Lost in the Darkness // Billie Eilish

Part III

Whatever courage I previously had coursing through my veins had dissipated the moment I stepped into her car.

She put her keys into the ignition and turned on the radio but did not move.

I gave her a confused look that only lasted for a second once I realized she was waiting for me to put my seatbelt on.

"My bad," I mumbled.

"Do Americans not wear seatbelts?" She questions as she checked her review mirrors before beginning to reverse.

"Some do. For the most part, I think we put a lack of importance on safety. Our gun laws are a great example of that."

She laughs genuinely.

"You ask a lot of questions." I note.

"I would hope so. It's my job. Do you have any for me?"

"Questions you mean?"

"Yes."

"What's your name?"

She replies in a thick Czech accent, "Emma Smetana."

"Can I call you Em?"

She smiles, "why not?"

"Can I ask another?"

Em nods.

"How old are you?"

She scoffs amidst a chuckle and shakes her head, "too old for you."

I throw my hands up in the air defensively. "I'm twenty!"

"You are freshly twenty."

"How do you even know that's why I asked the question. Maybe I was just curious." I mumble, leaning my head on the window.

"You are not as subtle as you think."

"What does that mean?"

"You, um-" she pauses and laughs to herself at whatever she was about to say. "Never mind."

"No, no, tell me." I eagerly shift in my seat to face her. The smirk on her face is criminal.

"If I tell you, you'll stop doing it. Then how else will you flirt with the women that interview you?"

"I wasn't flirt-"

"We're here."

I huff, mildly irked at the fact that she did not allow me to defend myself.

Instead, I follow her lead out of her car and eventually into the apartment.

She set her key on a hook and began to remove her coat.

As she did that, I took off my shoes and eyed my surroundings. It was a nice apartment, small but homey. It's similar the kind I imagined I'd have if I lived a 'normal' life.

But hers seems like the kind that belongs to someone who has their life put together, someone who can be content with being alone and sitting near a fireplace with a good book.

I admire that about her.

"Have a seat. Can I get you some tea or coffee?"

"No, thank you though."

Emma hums and makes a cup of tea only for herself, I sit in silence, unsure of what to do or say. My knowledge on guest etiquette is a little low.

When the tea is done, she takes a seat on the armchair slightly diagonal to the sofa I'm sitting on. She crosses her legs and cups the mug with two hands before taking a sip. Her eyes gaze at me, starting from the bottom and ceasing at my face. Like, she's analyzing me.