Billie Joe has Multiple Personality Disorder.
Yeah...
I don't know if the title will stay the same, so it may change.

Prologue

I never noticed it before. I figured the trials I was going through indicated something; maybe past drug use or common sips of intoxicants. I figured my mentality or loss of sensibility could be justified by something self-inflicted, but I was wrong.

The blackouts terrified me the most. I didn't want to awake falling off of a bridge or on boat to no mans land. I wanted to remember each and every swing of the pendulum instead of forgetting hours of the days. Amnesia rotted my brain, and I was incapable from stopping it from doing so.

Next was the depression. I was lacking the feeling of pleasure, intimacy, and happiness. I first noticed this when I was on stage, playing a cricket stadium of 50,000, and felt nothing. I felt no exhileration, excitment or joy. I was an empty shell from then on.

I'm not normal or self-controlled.

I was experiencing regular hardships that I had grown acuston to feeling. Headaches and body pains are completley normal - especially if you live the lifestyle I lead - and I've dealt with panic attacks and anxiety since I can remember.I never thought of those problems of normality to be symptoms of something worse.

The distortion of my perception and reality was causing me to question my levelof sanity. My unjustified anger made me want to cry over the pain I caused, and the auditory hallucinations made me certain that I wasn't OK.

I lost what is left of my mind.

I didn't want anything I was doing taken lightly because everything felt so heavy to me. I couldn't carry the weight of this insanity so I let it corrupt me and eat away at my insides like a maggot to a corpse. I couldn't stop the devastation or the fictional decapitation that felt all too literal.

I walked down a one-way roadto insanity, searching for a familiar path back to a state of mind.

I'm not sure if I found one or not.

________
Eh?
I'm typing this at school, so sorry if there are mistakes and such.
Hopefully, I'll be able to put more up soon. =)

Chapter 1 - Viva La Gloria

The song wasn't coming together, and I was getting frusterated. I was annoyed and irritated by the fact that I could write on verse, chorus, bridge, or some awesome guitar riff, but would get stuck afterwards.

I was sitting in my house studio down in my den. My sons Joey and Jakob were at school, and my wife Adrienne was working at her store. I was alone, and I liked that in a way. I knew I wouldn't be bothered by anyone in a few hours, so I could write without any disturbances.

The time wasn't going to much use, though. As the pendulum, swung, my fingers remained locked on an immobile pen. I was using a pen because I have an unexplainable fear of pencils. I don't know why a small, slender, yellow writing utensil with lead and eraser shavings scares me, but the phobia has caused me to almost convulse if I touch one.

The acoustic guitar left my lap as I set it against the wall. I sighed and rubbed my head; a migraine begginning to flourish within my brain. I headed upstairs slowly, passing framed photos of Bob Dylan and the Beatles. I reached the kicthe and popped a Tylenol dry before taking a slight shiver.

I decided that maybe a drive would clear my mind; maybe unlock some idea from my tired cranium. I put on my leather jacket, bracing for the April breeze, and grabbed my car keys off the table. I climbed into my car, my head still throbbing as I started the ignition.

I drove down some avenue, and no ideas popped into my head. I was searching for a great epiphany; something as clever as Jesus of Suburbia; which I thought of while on a walk. A drive may not equal a stroll, but it's sort of similar; heading aimlessly around Oakland, pondering everything.

The streets were beyond familiar; I had them mapped out in my mind it seemed. I could turn onto a pathway almost absent-mindidly, and still be able to find my way home. I guess thats whats it's like when you live in the same general area for 37 years.

Out of nowhere, I was stricken with a panic attack. My heart raced, and I felt extremley nervous for no reason. Anxiety showered over me as my lungs seemed to convulse. Simply breathing became a task as I tried to concentrate on my driving; trying not to die in some freak accident.

A green light at an intersection allowed me to continue a calm recklessness that I hoped was subtle. I could barely think of anything aside from questions - question of inquiries that I couldn't answer. For instance, What the hell is wrong with me?

I wanted to pull myself off the side of the raod and compose myself, but my shaking body wouldn make that difficult. I didn't want to veer off and smash into a guardrail or another car. Then again, I couldn't drive while I was having a panic attack. I guess I would have to take a chance.

Slow down.
You're going to kill yourself!

Thank God there were no cars behind me because I stepped onto the brakes and haulted without warning. After realizing that I was sitting in the middle of an Oakland highway, I summoned the strength to pull off to the side of the road.

That's better.
I thought that guardrail was going to be my new face.

I blinked. I was hearing voices, and the voice was as clear as day. It was a loud, soft female voice, and it was as coherent as anything. Each syllable was enunciated in my head, so nothing was nisinterpreted. There was something in my head, talking - taking care of me in a weird way - and I couldn't control it.

You don't remember me?
You never were much for faces...or voices, I suppose.

This is a dream, and I'm about to wake up. I either ate something weird, or drank too much beer; whatever it is, it caused me to literally lose my mind. Everything will be normal once I open my eyes.

Don't wish me away.

I'm not wishing anything. I'm simply thinking in realistic terms. A healthy person doesn't randomly start hearing voices in a normal reality. There must be some kind of a glitch; I must be dreaming.

You should want this to be real.

Why? Why should I want to be hearing voices? I'm a sane person; I don't want to lose my mind to some auditory hallucination.

Because I'm here...
And not him.

My migraine grew as I wondered what the voice inside of my head was talking about.

Don't act oblivious.
you're a bad actor.

Why are you here, driving me insane?

I'm here to save you - protect you.
He's here to destroy you.

Who's he?

...I received no answer, which was actually scary. The voice inside my head vanished, as if it disliked my question, and, for some reason, I wanted it back.

Well...who are you?

...I, once again, received no answer. I sighed as my head slowly stopped spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally spinning. I figured that I was either dreaming, or totally hungover, but the voice returned and crushed all of my hopes.

You know my name.
G-L-O-R-I-A.



