Someday I'll be big enough so you can't hit me
Title: Suicide Makeover (20/?)
Author: Logan
Pairing: young!Billie/Mike
Rating: PG-13
Previous: 12345678910111213141516171819
Summary: The nurses must all think that I’ve taken a couple steps backwards.
The nurses must all think that I’ve taken a couple steps backwards. The one who bandaged my hand up last night just gave me this look. Like she was asking me what was wrong while telling me that I’m a stupid fuck at the same time. I nearly screamed out in frustration over the fact that I wasn’t trying to hurt myself!
I told Billie Joe about the stupid bitches before falling asleep last night. He giggled and told me that I should just learn to control myself better. Fucking bitch. I told him that maybe he just shouldn’t give me a fucking blowjob in the goddamn psych ward because if he hadn’t then I wouldn’t have bit through the skin on my hand and I wouldn’t have had to go see those dumbass nurses.
That caused him to laugh a little bit harder before shimmying out of the bed and crossing the room to kiss my bandaged hand. He apologized with a smile and a quick kiss. I think I might’ve pouted, I’ve been spending too much time with Billie Joe, so he rolled his eyes and gave me a longer one.
But that was last night. And this is today. And Billie Joe’s off doing something with his mom, who came by a little less than an hour ago. She all but flew into our room, much to the displeasure of both of us and the nurses, and forced Billie up and out of the bed. She tossed him a bag and told him to quickly shower and get dressed. Said something about being late for some sort of something. I don’t fucking know. I was half-asleep and had my head buried under my pillow.
I woke up to say good-bye to him. He was wearing a dress shirt, complete with a fucking tie, and pants that were twice as baggy as his usual ones. He looked so tiny wearing these clothes that made him look like a kid dressing up in clothes from dad’s closet.
He had caught me staring and offered a weak smile, “Mom hates how tight I wear my pants so she makes me wear these ones when we’re going out around her friends.”
And then he left. And I have to get ready for another appointment with Dr. Moore. It’s not because of the hand though. I think it’s because I’ve been here for almost a week and a half or something. Which means I should be getting out of here in a few days. I think the counts at five…could be four. Maybe even six. I don’t know. This place is fucking with my brain.
I’m too lost in trying to figure out what day it is that I don’t notice the fact that she’s calling me into her office. She snaps her fingers and says my name, loudly, and suddenly I’m brought back into this crazy place. I keep my mouth shut as I follow her into the small office, my eyes darting away as she stares at my hand.
“Hello, Michael. How are you today?” She continues to study my hand, I know she wants to ask, but she goes on to say, “So, only five more days left! Do you think that you’ll be ready to leave in five days?”
I give her a little shrug and flash a small smile of thanks for the fact that she didn’t mention my hand, “I guess so. I mean, I want out of here, but you probably know that. But at the same time I…I don’t know.”
“It’s Billie Joe, isn’t it?” She questions. Peering into my eyes as she seemingly attempts to search my goddamn soul for something that she can use against me, “Because you know, we’re all worried about it too.”
That gets my head to shoot up and I stare back into her eyes with a hard glare, “You guys don’t need to worry about me or him. He’s not a fucking baby.”
“He’s almost ready to get out of here himself and we just don’t want anymore setbacks for him.”
“He--he’s--” I stutter, not quite sure where I’m going with this sentence, and she cuts me off with a curt nod of her head, “I--is he really ready to leave? I mean, I don’t want him going out there and killing himself or something.”
Dr. Moore sighs softly and bites her lip the tiniest bit, “I can’t discuss that with you, I’m sorry. We need to focus on you right now. What’s with the hand?”
Fuck you, fucking bitch. I feel like saying that, obviously I don’t. Billie Joe would. The thought of him makes the cut on my hand sting and I give her a shake of my head, “It’s nothing. I bit it last night.”
“You…bit it?” She stares at me in disbelief as she asks the question.
“Yes,” My eyes are rolling before I can stop them, I really am spending too much time with Billie Joe, “I must’ve been dreaming about something, can’t remember, and I woke up and I had bit through the skin.”
“In the middle of the day? You were dreaming in the middle of the day?”
