”

“You’re makin the poor baby feel worse you swamp dweller!”

I whimpered, despite myself, and I heard the shifting of the couch material as Mike stood. My eyes were squeezed shut, my head buried into the covers. I felt the bed dip as my best friend sat down next to me and he placed his hand gently onto, where he assumed, my shoulder was.

“BJ? You alright?”

I didn’t answer him. The war between the two personalities was holding most of my attention; the small fragment of sanity I had left was concentrating on keeping my eyes firmly closed.

“Fuckin pussy. Be a real man Billie Joe and stop whimpering!”

Tears slid down my cheeks and I bit onto my lower lip hard enough to cause the metallic taste of blood to fill my mouth. My hands were fisted into my hair, my body pulled into a trembling foetal position and my heart beat wildly in my chest.

“Quit it Fink!”

“Billie Joe? Come out from there, let me help. Please.” Mike sounded terrified, his hand was shaking me and trying to pull back the covers, “BJ please.”

“Go fuck yourself you pansy! Come on Billie Joe, let’s go out and party! Get some booze and young ass!”

I shook my head. The duvet was stripped from my body and Mike was gripping onto my shoulder, pushing me round to lay onto my back.

“Breathe BJ, just try to breathe.”

“Fink! He’s got a purdy wife and two kids!”

“Didn’t stop him from fucking the shit out of his best friend!”

“Stop it!” I screamed.

I pushed Mike away from me and threw myself off the other side of the bed. My night shirt was covered in sweat and my briefs felt sticky against my skin. Mike’s expression was one of pure horror and anxiety. He moved carefully around the bed, his hands out in front of him reaching for me.

“Calm down.” He whispered.

I, again, shook my head; my eyes wide and my mouth dry. They were still going at it in my head, each biting back at each other, one defending me and one putting me down.

“He’s a fag, don’t let him touch you.”

As soon as Mike came within an inch of me, I pushed him violently away. I gazed at him through the matted hair hanging in my eyes, my hands balled into fists by my side and my feet placed far apart; I was ready for a fight if needs be.

He rubbed his healing arm as he watched me through wide, sapphire eyes. Something inside me laughed at the thought of hurting Mike again but I quickly shot it down.

“You have him at a disadvantage Billie boy. You’re stronger, go on, have some fun.”

My whole body quivered and a shiver ran up and down my spine. Slowly my hands uncurled and I brought them to rest on my head.

“Stop it.” I whimpered, “Just stop it.”

“Just leave him be you fiend!”

“Both of you fucking shut up!”

“Stay out of this faggot. Go back to whatever hole in his head you crawled from!”

Next thing I knew, I was on my knees, my hands fisted into my hair and my entire body shaking. Mike was landed beside me and pulled me into his chest. I sobbed into his t-shirt, the heels of my hands thumping at my temples as the two personalities continued to bicker back and forth.

“Shh now. Stop that.” Mike tried to pry my hands away from my forehead, “You’ll hurt yourself.”

I allowed him to gently take hold of my wrists and hold my hands in his. I buried my head into the base of his neck and allowed his familiar scent to sooth me.

“T-take it away Mikey. Make it stop.” I whined.

“I can’t BJ. But I promise we’ll get this sorted. Please just hold on. For me.”

“I can’t.” I sobbed, choking on my words, “I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to be here.”

“Don’t say that Billie, please. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“He would manage.”

I bit my lip and cried harder. The rougher of the two, Fink or was it Satan, was right. Mike would manage without me.

“Let’s get back into bed BJ. You’re shakin.”

Mike’s voice was soft and calm. The vibrations in his throat lulled me closer to slumber. His very presence seemed to dull the voices in my head, his warmth soothed my aching limbs and his gentle touch told me I was alive. I nodded into his chest and he lifted my body onto the mattress before crawling in next to me.

As we lay there, his arms around me and his voice whispering sweet nothings into my ear, I put up a wall between us and the rest of the world.