This isn't the end, but I don't have time to type me.
Bah! I hate not having a computer at home.
I'll hopefully be able to type the rest tomorrow.

wooot! lol i love this story so far xD
I feel special cause i'm the only one who knows what happens next =P

Hahahahaha. =)
Maybe you can call me today because I wrote two more chapters,
and I have no homework to do!
Because something really weird happens! =)

This is really great Sarah! I can't wait to read more!

Chapter 2 - The Traces Of Blood


Pulling out of this reality is where I knew I had been taken. And I was angry. So very angry, and nothing could nurse the rage back to happiness.

I was a strung-out sonuvabitch.

I broke the guitar strings from playing so hard. My fingers were sore and bleeding, but I didn't mind.

Nothing sounded right, so I unplugged the amp. I was tempted to strangle myself for some reason. I didn't and I don't know why.

I was confused in sensible way.

I walked out of the den and into my bedroom, passing the wife without giving a kiss. The kids were gone. I was here. Here in a big house full of emptiness.

"Billie Joe?" a voice asked.

I looked up, wondering who was talking to who.

The wife stared at me intently. "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," I said, but she walked over anyway.

"Oh, my God, Billie," she said quickly in a dissatisfied tone. I looked up at her, wondering why she was upset, but she softly took ahold of my wrist , showing me my own bloody fingers.

"What did you do?" she questioned as she grabbed a few tissues on a nearby desk and tried to surpressed the red gunk.

"Guitar," I muttered.

She looked at me, displeased. "How hard do you have to play for your fingers to bleed this bad? Are you crazy?"

I blew her off by turning away and pulling my bloody fingers away from her handful of tissues.

"Billie?" she asked, her voice strained with worry. "Are you sure you're alright?" she inquired again.

I didn't respond and she took a step towards me and touched my shoulder.

I slapped her. Right across the face.

Once her head ricketched back in my direction, she stared at me with shocked and frightened eyes. Her cheek was rosey red and I could almost feel the sting she deserved.

"Don't touch me," I added bitterly.

She continued to stare at me, and I just stared back. Long seconds went by and all I wanted was a cigarette. I didn't care about what she had to say or what she was going to do. Her hurt expression had no effect on me.

"You bastard," she muttered tearfully as she quickly left the bedroom. The door shut behind her and I stood.

I really wanted a cigarette.

I stepped out of the room and she was already nowhere to be found. I heard the car start. I wondered where she was going, but suddenly realized that I didn't care.

I walked out onto the patio with a new pack of cigarettes. One lead to four, until I eventually chain-smoked them all. My mouth was thick with a raunchy taste, but I enjoyed it. The nicotine blazed through me, and it felt as sweet as poison.

I looked out into the open, but didn't admire the sceanery. I could see all of San Francisco, but does it matter? The piece of shit never did any good for me, so why would I want to wake up to the sight of it every morning?

I tossed the empty pack of cancer sticks onto the patio, littering. The sun drenched me with sweat until body odor was all I could smell. The slightest hint of sweetness disappeared underneath the stupid hot sun.

Why would you hit Adrienne?

My eyes narrowed, and I looked around, unsure of what was going on.

I'm talking to you; Billie Joe.

She was just trying to help you.

I don't need help.

You're hearing voices and abusing women.

Those are definate incidents that cry for help.

Get of my head.

It's my head, and I'm not leaving.

Then I'll leave.

And go where?

You'll just flee to the back of my prefrontal cortex and come back when you decide to fuck things up.

She's the person who's going to fuck things up.

I'm the party in your brain, she's the pisser.

She's trying to protect me.

From what - war, robbery, genocide?

Call homeland security.

She's trying to protect me from you.

You want to destroy me.

I only want to destroy her.

But she's guiding me.

Do you want to destroy my only light in the darkness?

Yes.

My eyes opened. I didn't know if I had been dreaming or just blinking. I had a terrible headache, and my fingers hurt like hell. I looked down and silently gasped when I noticed my fingers were bleeding.

I looked around, not knowing why I was on the patio. The last thing I remember was writing a song...and now I'm outside and my fingers are bleeding.

I went inside and grabbed a tissue, btu the bleeding had basically stopped. I checked the clock and it read almost 3 in the afternoon. The last I remember, it was noon.

I lost 3 hours of my day.

I knew Joey and Jakob were at school, but I didn't know where Adrienne was. Today was supposed to be our day together, and she had left somewhere. She didn't even leave a note like she usually did.

Adrienne's lack of a presence wasn't bothering me as much as the dried blood on my fingers and the fact that I had no idea how it got there.

Chapter 3 - Love And Razorblades


I couldn't sleep.

I was downstairs in the living room, not sleeping. I should've been since I had to go to the studio in the morning, but should've doesn't mean could've. I couldn't sleep because I couldn't stop thinking. Thinking about everything. I wished for an off switch for my brain, but didn't receive one.

I was thinking about why I couldn't remember the three hours of my day today, but i still didn't know why. I had no explanation for why dried blood was on my fingers or why Adrienne was upset with me.

She didn't come home until half and hour after I woke up on the patio, and she was upset for some reason; she wouldn't even look at me. I tried asking her what happened, or what I did, but that just made it worse.

She called me a jerk, and that was it.

Adrienne and I have an amazing marriage, but that doesn't mean we don't fight sometimes. We usually fight when I'm out making an album or on tour because I'm not home and that stresses both of us out. This time, thought, I don't know where my wife's rage is coming from. Instead of anticipationg either a loud or silent order from Adie, I decided to do the honors myself and kick myself out of our bedroom for the night.

While trying to sleep, the consuming thoughts of unanswerable questions eroded my mind. The hint of dust on the coffee table drove me insane too. I do not only have an unexplianable fear of pencils, but of dust too. I know it sounds ridiculous, but I can't help it. It's recent, too - I never had a phobia of those things before.

Since I couldn't sleep, I decided to go cleanse - phobia - crazy and I Pledge'd the table. After all the dust was gone, I tried to go back to sleep, but the strong lemon scent held me back. I eventually gave up. I decided to stay awake and deal with my bloodshot eyes in the morning.

