Lost in the Darkness // Billie Eilish

Part VII

While Emma goes to the bathroom, I'm unsure of what to do with myself.

I set the mic down and silently realize what a lovesick fool I've been.

The sound of feet shuffling on the hardwood of the stage makes me look up. My older brother chuckles and takes a seat next to me.

"Who is she?"

"Interviewer," I reply under my breath.

He nods and hums.

"How deep in are you?"

"She makes me wanna throw up," I mumble, staring at the floor below me. "Just, like, these horrible stomaches when she looks at me too long. I get so nervous it's embarrassing."

He seethes through his teeth, shaking his head, an exaggerated worried expression on his face. "Yikes."

"I know. And the thing is, I think she genuinely cares about me. I dunno if it's in like, a platonic, protecting kind of way or a romantic one."

"What does that mean?"

"I, uh, I'm not sure. I just feel like she worries about me. My career, my well-being, shit like that. I can't tell if it's because she likes me or because she's a decent human being."

"Ever think it might be both?"

I shrug, sadly almost, and begin to pick at a hangnail.

"Put some thought into it. Good people exist, she might be one of them. Don't let her walk away, Bil."

He stands up again and ironically, walks away.

On cue, Emma returns from the bathroom, eyes narrowing on my hands.

"You shouldn't do that." She comments, hopping up on the stage next to me and taking a seat.

"Huh?"

"Hangnails. Don't pick at them. You'll bleed."

"Sorry, mom." I joke, with obvious sarcasm.

She laughs softly, appearing a bit taken aback. "I'm not that old,"

"Still too old for me though, huh?"

She nods, "you are correct."

"I don't think you quite understand. It's not necessarily that you are too young or I am too old, it's merely because we are in differing places in life. You would agree with that, yes?"

"Are you saying there's chance?"

"I'd like you to answer the question, Billie."

"I guess I can see where you're coming from."

"Are you upset at this fact?" She turns her head to look down at me. I, for justifiable reasons, cannot bring myself to meet her eyes, so I continue to stare at the floor, head hanging low.

"Hm?" She questions again, bringing forth a hand to curve my hair behind my ear so she could at least partially see my face. Instantaneously, all of my limbs felt as though they were melting at her touch.

When she gently guides my face to look at her, I'm almost positive I'm seconds aware from staring death in the eye. I felt like a fragile vase, so vulnerable, a light breeze could shatter me.

"Are you?" Is the only thing I could get out.

"Upset, you mean?"

"Yes."

"I wish the circumstances were different."

The question was concise, the path was clear, yet she still chose to beat around the bush.

It was a strange phenomenon. She knew I was nuts about her, I have reasons to believe she feels similarly, but we've done absolutely nothing about it. She takes care of me, washes my hair even, and I think about her while I perform.

It feels like we have a mutual understanding. An understand to do nothing.

There's a barrier in between us that I have no intentions of crossing without her consent or approval.

A small buzz from my pocket cuts this conversation short. I pull out my phone and read the text from my brother.

—We're gonna drive around and find a restaurant to go to for dinner, please consider coming

—And actually come out of the vehicle this time

—You know I can't.

Unashamedly peering at my screen, Emma mumbles, "I hate what fame does to you."

"What?"

"It makes you believe you can't be human. You can't enjoy the average pleasures of life. It broke my heart when you first told me in our interview that you'd stay in the car while the rest of your team went out. You deserve to have that experience too, even if you're famous."

"I appreciate your concern, but it doesn't work like that, Em."

"It could."

"It really can't."

"I can make it happen."