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Broken Hearts Shouldn't Require Stitches	By : druscillaryan Category: Singers/Bands/Musicians > Green Day Views: 892 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the members of Green Day. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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- 1-Broken Hearts Shouldn't Require Stitches
- 1
Broken Hearts Shouldn’t Require Stitches
Part One

Billie Lied

They say to start at the beginning. But my beginning isn’t the beginning.

Most would say it began when his dad died, but Mike says that’s wrong. According to Mike, it all started when they were both fourteen. It started the night Mike came out to Billie.

And Billie, dear sweet Billie, said it didn’t matter.

. . .

Billie lied.

It mattered. It mattered a lot. It mattered enough to destroy a friendship spanning over ten years, a marriage, four lives directly, and countless others indirectly.

I wouldn’t be telling this story if it weren’t for Billie’s lie.

I wouldn’t be married to a gay man. My children wouldn’t be living in Montana. My parents would know where I am. I wouldn’t tell people that my name is Jasmine.

But Billie lied.

And this is the story.

Pink Lipstick

“Lipstick.” Mike says, standing next to an open window with a cigarette. He knows I can’t stand the habit, but I know he can’t quit. “It started with lipstick. Pink. On the neck of his shirt. He was an hour late getting to my house and when I mentioned it he just smirked. ‘Why don’t you ever get any,’ he asked.” Mike puts his cigarette out on the window sill and then sits across from me at the table. “So I told him. He was my best friend and I trusted him. It seemed so simple.”

*

”Nice shade.” Mike said, nodding at Billie’s neck.

Billie smirked. “Yeah, well . . . I’ve got a dick after all.” he laughed. “How come you never get any, Mikey? It’s not like the girls don’t notice you.”

“They notice me because I’m with you.”

“Come on, Mike. You’ve never even made out with a girl. We’re sophomores, man. Sophomores.”

Mike hesitated for a moment, then looked Billie straight in the eye. “I’m gay.”

Billie didn’t say anything for a moment, just glanced around Mike’s room as if suddenly expecting a paper with the two words on it that he had missed. His eyebrows raised at the poster of a girl in a bikini above Mike’s bed.

“Gay.”

Mike’s gaze followed Billie’s. “What do you think my mom would say?”

Billie nodded. “Yeah, I guess.” He shrugged. “Still doesn’t explain why you’re not getting any. Guys put out too, you know.”

That should have been the end of it.

*

I walk to the fridge and return with two beers, handing one to the husband I don’t love. “And when you dated?”

Mike gives a weak laugh. “When we dated it was all sex, weed, and black eyes. Mine, of course.” He looks at me seriously. “I thought it was because he couldn’t deal with the fact that I was a guy. I thought it was me, Adrienne. I never thought he could do that you. Guess you never really know someone.” He takes a drink.

“Did you love him, Mike?”

“Yes.” Mike sighs. “For awhile. They say you can’t fall out of love, but I think Billie punched me out of it. We never really broke up, just drifted apart. And we never talked about it afterward. He was still my best friend.”

“I think you’re still in love with him.”

“And you’re not?” he snaps, wincing at his words. But he doesn’t apologize. Neither do I.

I bite my lip and then ask the question that I know will bring out a skeleton I never wanted to mention. “Did he ever rape you?”

Mike looks at me sharply. “No. When did he rape you?” When, not did. Nobody asks a question like that without reason.

I sigh and almost smile. “Jakob.”

“Jakob?”

I nod.

Savior

Mike saved me. There was never a second of denial or pretending he couldn’t see what nobody wants to. The moment he saw the bruises and the pain in my eyes he knew. He told me to go home and pack what I needed, that he was taking Billie to drink, and that he would be there at midnight for me and Joey.

The rented minivan showed up with the possessions Mike thought represented his life in the backseat. He added mine and Joey’s to it, then put my tired son in the middle seat with a blanket and pillow. “Get some sleep, kid.”

Then he helped me in the front seat. At seven months pregnant it was no easy feat. He handed me the box of tissues before we pulled out of the driveway. I noticed the Doritos and licorice on the floor between us, my pregnancy comfort foods.

“Where—“

“At my house, sleeping. He doesn’t know I’m gone.”

“He’ll destroy it.”

Mike looked at me. “It doesn’t matter, Adrienne. We’re not going back.”

“But—“

“But what?” Mike hissed after making sure Joey was asleep. “He’s been hitting you while you’re pregnant. He doesn’t give a shit about that baby. How long do you think it’ll be before he starts hitting Joey?”

I cried.

He held my hand.

Playing House

Joey didn’t understand. When he asked when he would see his daddy, Mike or I would change the subject. He was three and staying in hotels and eating out were an adventure. He was easily satisfied for the first three days.

I wanted to go to my parents’ in Minnesota. Mike wouldn’t hear it. He said Billie wasn’t stupid, that he would look for me there. I think he was convinced Billie would kill me. I wasn’t. That would come later.

After we rented the house in Utah, Joey started to wonder. How could he not? Uncle Mike and Mommy were playing house and Daddy was no where to be found.

He cried when Mike and I explained to him that Daddy wasn’t coming. I expected no less. I didn’t expect Mike to immediately take over as their second parent. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it either. But he pulled Joey into his lap and said words to him that I couldn’t make out. It helped.

Later that week Mike bought a gun.
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Broken Hearts Shouldn't Require Stitches