You shouldn't just give up like that.
Quitters make bad role models.

I could feel my heart plumet into my intestines. The voice was back. That stupid female voice that almost caused me to wreck my car was back inside of my head. My mind raced, but I forced it to slow down while I tried to think. Maybe if I don't think or respond to the voice, it'll go away. Maybe the cause that effected this is all inside of my head or...something.

Bad idea to think about not thinking.
Because I can still hear you.

I'm ignoring you.

You're doing a fantastic job.
Hopefully you can sense my sarcasm.

I'm trying to ignore you.

Why?

What do you mean why? You're an auditory hallucination. Normal, healthy and sane people do not have auditory hallucinations.

Then ignoring me won't do you any good, sweetie.
It might make you feel better, but not your poor brain

Then tell me why you're here! Maybe if I know the reason, I'll understand the meaning and be able to get my sanity back.

I'm here to protect you.

But why!? Why do i suddenly need protected by my brain? Something must be wrong!

I'm suddenly here to protect you, because he suddenly came.
I can't let him break you down, Billie Joe.

Who and why?

You know who.
And because he'll corrupt you.

No, I don't know who! Stop with the fucking riddles! Just tell me what's going on!

If you don't know, then neither do I.
I'm sorry, but you're reasonless and meaningless.

You know things that I don't know! you spelled out your name - Gloria. I didn't know that.

But your subconcious did.

What the hell does that mean?

You saw my name before, and it fell into the back of your mind. It resurrected when you asked who I was.

But why? Where did I see the name Gloria?

You saw 'glory'.
And it was on a bumper sticker on another car.

...Then who is he? This 'he' you keep mentioning? I'm not aware of him, but you apparently are.

Your subconcious is.

Well, you're my subconcious!

Not entirely.
I'm just a part of it.

So, you can't tell me anything completely relevant about him? Name, or what caused him? Why you and him are pieces of my subconcious to begin with?

I can tell your that he's trying to destroy you.
He already made a gutsy attempt.

What do you mean?

What he did to Adrienne.
The reason you're on the couch tonight.

...What did he do?

He hit her.
She was just trying to help you.

Help me with what?

He was playing guitar and his fingers bled.
She was just worried about you.

I just swallowed hard as I tried to digest it all. Everything was starting to make sense in a dysfunctional way, and I realized the unanswerable questions could be answered by Gloria.

Chapter 4 - Christian's Inferno

"You look like shit."

I managed to smile at Tre as I sat down beside him in the studio.

"What are we doing?" I asked him.

"Mike's doing a bass line with Butch." He answered as he started staring at me. "You really look bad," He said.

"I heard you the first time."

Tre grinned as he looked back through the glass window where Mike was doing the bass line. "Ever heard of a thing called sleep?" He questioned.

"Yeah, but I couldn't sleep last night." I replied.

He looked over at my again. "Are you okay, Billie?"

"Yeah." I fibbed poorly.

"Don't lie," Tre said. "You're a bad liar."

I just blinked as memories resurfaced.

Don't act oblivious.
You're a bad actor.

"Billie Joe?" He asked as he snapped a couple times in my face. "Anyone home?" I just looked at him and he asked, "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yes," I answered again, but stronger, trying to sound truthful.

"Say 'no' and tell me why, or I'll have Butch come in and beat it out of you." Tre threatened.

I just sighed, and decided I had no choirce but to confess everything. Tre knew me too well, which was both good and bad. Besides, I needed to tell someone what was going on; maybe then I could get some advice or help.

I opened my mouth to speak, but something caught my eye and distracted me. It was a piece of paper lying near the production tools with a few words scribbled upon it.

Tre followed my gaze, and said, "Yeah, I just saw that before you came in. It's pretty cool."

I leaned forward and took ahold of the piece of looseleaf paper. All it read was:

Christian's Inferno.

I wanted to swallow because my throat was on fire, but I couldn't. I just stared at those two words.

'Billie, please...what's wrong?" He asked urgently.

"I didn't write this." I muttered in response.

Tre's eyes narrowed in confusion as he took the paper out of my hands and gave it a glance. "It's your handwriting, Billie. What do you mean you didn't write it? Why does that upset you?" He inquired.

"No...I didn't write this," I tried, but didn't make anymore sense. "i mean, I did, but I didn't...he must've...," And I drifted off.

"Billie? Billie, you need to get some rest. I'll -"

I stood up to leave, but Tre grabbed my arm. "I'm not letting you drive yourself home. I'll drive you there."

"I'll be fine," I tried comforting.

"No, you won't," He said as he picked up his car keys. "Not until you get some sleep, and I'm not letting you drive your car when you can't even keep your eyes open."

I just looked away, feeling defeated because I knew he was right. Tre sighed and apologized for his tone of voice. "I don't want to berate or lecture you, but you need to get some rest."

I nodded, and he added, "Just let me tell Mike and Butch, and then we'll go."

I nodded again and he stepped out of the room. Without much coherent thought, I didn't wait for Tre and quickly walkws out of Studio 880 and headed towards my car. I started the ignition and drove the slightly long drive home.

I pulled into my driveway and stepped out of my car. I took my cellphone out of my leather jacket pocket and turned it off; I knew Tre, Mike, or Butch would try calling, and I knew me not answering would worry them, but I just didn't care.

That isn't good, Billie Joe.
Being careless is Christian's specialty

I tried not to be alarmed by the presence of Gloria as I walked into my home. Joey and Jakob were at school, and I didn't know where Adrienne was.

His name is Christian?

That's what the paper said, wasn't it?
I guess I just assumed...

Where did that name come from?

How would I know?

You seem to know everything; you know the answers to the questions that I can't figure out on my own.

You must have saw the name somewhere.

Well, when did I write Christian's Inferno? I haven't gone to the studio lately, and I don't remember writing it.

You don't remember hitting Adrienne either/

...So, I drove to the studio and wrote those two words, and then drove home without knowing it?

