To know you is to hate you:And all my senses are coming unplugged.

Tre went to the counter to order two drinks while I approached an anxious Billie Joe. He sat alone in a booth in the furthest corner of the small coffee house, still clad in the clothes Twitch had left wearing this morning. He had a mug in front of him and a blue berry muffin which he had barely touched.

When he saw me looming towards him, he jumped up and pulled me into a tight hug. I returned the favour.

“Are you okay?” I asked.

We parted, he took a seat and I sat down opposite him. He still hadn’t answered my question; instead he smoothed his thumbs up and down the edge of the mug. I lent my head down, trying to catch a glimpse of his shaded eyes.

“Billie?”

“No. I am not fucking okay.” He said it rather calmly, despite the harsh swearing.

Tre appeared before I could press further. He placed before me a large mocha and he himself had a hot chocolate with marshmallows and cream. He patted Billie Joe on the back briefly before sitting down.

“What happened BJ?!” The drummer asked.

I leaned forward, indicating that I was more than ready to hear his explanation. He placed his head in his hands and shook it gently.

“I don’t know.” He started, “I just found myself sitting at a bench in the city centre and…and I just freaked out. So I decided to go to the nearest Starbucks that I knew and then I called you.”

I had to hand it to Billie Joe, he was getting better at thinking logically during his bouts of panic. He knew we had come to this Starbucks twice during our trip, he knew how far it was from the hotel and he knew that we would know exactally where it was.

“You did the right thing BJ.” I whispered.

“I don’t remember waking up this morning. I…I just remember going to bed last night and falling asleep. Then… then I wake up on a fucking bench!” he looked at me, his eyes were so full of underlying fear, “Do you remember me leaving?”

Tre gazed at me in confusion.

“How would you know? Did he stay with you last night?”

I glanced from one friend to the other and felt the undeniable burn on my cheeks blushing. I looked down into my coffee as if trying to find the answer somewhere in its milky depths.

“We…we’ve been sleeping together.” I admitted

I looked up to catch the singer’s reaction, but there was none. He simply stared blankly at the table. Tre, however, seemed to be processing the information in his mind, turning it over and over, trying to find some sense behind it. Eventually, after what seemed like a lifetime, he smiled; genuinely smiled.

“Aww guys! That’s…that’s great! I fucking knew you two had something going there!”

“Yeah it’s just spiffy isn’t it?” I said sarcastically, “Our wives aren’t going to care that we love each other or anything!”

“You love each other?”

That caught Tre off guard more than admitting we were having sex. His eyes went to sappy goo and he grinned.

“I thought it was just sex! But you love each other!?” he looked from me to Billie Joe, whom still stared blankly at the table, “That’s fucking great!”

“Can we talk about this later?” Billie joe replied in a hushed whisper.

“Sure. Yeah.”

“Mike. Do you remember me leaving?”

I nodded, “Yeah. I let you go because you seemed fine.”

“But it wasn’t me!” He snarled, “It was one of them! How could you let me leave!?”

“What was I meant to do? Just stop you?” My temper was wearing thin.

“You should have locked the door and not let me leave!”

“What? I should have tried to stop you like I tried to stop you cutting up your own scalp? Because we all know how that ended!”

It was out before I could prevent it. He fell silent and averted his gaze. Tre glared at me, his eyes begging to know why the fuck I had just brought that up.

“Can we just go home?” Billie Joe whispered.

“Yeah BJ, that sounds like a good idea.” Tre replied.

***

Billie Joe didn’t break breath with me for the rest of the afternoon. He returned to his own room that night and I was left to my king sized bed alone. It was strange without his small body radiatating heat beside me. Most of the night I lay watching the free view television or listening to my ipod.

Still, it didn’t take away that niggling feeling that I had at the pit of my stomach.

***



At five fifteen in the morning, when the sun was just beginning to peek around the blinds, there came a hesitant knock on my door. Luckily I had the television down low, or the sound would have been lost.

“I’m coming.” I called, pulling on my sweater.

I shuffled to the door and unbarred it. Billie Joe stood with his arms folded across his chest, his back hunched and his head hanging low. He had the hood of his sweater pulled up over his skull and, despite how cold he obviously was, wore only chequered boxers and nothing on his feet.

“Can I come in?” he asked timidly.

I stood out of the way and gestured for him to walk by me. He did so with no further hesitation.

“What’s up Bj?” I asked once he was comfortably seated on the bed.

“I can’t sleep.”

He refused to meet my gaze, his eyes focused only on the tops of his bare feet.

“Okay.” I sighed and knelt before him, “Is something bothering you BJ?”

He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment. His face was mostly shadowed by the hood but beneath it I could see tears sparkling in his eyes.

“You can tell me Billie.”

I gently took hold of his hand and, to my relief, he squeezed it tight.

“They won’t get out of my head.” The singer muttered through clenched teeth.

“Who?”

“One of them calls himself Reverend Strychnine Twitch and the other guy…” he drew in a deep breath, “he says he’s the devil.”

At that moment he looked up at me, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears and his lips clasped together. I felt a chill sweep through my own body.

Gently I reached up and caressed his cheek. He lent into the warmth of my touch.

“He’s not the devil Billie Joe.” I whispered, “I promise you that.”

But could I really? How did I know that ‘Fink’ really wasn’t the devil? Or some sort of demon?

“H-he’s lying.” Still, I kept playing the game.

“How do you know?”

Billie Joe sighed. He slid from the bed and buried himself into my chest. I held him in my arms, listening to the quiet whimpers and sighs catching in the back of his throat. I pushed down the material of the hood and his hair, I now saw, was in matted bits. Clumps were missing from various sections and the bare scalp was scarred. For days I had only seen him with his head covered and the realisation of how horrible the situation actually was brought me almost to tears. What had Billie Joe ever done to deserve this?

He shifted and squeezed me tighter.

“I’ve met him Billie Joe. He’s nothing but a lying cheater who’s bent on destruction and violence.” I answered.

“So’s the devil Mikey.”