in·san·i·ty | B.E (HIATUS)

10- Billie

A/N > anything in italics is a memory.

"Ma'am, you can't be here." A click followed by a blinding light. "Private property, you gotta move. Come on, get up."

Billie slowly sat up, blinking away the rest of her fatigue. The officer kept his flashlight on her face, his transceiver beeping with other officers relaying information. Billie was careful to keep her hair in front of her face as to not give her identity away.

Mumbling a quiet apology, she grabbed the one bag she owned and made her way out of the parking garage. Pepper trailed behind her, taking the time to sniff and bark at everything. They walked for a long time, trying to find a quiet spot to sleep for the night.

"You're going to have to turn yourself in eventually." her mind laughed "Is this the life we want to live?"

Billie held onto the yellow & green bracelet she had made back in October. Seeing their favorite colors interwoven no longer gave her the strength it used to.

oh, how crazy she must have looked, throwing her bracelet across the street and breaking down into tears. How sad and pathetic.

"You're going to be killed out here." her mind warned "Go back home"

"But then you'll get put back in the mad house"

"We will be killed out here."

"I would rather die than go back there"

"What if Riley's waiting for us?"

"You know she isn't."

"But remember the arcade? the way she said she loved you?"

"No. I don't." Billie said aloud, her teeth clenched so hard her words came out as a hiss. "Stop bringing her up."

"Riley was a bitch, anyway."

Billie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. It was 5:45 am and she had to be at work by 9. Keeping an eye on the time was one of the only things that kept her sane. The passage of time was the only thing in her life that she could depend on. Regardless of the type of day, good or bad- time will continue to pass.

Two years, three months, and fourteen days. She had been dead for two years, three months, and fourteen days. Over and over she repeated her memo. Two years, three months, and fourteen days.

"You know, she didn't come to see us not once." Billie continued, unable to keep herself from rambling. "She didn't even text Finn. Not once did she try to contact our family. Not once did she show any initiative. I hate her, i really fucking hate her." she laughed to herself, bringing her eyes from off her feet to make eye contact with a man who had been staring. Of course he looked away first.

If anything, her schizophrenia was her biggest safety net. Nobody wants to mess with the woman walking down the street laughing to herself.

"If I still had my journal I'd be better." Billie sighed, stopping at a public bench. She knew better than to try and sleep there, but the way her mind was spinning in that moment it would've been impossible to continue walking. "If i still had my journal i'd be better."

"If i still had my journal i'd-" Billie repeated. Over and over. Repeating sentences was her new thing, her Tourette's evolving and getting worse. There was no cure for any illness she had, so she had no choice but to sit there and tic until she couldn't breathe.