You remember it vaugely.
When you woke up on the patio, you remembered that you had been writing a song.

I was getting a migraine, and I knew the source of the pain was from talking to Gloria and my lack of sleep. I decided to take Tre's advice and get some sleep. As I walked through the hallway, I passed a bathroom where I heard someone crying. I felt weak, and all I wanted was a cigarette.

Christian's crying in the bathroom,
And you just want a cigarette?

That wasn't Christian because Christian isn't real.

Then who is it?

If I knew, so would you.

I opened the bathroom door to see Adrienne crying, and I instantly dreaded the worst.

Chapter 5 - We're Going to Start a War


I took the phone out of Adrienne's hand and hugged her tightly. I didn't know what was upsetting her, but I knew it was something severe by the level of her sadness, and I knew she needed comforted.

She embraced me back tightly, her dreadlocks tickling my face as she drenched my shoulder with tears. I wanted to hold her forever and try to heal her broken feeling, but I had to know what caused this first.

Adrienne wouldn't release me, though, so I didn't try to pull away. In this moment of pure melencholy, I could feel her forgiveness. I could feel her forgive Cristian for hitting her, because that foolishness didn't matter right then, apparently.

"What happened?" I asked without pulling away.

That just caused her to sob harder, and made me feel worse. I just clung onto her as we sat on the bathroom floor while dozens of horrifying scenarios raced through my head.

Get her the hell off of you.
She cries over everything.

Christian, go away! You don't belong here. Now is especially the wrong time to terrorize.

She can't handle a little slap?
Foreplay must be a drag for Armstrong.

Just get out of here! Something obviously traumatic happened, and you're the last person needed around here!

You're such a wet blanket, Gloria.

Stop argueing and help my wife!

Look what you did, you idiot!
You woke Billie out of his subconcious!

You're the one yelling, genius.

Shut up! I have to help Adrienne.

Thank you!

Fine then, Gloria.
I guess you won't hear my offers since you behave so well.

What offer?

Stay on task, Gloria!

Shut up, Armstrong.

Christian!

I need you to help me take over Armstrong
In return, you'll get 30% control of him.

You diabolical bastard!
You're bribing me to help you destroy Billie?

I'm still here, morons!

I said, 'Shut up'!
What we'll do is simple, really. I'll take over him for a few hours, and fake a seizure or something. The worry wort of a wife will panic and take him to the ER. While I'm convulsing, you invade the subconcious and kick little Armstrong out and --

You're a real bastard, you know that?
I'm not starting a war inside of Billie!

You're no fun.

No, I'm just sensible, whereas you are a real piece of work.

Why, thank you.

It wasn't a compliment, you twisted little --

Gloria! Prioritize!

Oh, right!

"Adrienne?" I questioned as I finally forced a release. I could still hear murmurs from Billie Joe and Christian in my mind, but I ignored them. "What happened?"

She looked at me with her chocolate like brown eyes, and I almost melted inside their sorrow.

"my mom passed away." She answered tearfully.

[i]Whoop-di -ding!

Christian, get the fuck out of here!

What? Mother's don't matter.
All they do is carry you for nine months, but the umbilicle cord actually cares for you. Then --

Both of you, shut up already!

Gloria, please leave! Let me talk to her and --

"That was Steve on the phone," Adrienne continued. "Billie, the only thing I can think about is that I wasn't there when she took her last breath. I was miles away from her. She died without me there."

...What do I say to comfort her?

I thought you were sensible.
You aren't nearly as clever as you think.

Buzz off.

"I knew she was old, and dad had told me she wasn't doing so well, but...a soon death was never implied. I just... I feel terrible about it," Adrienne almost whispered mournfully.

Gloria, please! Let me help!

If I let you, you won't remember anything.

What do you mean?

You aren't really you right now. Christian and I aren't real; we're figments of your imagination and pieces of your subconcious. I'm you right now, not Gloria, because I'm not real. If you were to snap out of me right now, you wouldn't have any idea about what was going on.

Confusing, eh?
Let me cure that confusion by destroying your mind.

Christian, give up on it already!

Billie, it's just like when you woke up on the patio and you didn't know why your fingers were bleeding. You --

"I don't want to blame myself, but I can't help it." Adrienne said.

Shut her up already!

I don't care, Gloria! Snap me out of it!

....I woke up, sitting on the bathroom floor with Adrienne quietly crying.

"Should I blame myself, Billie?" Adrienne asked.

I just stared at her, soaking in this foreign experience.

I told you so.[/i[

...Told me what?

[i]That you would forget.

Forget what?

Exactly.

Who's that?

Christian.
See, you forgot him too!

Great, he doesn't remember.
Now we can discuss my offer.

Stuff your offer!

Are you unable to swear, or what?

You sound ridiculous.

"...Billie?" Adrienne asked.

What's going on, Gloria?

[/i]Her mom died.
She blames herself.[/i]

She should.
Idiot.

"Billie?" Adrienne asked again.

I just looked at her. "I'm so sorry, Adrienne."

Her face crumpled and she embraced me.

"But don't blame yourself. It's not your fault." I told her.

"I know, but I wasn't there for her, dad, or my siblings," She said. "I was the only one absent."

I didn't know what to tell her. I knew that if I tried comforting, Christian or Gloria would pop into my head and fuck up everything.

Good call.

I' help you! Don't pass the blame around!

"I love you, Adrienne." I said.

Her tears quieted as she said, "I love you, too."

"...And I'm sorry...about before," I mentioned. "you didn't deserve that at all."

"It's okay; I forgive you," She said. "You were tired and stressed out. I was nagging and being overprotective."

"You were being caring," I said, even though I was oblivious as to how she acted before.

Adrienne finally cracked a smile. "I think I care too much."

"And that's a good thing."

Her smile widened, but tears still streamed down her face. I kissed her easily before hugging her again. Christian and Gloria left my mind, and all of my concern was devoted to Adrienne's situation.

