Only of You

Chapter Three

When I woke up on the floor of Billie Joe's lounge room I realised Jesse and Mike were right, you really shouldn't drink before smoking pot. I couldn't remember a damn thing after smoking that joint, and now I was laying in the carpet with a stiff back. Mike was laying next to me asleep too, and Jesse was asleep by my feet.

I got up off the ground without waking either of them, but I felt sick as hell, so I almost fell back down onto the damn carpet. It took me a moment to regain my balance, but once I did I realised I wasn't even wearing my clothes - I had a baggy black shirt on, which apparently I was using as a dress, because I had no pants on. That scared the hell out of me, and I wondered what the hell I had done the night before.

I decided to go into the kitchen to get a drink because my mouth was dry as hell, and I felt dehydrated. When I walked in there I saw Billie Joe sitting at the table, and his eyes were wide as hell when he saw me. Maybe I looked real terrible or something, my hair and makeup must have been a mess. I didn't want to say anything to him because I was feeling shy again, but he started a conversation for me anyway.

"You're awake?"

I don't know why he seemed so shocked when he asked, maybe it was real early or something. I just replied with a nod.

"You feeling okay? Do you need a drink or something?"

"Yeah," I shrugged, sitting down at the table, and he got up to get me a glass of water.

When he passed me the drink, I drank it so fast that it made him laugh, since I felt so dehydrated and all. He sat down next to me, and my heart started racing, I didn't know what to say, hell, I didn't even know what I had done the night before.

"Did you have a good night?" He asked, and he kept his eyes focused on the table. I didn't even know what the hell happened, how did I know if I had a good night? I mostly wanted to know where my clothes were and why I wasn't wearing them.

"Yeah, um, who's clothes am I wearing and where are mine?" I asked, and he smirked and looked up at me. That scared the hell out of me, I wanted to look away, but his eyes were too nice. They were so green.

"You don't remember?" I shook my head when he asked. "You're wearing my shirt because, well, you were showing me your Dead Kennedys shirt, and I told you I liked them, but I had heard better." He smirked when he said that. "When you asked who, I said Green Day, and you were like 'who the fuck are they? A fuckin hippy band?' then I told you that Green Day is my band, and I started telling you about us, and you got so fuckin' crazy," he started laughing, and his cheeks turned red. I just wanted him to hurry up and tell me what I did, because I was so embarrassed and all. "You stood on the kitchen table and yelled 'fuck the Dead Kennedys!' and you fuckin' ripped your damn shirt off."

He was laughing, but I was cringing at myself. "You say I ripped it off? You mean I tore my shirt?"

He nodded, "it's in shreds."

"What happened to my pants?"

"Right after you ripped your shirt you poured Tre's beer all over you, your jeans were soaked. Funniest thing I've ever seen, you really are a riot." He was shaking his head with a pleased smile on his face. It was pretty funny, but I was sad about my shirt, that was my favourite shirt. "Whatssa matter?" he asked me all of a sudden, and I realised I must have been sulking.

"That was my favourite shirt."

"They're your favourite band?"

"Nah, I like the Sex Pistols, but that was the only band shirt I had." I said. I tried not to sound too sad about it, but I guess I wasn't so good at pretending when I was hungover as hell.