“I was tired so yes, I was napping instead of doing fucking arts and crafts yesterday.”
She raises an eyebrow but proceeds to drop the subject, instead turning back to the question of whether or not I was ready to leave.
“I don’t know,” Is all I can say. Because it’s the truth. I don’t know how I feel about leaving, “He keeps saying that we can’t stay in touch when we both get out of here and I--I don’t like the idea of that.”
Dr. Moore hums and scribbles something onto her pad of paper, “Do you often get attached to people this quickly?”
I don’t know what the hell she’s implying so I just shrug, “I guess. Or at least, I try to get to know people. Not really get attached to them just…you know, be friendly with them.”
“Would you say that you may have commitment issues? Not particularly with committing to things yourself but more so with the idea that people can’t commit to you?”
Oh, she’s good. She’s real good. But I really don’t feel like getting into this bullshit. So when I open my mouth and say, “Well, I guess maybe a little,” I instantly curse myself and slump down in the chair.
She looks at me. Encourages me to continue.
So I do, “I don’t know my dad. He left me. My mom works all the time. She left me. My sister has her friends and her boyfriends and her school and her own problems. She left me. My girlfriend, the one person who I really thought cared, cheated on me. Leaving me. I would think that it would be weird if I didn’t have fucking commitment issues, wouldn’t it?”
She just nods. I want to punch her right in the middle of her fucking face. I actually get up, fists clenched, at her next statement.
“And now you’re afraid of leaving Billie Joe and doing the same thing to him that these people have done to you.”
“Fuck you,” I’m walking out of the room before I realize what’s happening, “Fuck you and your stupid fucking questions that don’t mean shit. I don’t have problems and I’m not fucking suicidal. I’m just a messed up kid who made a mistake. I’m not going to do it again and it had nothing, nothing, to do with my fucking ‘commitment’ issues.”
Billie Joe’s still not back when I reach my room.
So I throw myself on the bed and cry.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holy fucking hell it's been awhile. Last time I updated this story was in November but I was on a roll with some other writing and decided to try to get out another part to this one.
And damn, I've missed this story like crazy.
<3
( Next Part )
Author: Logan
Pairing: young!Billie/Mike
Rating: PG-13
Previous: 12345678910111213141516171819
Summary: The nurses must all think that I’ve taken a couple steps backwards.
The nurses must all think that I’ve taken a couple steps backwards. The one who bandaged my hand up last night just gave me this look. Like she was asking me what was wrong while telling me that I’m a stupid fuck at the same time. I nearly screamed out in frustration over the fact that I wasn’t trying to hurt myself!
I told Billie Joe about the stupid bitches before falling asleep last night. He giggled and told me that I should just learn to control myself better. Fucking bitch. I told him that maybe he just shouldn’t give me a fucking blowjob in the goddamn psych ward because if he hadn’t then I wouldn’t have bit through the skin on my hand and I wouldn’t have had to go see those dumbass nurses.
That caused him to laugh a little bit harder before shimmying out of the bed and crossing the room to kiss my bandaged hand. He apologized with a smile and a quick kiss. I think I might’ve pouted, I’ve been spending too much time with Billie Joe, so he rolled his eyes and gave me a longer one.
But that was last night. And this is today. And Billie Joe’s off doing something with his mom, who came by a little less than an hour ago. She all but flew into our room, much to the displeasure of both of us and the nurses, and forced Billie up and out of the bed. She tossed him a bag and told him to quickly shower and get dressed. Said something about being late for some sort of something. I don’t fucking know. I was half-asleep and had my head buried under my pillow.
I woke up to say good-bye to him. He was wearing a dress shirt, complete with a fucking tie, and pants that were twice as baggy as his usual ones. He looked so tiny wearing these clothes that made him look like a kid dressing up in clothes from dad’s closet.
He had caught me staring and offered a weak smile, “Mom hates how tight I wear my pants so she makes me wear these ones when we’re going out around her friends.”
And then he left. And I have to get ready for another appointment with Dr. Moore. It’s not because of the hand though. I think it’s because I’ve been here for almost a week and a half or something. Which means I should be getting out of here in a few days. I think the counts at five…could be four. Maybe even six. I don’t know. This place is fucking with my brain.