Chapter 6 - This Diabolic State


Adrienne and I caught the first plane to Minneapolis the very next day.

We left Joey and Jakob with my mother because they didn't know Adrienne's mom very much at all. I never really realized that they never saw her until then, and it made me feel guilty; so I can't even imagine how poorly Adie must've felt.

I was feeling strange lately. I mean, I was feeling good, so that made me feel strange. the ubiquitous voices of Christian and Gloria hadn't been terrorizing my brain since Adrienne informed me of her mother's death. It was extremely weird, though, because I knew the voices were real; I knew this wasn't a dream, so I can't really feel good about feeling good.

I was beginning to quiz every little thing I did. I was trying to discover the reason why the voices came, and why they left. I didn't know if the auditory hallucinations were etermintante
or if they had disappeared all together. Whichever, I just knew I needed to know how.

Part of me wishes I would've confessed everything to Tre like I almost did a few days ago. A part of me wanted to tell Adrienne everything while we sat on the plane, but I couldn't. I didn't want to acknowledge this insanity, and I didn't want to worry anyone...

I woke up, and it was half past three. The liqour I had drank was sitting on the dresser next to a note from the wife. It read:

I went to the church to help set things up.
I tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge.
I hope you sleep well, though. I know you need it.
Call me when you wake up so I know you're alive.
Funeral starts at 6, so be there by 5:30?
I love you, Billie. I know things haven't been great, and you've been distant, but I know we'll be, OK.

Love,
80

I chuckled at her naivete as I crumbled up the paper and tossed it in the garbage. I rolled my eyes as I noticed dress clothes were hanging by the closet; the wife had them all ready like I was a child.

Armstrong's an idiot for dealing with this cunt.

I lit up a cigarette after popping a valium. That bitch Gloria seemed to be gone, and I didn't hear Armstrong whining., but my head still ached. Whatever. I'm going to a goddamn funeral; listening to crying twats and a blind minister should turn my aching brain into sludge. That's the only reason I decided to get off my ass and go. This fuckin' funeral was more like pain killer; the stupidity would numb my brain.

I put on the clothes the wife indicated I wore, and drove towards the church. I was hungover, and I was tempted to vomit in the backseat so Gloria or Armstrong would have to smell it later.

I arrived at the damn church in downtown Minneapolis. I walked inside, and was greeted by the wife, who sat beside me in the pew. The wife's sister walked up and started reading a eulogy. It was rhyming, though, and I realized that it was worked into a song.

I decided not to sing along to such filth

Christian, sing the eulogy.
You need to learn a lesson.

A lesson of what?

Humility.

I smirked, but the wife didn't notice. The bitch was already crying; it was annoying me.

Everything annoys you.

Including you, so get the fuck away.

We share this subconcious.

I never got a gold star for sharing.

You're an ass.

You're got a nice one.

I'm a figment of Billie's subconcious!
I don't literally have an ass!

A man can imagine, though.

Fuck off.

Whoa, you upgraded to swearing.
I'm a bit proud, Gloria.

She didn't respond, and the wife's sister finished the eulogy. The wife and I walked up to view her mother.

She looked like shit - being dead and all - but everyone kept saying how good she looked; how peaceful she seemed. I think that's a hunk of crap.

I had been smoking a cigarette. I tapped the ashes and they fell upon the red rug by the casket. I smiled a little when the tip of the cancer stick burned my finger because I got a brilliant idea.

I dropped the cigarette. The plan automatically back fired when the wife saw my fingers leave the cigarette. We both saw it fall onto her mother's clothes and ignite her deceased body, but I was the only one amused by the false spontaneous combustion.

The wife screamed Armstrong's name in horror as the flames first ignited. She pushed me out of the way firmly while she and a few others tried to stop the flames. They finished, and before you knew it, the mom's whole body was scorched.

I just smiled and enjoyed the show.

Others scrambled up to the casket to help, and the fire was eventually put out.

The wife turned to me in tears, a horrified and beyond furious expression painted on her face. She looked like she was going to say something, but she quietly walked out of the church instead.

I really didn't care how pissy she was. I was a pyro maniac, and I just got awesome seats to a human flamepit. I guess Armstrong knows where 'Christian's Inferno' comes from now.

Chapter 7 - Where's Your Undying Love?

You son of a bitch.

You aren't very fun when you scould.

You set his dead mother-in-law on fire.
He's not going to be very pleasant!

You should have been there, Armstrong!
It was such a drag.

So you set my wife's mom of fire to interest you?

He's not very bright, Billie.

If you're so much better, St. Gloria.
Why didn't you stop me?

Because you wouldn't have listened!

You could have at least attempted.
She deserves a lecture too, Armstrong.

I'm not involved in this mess!
Don't put me in just because you can't handle the -

Enough! I'm sick and tired of this!

Of what?

You - both of you!

What did I do?

You both invaded my subconcious! Now, my marriage is on eggshells. What am I supposed to do?

Don't insult us and then ask for our advice.
He's dimmer than I am, Gloria.

Billie, tell Adrienne about Christian.

I can't tell her anything since she won't answer my calls!

Well, where did she go?

I have no idea. I don't know if she went back to California or caught a shuttle to Mars. All of her things are still here in the hotel, but Adrienne would sacrifice leaving all of this stuff behind if it means avoiding me.

She'll get over it - don't worry.
It'll just take time.

How the hell do you know, Gloria? Have you ever set your wife's mom on fire before?

She's already dead; it's not like I killed her.
I just gave the crowd an unforgettable show.

Well, the show's over. This ends here.

What do you mean?

Suicide, naturally.

Cool! Can I watch?

Billie! Be rational. Talk things through with Adri--

Christian's right - I shouldn't be taking advice from the two of you. You aren't even real; it's not like you can help me. The two of you have done everything but help me, actually.

That's Christian, not me!
I told you that he wants to destroy you! I'm protecting you, Billie Joe! Please understand that!

Wait. If you kill yourself, won't I die too?

That's the point, Einstein!
He's killing all three of us.

