To know you is to hate you: You name the time.

“Do you want a crème filled doughnut?”

I looked back to where Billie Joe was sitting, covered in the duvet and with a fort of pillows, upon my bed. He shook his head against the cushions and curled tighter into the cocoon.

“How about a packet of peanuts?” I reached further into the hotel fridge, “Or Ice cream?”

“Dude that stuff costs an arm and a leg, I’m fine with a cup of coffee I swear.”

I closed the fridges door with a soft thud and sighed deeply in frustration. We had spent the whole night talking about things, turning options over and over in our minds and as expected the solution was still the same as ever. Clearly I was trying to find an answer that Billie Joe wanted to hear but, as usual, it was in vain.

The kettle came to a quaking boil and I poured its contents into the two prepared mugs. Just as I began to carry both steaming coffees over to the bed, the hotel door burst open and Tre waltzed into the room.

“Good morning Mi-“He paused as he spied Billie peeking his head from around the covers, “Mike, you got a Billie in your bed!”

He bounded onto the bed, sat back and placed his arms behind his head. I ignored him and set both coffees on the nightstand by Billie Joe.

“So, did you two bump the uglies last night?”

“We talked.” Billie Joe explained, his voice holding no emotion or expression.

“Oh geez you guys are that sort of couple!” he screwed up is face in a disgusted sort of way.

“We talked about the problem at hand Tre. I usually love your joking around to calm serious situations down but seriously dude this is a case of Billie’s mental health.”

“I know dude I’m just trying to chill you guys out. But I am being serious.”

“Really? What have you done? Apart from book flights and get the whole cancelling shit out of the way?”

“I sorted the shit at the hospital and calmed Billie down when he took a complete nervous breakdown when you were admitted!”

I looked to the bundle on the bed.

“He did.” Billie Joe confirmed.

“Okay, okay. I admit you have helped.” I sighed and sat on the end of the bed between Billie Joe and Tre.

There was something about us all being in the one room that made me feel safe. The tingling in my arm felt less threatening to me, as did Billie Joe’s sudden illness. I can’t explain it, I never could, but recently I felt that we three could take down anything that was thrown at us. There was a lack of solitude about it, the same feeling that I felt when Billie Joe and I lay together; minus the touching of body parts.

“Right, so, where is my coffee? And if you guys aren’t going to eat your doughnuts can I?”

Tre, in typical Cool fashion, ruined the moment. I gestured to the fridge, waving my hand in a ‘go ahead’ motion. He jumped from the bed and began to help himself. I shuffled up beside Billie Joe. He rested his head onto my chest and I wrapped an arm around his thin shoulders. He had lost weight, I could both feel it and see it, this whole thing had him more rattled than he had ever been and it was causing him to lose his appetite; a thing the man very rarely lost.

His eyes watched the drummer idly while holding onto my ‘CKY’ t-shirt. The duvet now was bunched around his middle and the sleeves of his hoodie gathered at his elbows revealing several deep gashes on his left arm. I drew in a deep breath and gently took hold of his wrist.

“Billie, what happened?” I asked.

Tre glanced over to the scene and his eyes widened. Billie Joe looked from me, to Tre and then to his tattered arm. His breathing quickened, it came in short gasps and whines.

“I-I…oh god.” He was shaking, “I don’t know.”

“Did you do this to yourself?” I whispered gently.

“No! Fucking Christ no!”

“It’s okay if you did BJ. I mean, we won’t think any less of you but…but it’s scary to see you like this.” Tre came and sat on the edge of the bed.

Billie Joe pulled his arm from me and gazed at it. Tears streaked his cheeks and he glided his fingers smoothly across the still bloody scratches.

“I didn’t do this. I…they…”

He collapsed back into the mound of pillows, releasing his arm and sighing. I pulled the sleeve down and placed a hand on his head.

“It’s okay.” I said, even though it wasn’t.

“He’s trying to destroy me.” Billie exclaimed, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, “He’s a suicidal mess and is taking all his shit out on me. My wife is going to think I am crazy, my boys will never want to be near me; they’ll lock me up and throw away the key.”

“They won’t BJ. I was looking this shit up on the internet and loads of people experience this. You can get help! There’s a way out.” Tre replied, he then looked to me and smiled,”See, I help.”

I made a face.

“We’re going to be here for you, okay? Every step of the way, we’ll be there.” I leant down and kissed his lips, tasting the salt of his tears upon them.

He rolled onto his side and coward up against me. Tre retreated back to the kitchen to continue his raiding of the fridge and I switched on the TV to a German music station which we had visited back in 2004.

Tre threw me the first aid box and I persuaded Billie Joe to allow me to tend to his wounds. He eventually pulled up the sleeve, wiped on the antiseptic himself and watched as I placed butterflies over the biggest of the seven. I topped them all off with a layer of cloth bandage and declared the ordeal finished.

“Is there nothing English on?” Tre complained.

“There’s only CNN.” I replied.

“Oh don’t put that on Mike. We don’t need more bad news than we already got.” Billie joe moaned and buried his face against my chest.

I chuckled and stroked his patchy hair. The presenter on the television said something to the camera and the audience laughed. Tre pouted.

“I think that German bitch just called me a whore.”