I’m too lost in trying to figure out what day it is that I don’t notice the fact that she’s calling me into her office. She snaps her fingers and says my name, loudly, and suddenly I’m brought back into this crazy place. I keep my mouth shut as I follow her into the small office, my eyes darting away as she stares at my hand.
“Hello, Michael. How are you today?” She continues to study my hand, I know she wants to ask, but she goes on to say, “So, only five more days left! Do you think that you’ll be ready to leave in five days?”
I give her a little shrug and flash a small smile of thanks for the fact that she didn’t mention my hand, “I guess so. I mean, I want out of here, but you probably know that. But at the same time I…I don’t know.”
“It’s Billie Joe, isn’t it?” She questions. Peering into my eyes as she seemingly attempts to search my goddamn soul for something that she can use against me, “Because you know, we’re all worried about it too.”
That gets my head to shoot up and I stare back into her eyes with a hard glare, “You guys don’t need to worry about me or him. He’s not a fucking baby.”
“He’s almost ready to get out of here himself and we just don’t want anymore setbacks for him.”
“He--he’s--” I stutter, not quite sure where I’m going with this sentence, and she cuts me off with a curt nod of her head, “I--is he really ready to leave? I mean, I don’t want him going out there and killing himself or something.”
Dr. Moore sighs softly and bites her lip the tiniest bit, “I can’t discuss that with you, I’m sorry. We need to focus on you right now. What’s with the hand?”
Fuck you, fucking bitch. I feel like saying that, obviously I don’t. Billie Joe would. The thought of him makes the cut on my hand sting and I give her a shake of my head, “It’s nothing. I bit it last night.”
“You…bit it?” She stares at me in disbelief as she asks the question.
“Yes,” My eyes are rolling before I can stop them, I really am spending too much time with Billie Joe, “I must’ve been dreaming about something, can’t remember, and I woke up and I had bit through the skin.”
“In the middle of the day? You were dreaming in the middle of the day?”
“I was tired so yes, I was napping instead of doing fucking arts and crafts yesterday.”
She raises an eyebrow but proceeds to drop the subject, instead turning back to the question of whether or not I was ready to leave.
“I don’t know,” Is all I can say. Because it’s the truth. I don’t know how I feel about leaving, “He keeps saying that we can’t stay in touch when we both get out of here and I--I don’t like the idea of that.”
Dr. Moore hums and scribbles something onto her pad of paper, “Do you often get attached to people this quickly?”
I don’t know what the hell she’s implying so I just shrug, “I guess. Or at least, I try to get to know people. Not really get attached to them just…you know, be friendly with them.”
“Would you say that you may have commitment issues? Not particularly with committing to things yourself but more so with the idea that people can’t commit to you?”
Oh, she’s good. She’s real good. But I really don’t feel like getting into this bullshit. So when I open my mouth and say, “Well, I guess maybe a little,” I instantly curse myself and slump down in the chair.
She looks at me. Encourages me to continue.
So I do, “I don’t know my dad. He left me. My mom works all the time. She left me. My sister has her friends and her boyfriends and her school and her own problems. She left me. My girlfriend, the one person who I really thought cared, cheated on me. Leaving me. I would think that it would be weird if I didn’t have fucking commitment issues, wouldn’t it?”
She just nods. I want to punch her right in the middle of her fucking face. I actually get up, fists clenched, at her next statement.
“And now you’re afraid of leaving Billie Joe and doing the same thing to him that these people have done to you.”
“Fuck you,” I’m walking out of the room before I realize what’s happening, “Fuck you and your stupid fucking questions that don’t mean shit. I don’t have problems and I’m not fucking suicidal. I’m just a messed up kid who made a mistake. I’m not going to do it again and it had nothing, nothing, to do with my fucking ‘commitment’ issues.”
Billie Joe’s still not back when I reach my room.
So I throw myself on the bed and cry.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Holy fucking hell it's been awhile. Last time I updated this story was in November but I was on a roll with some other writing and decided to try to get out another part to this one.
And damn, I've missed this story like crazy.
<3
( Next Part )