Don't do it, Armstrong.

Why? Because your fake life matters so much? Because you need to finish destroying me? Because you want me to suffer?

Basically, yeah.

Billie! Please! This is insane!

Insanity is the only thing that's been relevant on my life recently; I've learned to abide by it.

You love Adrienne, right? If she loves you as much as you love her, she'll understand. Just tell her about Christian!

There's no point. I'll be declared officially insane, and my career will be over. Adrienne could never fully forgive me, and, even if she could, my life would never be the same.

She has undying love for you! Are you really willing to throw fifteen years of bliss away?

Her 'undying' love just died.

Find a gun and pull the trigger, Armstrong.
I dare you.

Christian, don't enable him!
Stop being yourself for two seconds and realize that you just destroyed a man's life here.

One...Two.
I've got a better tool for suicide than a gun.

What?

Let me take over like I said before.

There's no way in hell he'll allow you to do that!
Besides, he doesn't remember your offer, remember?

What's your plan, Christian?

You're considering this!?

Let me control you for a few hours.
And I'll surprise you.

What does your idea consist of?

Not much for surprises?
Well, basically, I'll find a way for you to die, but for me to live on the the inside of your body. In the end, you'll be dead, which is what you want, and I'll control a body instead of just a subconcious, which is what I want. It's a win/win situation, right?

Billie, think of us as your consience. I'm the angel, and Christian's the devil.
Don't listen to the devil!

I'll kill Gloria off too.
I can't survive with all of this bitching.

So, I'll be dead and gone, but you'll be in control? I won't just be a figment of your imagination instead of vice versa?

You'll be dead, yes.
Fully, entirely, and completely dead.

Billie Joe, please! This isn't what you want! Listen to me, please! Please, hear me out!

Deal.

Do your worst, Christian.

Chapter 8 - I Am the Atom Bomb.


"I hear voices."

The phyciatrist scribbled a few notes down while I pretended to seem uncomfortable as I begin. "Well, there's a girl named Gloria. She's always bringing me down and crushing my self-esteem by pointing out all of my flaws. Then, there's a man named Billie."

"And does Billie demean you also?" She inquired.

I pretended to contemplate the chicks question, even though I had all of my answers mapped out. "No, not really. Billie just...He's very diabolical. I hear him devising a plan to destroy me."

The bitch nodded. "Does that worry you?"

"Of course!" I exclaimed.

"But do you understand that the voices that you hear are not real?" She inquired.

I nodded. "They feel real, but I know they're not."

"Then this shouldn't worry you Christian." She said. "Your perception of reality is intact; that means you are fully capable of understanding the real from the fake."

I sighed sadly, seeming distressed. "But you don't understand! I'm [i]doubting my perception. The voices are so real, and I don't know what to do with them."

The phyciatrist looked at me sadly. "Christian, you came to me for psychological help, but I would suggest you check yourself into a hospital. The voices you hear could mean a psych disorder."

I pretended to be astounded. "What kind of disorders?"

"I shouldn't discuss this with you." She deflected. "You need to see a medical doctor and recieve--"

"Please," I interupted sounding disperate. "Just give me a general idea...so I know what I might be in for."

The bitch sighed again and looked at me sympathetically. "Schizophrenia and Dissociative Identity Disorder are possible."

"What's the last one?"

"It's better known as Multiple Personality Disorder and unfortunately it makes a lot of sense." She said. "You told me about the depression, anxiety, blackouts, and auditory hallucinations and those are all MPD symptoms.

"Wow," I said, but I was actually pleased.

"But don't dwell on that," She tried. "You'll need blood tests and a full work up to confirm--"

"But that will take too long," I interjected. "These voices are driving me insane. Isn't there a pill a can take that will make them go away or something...?"

"Not exactly," she said. "There are psych medications, but you don't have a confirmed psychological illness and you have to go to a specialist to get such a perscription."

"So you're making me suffer like this?" I questioned angerly. "You are making me deal with Billie and Gloria without lifting a finger to help!?"

"I'm prohibited to do--"

"Waste of Armstrong's one hundred dollars..." I muttered under my breath as I stood up to leave. "Thanks for nothing." I added bitterly.

"Christian, our session isn't--"

I walked out on her. If she wasn't going to kill off Armstrong or Gloria, then I didn't give a fuck about her.

I sighed as I walked out of the building and towards Armstrong's car. I didn't put quarters in the parking meter and the cop had given me a ticket. I pulled it off his windshield and placed it on a nearby car.[/i]

Don't you ever get sick of cheating?
Of just falling through life?

No, I don't, actually.
Probably because of how easy it makes things.

Why do you like that, though?
Don't you ever want to accept a challenge?

I just left a shrink.
I don't need you to act as one.

Ah yes, you visited a shrink.
Didn't work too well, did it?

There are other shrinks out there.
Probably some that don't care much for authority.

Why do you want that?
So they can slip you a magic cure all pill?
A pill that will make Gloria and I disappear?

Does that seriously surprise you?

What could possibly be your motives, Christian?
The fact that I'm just in the way, and Gloria is a gracious saint?

Again; does that seriously surprise you?

Your motives are pure and your plan to destroy me will never work.

What makes you so sure?

I'm real; the dominant personality. The shrink said I could have MPD and if that's the case, then, you're just an annoying little piece of my mind that's got to go.

Not if I say I'm the dominant one.

That still won't work! Besides, you're basically screwed anyway. 'Christian Armstrong' is the name on the shrink's paperwork and you don't even exist.

I'm sure there's a 'Christian Armstrong' out there somewhere.

Sure, but it isn't you.

It is now.
Fact it, you know this can work.

No, it can't. And you're just too stubborn to admit it. You're a piece of my subconcious, not vice versa. If you were too take a magic cure all pill, you'd just be commiting suicide and killing Gloria. I know that's a win/lose situation for you, but the point is, you'd be dead. Gone. And I know you don't want that.

...Why are you being so considerate?
I vaguely remember you bitching me out for lighting your dead mom-in-law on fire last week.

