Murder City

Chapter Sixteen

16 | Billie Joe Armstrong

Smut warning 

I read the date on my phone over and over again. May 2nd. 

Aurora and I have been together for a week now. The best week of my entire life. I smile, knowing I can now say that with confidence. Sure, I was happy when my band signed to a record label. Sure, I was happy when our record we're flying from the shelves. Sure, I was happy when I started to play big stadiums more frequently. But, this tops all of them experiences.

I look around, knowing one day this will all be nothing. One day, my mind and body will be switched off, stuck in a forever peaceful state. But as the hours tick by I know I'm okay with that. I've lived to see myself fall in love, which is all I've ever hoped for and more.

I wish I met Aurora earlier, but to be honest if I did I probably would have been locked away.

I sit patiently on the couch, a glass of sprite in my hand. I circle it around gently, watching as the liquid paints the side of the glass, before dripping back into the cup, only to be swirled around again, the cycle repeating. 

I look over to the front door again, and wonder how she can stay busy at a mall for that long. I gave her a little bit of money three hours ago, and she hasn't once called, texted or even gave me sign that she's okay. Hell, I'd even take a smoke signal at this point. 

I take another sip, the ice slowly melting, making the drink colder under my touch. I place the drink on the coffee table, which is filled with rings from my lack of coaster usage over the years. I groan as I stand, my body not as young and flexible as it used to be. I stretch my arms over my head, the shortness of my shirt showing off my waist, my tattoos revealing themselves.

I walk through into the kitchen, grabbing some bread and taking a bite out of it. I finish it off in time for the door to open. I hear the rustling of paper and plastic bags as she walks into the living room. I smile, unable to contain the hot flush of my body. Walking in after her, I sit back in my chair as she sits across from me on the larger couch. 

She looks up. "Oh, I didn't realize you we're in. You're not recording today? You told me you'd be in the studio until 5." She leans over, rummaging through the bags on the floor. "Little mishap." I shrug, not wanting to go into any details, she pushes me anyways, asking me what happened. "Mike got food poisoning. He kept throwing up all over the place." The thought alone still makes me shudder. 

"Awe, I'll have to drop by his place later." She says, before pulling some makeup out of a Sephora bag and proceeding to tell me what everything does, how she uses it and how much it costs. I listen intently, taking mental notes as she speaks. She proceeds to tell me about everything she got, when she gets to clothing articles she gives me a mini-fashion show for each and every one, before telling me which skirt she'll pair one grey sweater with, or what jeans she'll wear for her best friend's birthday party.

I listen to everything. I remember everything. I love hearing her be excited about what fabric she covers her beautiful skin with, or what liquid she'll paint across her face.

She tucks the bags into the space on the couch next to her, her hands folding into her lap, and I decide to drop the question I've been suppressing for so long. But, now that I think about it, I don't quite know how to ask it. I open my mouth and decide to blurt out the first thing in my head. 

"Sex."  

Her eyes widen, and I mentally slap my forehead. Great, beej. THATS what you start with? I couldn't be more awkward if I tried. "I mean...what if...would you..." They say communication is key, but nobody teaches you how to communicate. God, this is embarrassing. The way she's looking at me right now, her eyebrows raise, her lips slightly curved at the ends, makes the embarrassing feeling come harder.