As if you were still mine.
V.
Billie Joe's Point of View
What do you say to a person who won't stop crying? How do you make it easier for that person? I have no idea. I was never good at handling other people's tears, let alone my own. But this isn't about me. She was still bawling her eyes out and there was nothing I could do but be here and keep telling her everything was going to be okay. But I don't think she believed me. I don't even think she cared. She just wanted to cry.
"Billie Joe… You don't have to… Stay here," she let out between sobs, after she calmed down enough to speak. "I want to stay here," I assured her. "I don't want you to be alone tonight," I said, so she wouldn't get the wrong idea - or maybe the right one – leaving out the part about how much I enjoyed having her in my arms. I obviously didn't want to leave for more reasons than one. Her breathing evened out and I knew she was crying herself to sleep. I remembered to ask another question. "Annie?" I checked if she was sleeping already. "Yeah?" she responded, yawning. "What about your kid?"
She trembled for a moment, realizing what I meant. "He'd never hurt Bailey," she choked out with a weak voice. "How can you be so sure? After what happened tonight?" This time she remained calm – strangely calm. "This wasn't the first time, Billie Joe," she started and I found myself tightening my embrace around her. I couldn't even imagine what she must've been through. "He adores her. Five minutes before he beat the shit out of me, he went to check if she was asleep and kissed her goodnight. I saw it happen for 9 years, Beej. I'm pretty sure I know how it works with him," she explained, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Then we were both quiet for a while and she fell asleep. Here, on the couch, in my arms, with her head against my chest. I wondered if I should take her to bed. But I'm a selfish bastard, so I just listened to her breathing until about 3 in the morning, not falling asleep even for a second. Then I finally carried her to the other room, put her on the bed and covered her, then watched her sleep for a while, wondering what she was dreaming about. I walked back to the living room, crashed on the couch and stared at the ceiling, thinking about today. I felt like shit – no, worse than shit – because of what he did to her. Before I finally fell asleep, I decided to find that son of a bitch one day and painfully murder him.