Why do my motives suddenly matter?

Cause they do.

Will, if you must know, I decided that I want to the plug myself. I don't want to commit suicide, but I want to cut the cord that's keeping you and Gloria inside of my head.

Plus, I know your plan won't work; I know that you can't destroy me, but I can destroy you.

So...you want to destroy me now?

I always wanted to destroy you.
I just never went around flaunting my plan, because that's stupid.

Listen, Armstrong, you don't know what you're doing.

I know exactly what I'm doing.
You just don't want to accept the fact that I do.

So what?
I'm the dominant one as of now.
You're just a auditory hallucination, who has it's panties in a bunch.
Everything I do matters; I'm not just a piece of subconcious right now--you are.

Your point is...?

When you become dominant again, you won't remember any of this conversation because it isn't real. It's like when you were on the patio or with the wife in the bathroom.
So, you're actually just wasting my time, Armstrong.
And that's all.

He isn't wasting your time.
He's just trying to put an end to all of this.

Oh joy, you're awake...

And angry.
Let Billie do what he feels needs to be done.

You're such a stupid bitch, Gloria.

How so?
Be detailed too, oh perfect Christian!

If Armstrong follows through with "pulling a plug" then you'll die too.
Not just me.

I am aware of that.

And that's why you're a stupid--

I am willing to sacrifice myself, if it helps Billie get his sanity back.

But why?
What makes your motives so pure and justified?

I don't know.
All I know is it's the right thing to do.

C'mon! Can't someone be on my side?

Sorry, but no.

No, but I'm not sorry.

Face it, Christian.
Your plan of Armstrong-destruction has failed.

Ha! In your face!

Fuck off.

Oh wow Sarah, this is amazing! I love it!

Chapter 9 - Sister of Grace

I was in a church. In real life, water has no smell, but I could smell a strange stench from the holy water in this creation of my subconscious. The pews were empty and holding, while a peculiar chandelier hung from above, swaying effortlessly, as if it may fall at any given moment.

The setting didn't give way to the events that took place in this alternate reality. As things progressed, my logical side stated that this was senseless and that I shouldn't be afraid, but the figment of my imagination simply retaliated by creeping me out even more.

I could see myself as a puppet; a puppet with crazy stitches for eyes and a mouth. I was being lowered from the cob-webbed ceiling by someone - maybe God since I was in the house of the Lord.

I then felt a shock of sadness upon realizing that the person I was looking at wasn't me. It was of the poor boy whose mind i had corrupted for reasons unknown. I felt guilty in a dream; a dream that my twisted psyche must likely caused.

A string broke, followed by another. I fell through the vacancy of the chapel, but I awoke before hitting the ground.

I woke up, startled.
I figured I had a not-so-pleasant dream, but I couldn't remember.

That's a good thing.

I just sighed. I couldn't even wake up in an empty hotel room in the middle of the night without a voice in my head tagging along...

Just be happy it's me and not Christian.
He's cost you a lot lately-literally, and metaphorically.

It's my fault, though, Gloria. I told him to do his worst, to try to destroy me, but luck and sense cause him to fail. He was just obeying me.

Christian doesn't obey.
He just listened because it sounded good to him.

...For him and not me?

Exactly.

Because that's all that matters to him?
He's an egotistical arrogant masochist with no regard for mankind?

You're catching on!

I'm sorry it took me so long to do so. From day one, you've been trying to protect me from him, and, when it actually counts, I ignore you and allow Christian to destroy me. He failed, and will never succeed thanks to my unalterable dominance, but if he would have...

It's the early morning-don't think hypothetically.
And you're welcome, because a 'thank you' is in order.

Thank you...but, what now? What is Christian going to do now? He failed, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't take failure too well.

He'll sulk for a while.
Then he'll try a new plan all over again.

Could he succeed?

I don't know, Billie.
I'm not dominant, so I don't know how things really work.

I haven't been tested for Multiple Personality Disorder; I don't know if you and Christian are simply personalities or what. It isn't sensible, and I...don't know what to do.

Well, why not get tested?

Right now? Here in Minnesota? I still haven't gone home, and my mom-in-law's funeral catastrophe was over three weeks ago.

Then go back to Oakland.
Go to a hospital there.

But what if Adrienne's home? She's either there, or still somewhere around here; maybe at her sister's or something and just called my mom to care for Joey and Jakob...

So what?
She's your wife, Billie, you'll have to encounter her sometime!

I know, but I don't know what to do. should I just drive home and hope she's not there or stay here and can continue avoiding each other?

You should try calling her again, and, if she answers, talk to her.

And tell her what?

The truth.
Tell her about Christian.

She'll think I'm insane.

She might, but she also might realize you need help.

I sighed again and rubbed my forehead. The conversation with myself was producing a headache, but I knew the pain was an effect of a rational decision Gloria was helping me make, so the hurt was good in a weird, confusing way.

Gloria was always right, and Christian was always wrong, so I wasn't really surprised by her argument and how I knew getting back in touch with Adrienne was the right thing to do. It was simple, but under no circumstances was it going to be easy.

I checked my alarm clock, and realized it was nine in the morning. I figured Adie was awake, whether she was in California, or still here in Minnesota which was good, because I didn't want to add to her definite and deserved anger she had towards me by waking her up.

Are you going to call her?

That's the plan.

What are you going to say?

I don't know, but I'm not too worried. I've texted and called her for the past three weeks and received no answer.

She has to be cooled down by now.
How long can someone's temper be inflamed?

I don't know. How long did it take you to get over your husband for lighting your dead mom on fire--you know, since the scenario is so common?

I'm sorry, stupid question.
Lose the sarcasm before you talk to her, though.

I already dialed her number. It's rang six times, and no answer, she's not going to pick up.

*67 it.

I sighed, but obeyed. I knew Gloria was just a piece of my subconscious, but I trusted her. She helped me stay rational and sane, whereas Christian did the opposite and contrasted everything Gloria tried to do. It was annoying, and I guess I shouldn't be happy about Gloria since she was a sympatic catalyst for a problem in my head, but I was, in a way.

