Welcome to Paradise // Billie Joe Armstrong // #Wattys2017

Murder city

Rays of bright sunlight are shining through the curtains and onto the floor of my dorm room. I carefully open my eyes and blink a few times to adjust to the light. I roll on my stomach and wrap the blanket I'm laying under tighter around me. The warmth it's providing makes me feel so safe, like everything is okay. But everything is not okay and I'm immediately reminded by it when a single thought enters my head and sends shivers down my spine.

Billie Joe Armstrong

That's the good thing about sleep; it makes you forget everything for a little while. I've always been so fascinated by how the brain storages everything you do or think about on a daily basis and interprets it in it's very own way through your dreams. How it seems to confront you with your deepest desires. It's only that the confrontation that comes afterwards replaces those dreams with the mass-destruction of the real world. And boy was I in some mass-destruction right now.

After what happened in the hallway, Billie and I got back to my room where we fixed his wound. I really tried to wrap the bandage around his waist well, but my hands shook violently and my lack of experience made it even more impossible for me to do it right. I eventually got it done, though it was wrapped around him clumsily. We then discussed what was going to happen next. I had managed to convince Billie to stay the night in one of the other dorm rooms, but it hadn't been easy. The stubborn sonuvabitch was desperate to find his wife and he'd do anything to get her back. I just couldn't let him enter those streets alone. Especially not in his conditions. It was also way too dark and he had no clue where even to begin looking.

For all we knew, she could be dead.

Eventually, he did give in and I got him a blanket and a pillow. I could hear his steady, calm breathing through the plaster wall my bed was placed against. I silently thanked the school for making the walls so thin. Soon, I fell asleep to the rhythm of his breath. My dreams were sweet that night.

I'm wrapped up in my thoughts -and my blanket- as the door of my room is being smashed open. Before I have time to even move an inch I feel two hands firmly grasp onto my shoulders and turn me around. A pair of widened emerald green eyes are bored into mine. Billie.
"Aileen! Aileen! Wake up!" Billie yells in my face.
"I'm already awake, what is it?" I growl back at him, my voice sounding croaky and soar. I can be a real pain-in-the-ass in the morning, especially when the little safe-haven I'm in gets taken from me.
Billie ignores my grumpiness and I'm welcomed by a bright, warm smile. His eyes have gotten all sparkly and stuff and he's clearly excited about something. I can hear the joy in his voice as he speaks to me.
"I remember"

* * * * *

It was a hot evening, that I remember. One of those nights where you want nothing less than to wrap yourself around a big cube of ice and let the heat of your body melt it. Sweat was dripping down my face and onto my shoulders and I probably wouldn't have been wearing clothes if I was alone. Mike was standing next to me and we we're watching Tre climb on the dumpster that was placed against the wall of the alley. He was reaching for the window right above it. It led into this old bar that had been shut down a few years ago. The walls were all cracked and it was like a cobweb paradise in there. Luckily for us, the dumb-asses didn't move anything out as the old owner called it quits. Not even the beer. The bar was ours from then on.

Every Friday evening, we'd get together and drink a couple of beers. Sometimes a few more than a couple. It was a place for us to relax without being surrounded with the press and all these fans that always approached you like you we're fucking Jesus carrying an AK-47 or something. It gave us the chance to be alone in each others company and clear our minds. We needed it.

Tre was now standing on the dumpster and opened the window. Mike and I climbed on it too and the three of us found our way inside the building. It was dark as usual and the smell reminded me of the week before; Tre had managed to bump over an entire crate of beer. The scent of yeast was fucking all over the place, it was also the last thing I remember from that night. My next memory was from the morning after.