You should be happy for me.
I'm a conscientious objector to the war that's in your mind.

"Hello?" A familiar voice asked from my cell phone.

"Adrienne!" I exclaimed, slightly stunned by an answer.

"Hi, Billie," she said, sounding understandably reluctant, and I was too. she didn't sound angry, but she only said two words, so who knows? Maybe she's conspiring to kill me, but she can disguise her voice so well that--

Billie! Focus! Say something!

"Hi," I said back, feeling ridiculously uncomfortable. "Um...where are you?" I asked her.

"Home with the boys," she answered. "I told them you had work...are you still in Minneapolis?"

"Yeah," I said softly. " ...I was thinking about coming home."

"You should," my wife encouraged. "That way we can talk."

I agreed silently, and the silence remained for some of the longest seconds of my life. I eventually chimed in and said something that was absolutely necessary.

"I'm sorry."

Wonder if that'll make a dent.

Go away, Christian!
Billie has this problem because of you!

I did nothing wrong.
I just made things more interesting.

Interesting for you, but nobody else.

That's because everybody else is a deadbeat.

That's your excuse?

It's a statement, not an excuse.
Use your correct form of words, Gloria.

I really don't want your sarcasm right now.

And I really don't want your bitchin' right now, but we can't always get what we want, huh?

You're so annoying.
I can't wait until Billie goes to the hospital and gets rid of you. It'll be peaceful from corner to corner of his brain.

Well, you won't get to appreciate the peacefullness 'cause you'll be gone too, stupid.

I know, but at least you'll be gone too.

Armstrong'll procrastinate or something.
But I'll make sure our last days are as annoying as possible.

"Shut up," I finally ordered softly, but sternly.

"Excuse me?" Adrienne asked.

Ha! You said that aloud!

"Adrienne," I tried, but my mind seemed to go haywire with fear and panic.

Say something!

"I'm sorry...for everything."

Adrienne was quiet for a moment before softly saying, "I hope so." She hung up soon afterwords and I left for Oakland with a heavy heart a few minutes later.

Chapter 10 - Fire In My Veins



Are you sure about this?

As sure as I could possibly be.

But this is your wife, your life. I don't know her or know what to say. I could mess up everything even more!

That isn't possible.

But why me?

...You're wondering why I chose you over Christian?

No. I'm just wondering why you chose me over yourself.

I trust you.

More than yourself?

Right now - yes.

Look, I'm a nervous wreck. I'd say something wrong or do something stupid just because of this anxiety. You can keep yourself together, though, and you're capable of comforting Adrienne and being kind to her, unlike Christian.

But I can't do something like this!
How do I explain what Christian did? Should I tell her about Christian and me?

I don't know. That would be the easiest, but most painful way. She's either not going to believe a word, or she'll completely panic and--

And what could you possibly say to make it better? Lying to her because you're trying to protect her will backfire whenever you go to the hospital...which you're going to do, right?

I don't know, Gloria! Can you just do this for me before I have a panic attack?

Fine. If you promise to go to the--

I'm not promising to do anything until this mess between Adrienne and I is cleaned up.

Fine! But I can't just become dominant, if MPD is what you have...or can I?

I don't know. I'm just saying, if you take over, do your part in helping me with Adrienne, OK?

Ok.

I arrived at my Oakland home for the first time since leaving for Minnesota last month. I parked my car in the garage and exhaled softly as I tried to remain courageous and positive.

Why are you so nervous, Billie?
She said she wanted to talk.

That doesn't mean things are going to go over well.
You never know with Adrienne; I could either be completely forgiven, or she could hand me divorce papers.

I doubt either one of those will happen.
The first scenario would be nice, though.

I sighed before opening my front door. A few moments after I did, I was greeted with a hug from my youngest son, Jakob, and a reluctant smile from my wife. I followed her upstairs where I anticipated the worst.

"Where's Joey?" I asked as we passed his vacant bedroom.

"At Matthew's," she answered, naming one of his friends.

I nodded before we entered our bedroom. We sat on our bed and Adrienne began.

"The last couple of months have been bad for us," she stated. "Not really bad," she quickly amended, before adding, "But not great. You've been working, which always seems to strain us... but I don't think that is the problem. We've gone through that a dozen times before, and it's never been like this. You've been distant, and we've both been stressed out...is the stress causing you to be distant or vice versa?

...Ok, a lot to digest.
You are apparently still dominant, so say something.

What should I say? What's the right answer?

I don't think there is one.

Well, which one is less wrong?

Tell her the distance is causing you stress. Then she'll ask 'why' and you can explain about Christian and me.

How about no?

Ugh, Christian! Go away!

Oh, that was original...
And I can't go away, since I just became dominant.

What!?

I said I can't because I just be--

"Billie?"

Christian, stop! Please!
Please, if you have any regard for me at all, you'll--

"I don't know what you're talking about. I've done nothing wrong."

Christian!

What the hell are you doing!?

"What do you mean?" the wife questioned, stunned. "You lit my mother's corpse on fire!"

"I'll light you on fire!" I replied in a sexual manner.

You sonuvabitch.

The wife just stared at me for a few seconds.
It was funny and peaceful to see her so speechless.
Eventually, she softly ordered. "Get out."

"Gladly," I responded as I stood up.

"No, I mean out--out of this house," she crooned. She stood up also and hurried towards the closet. She pulled out one of Armstrong's suitcases and filled it quickly. "Today was your last chance, Billie," she said tearfully. "I shouldn't have even given you one. I should have fucking left before you came back... I should have left the goddamn--"

"You're upset--I get it," I interjected. "But just because you're pissy doesn't mean my ears have to bleed."

She shoved the suitcase at my chest and quickly rushed to the front door where I happily followed.

"I'll take care of the kids, since you never did anyway." She hissed.

"Have fun!" I replied as she slammed the door in my face.