COUNTING STARS | ★ | Timothee Chalamet x Reader

16

"No...you're lying. Bebe wouldn't think that."

"Your actions have resulted in this, Y/N," Sara said bitterly, "you can go see Bebe yourself if you don't believe me."

All of this was too much for me to take--I hadn't ghosted anybody--I'd stopped talking to them when they ghosted me. I checked my phone, scrolled through my text messages and realized that I had only muted the group chat, but I had muted Bebe, too--the only one who ever responded to my group chat messages. She wasn't being hostile like everyone else, she actually cared. And I had wrecked her. She broke so easily, and I had managed to crack every piece of her. And I was worried she'd keep cracking until there was nothing left to break.

"Is she okay?" I asked nervously, standing up. 

"She won't talk to anyone. She's stuck in Ray and Benny's extra bedroom. They don't know what to do, she isn't eating, she isn't sleeping."
"And I caused this?"
Sara sighed. "I'm gonna put away my frustrations with you for a moment, Y/N, and be real with you." 

I swallowed, urging her to say more.
"Bebe has been secretly struggling with a lot of things lately. Things we've only recently found out about. I think she's using you as a disguise for how she really feels...and...no, I don't think you caused this, but I think it was a good disguise, and..." Sara sniffed. And in an instant, she inhaled sharply, burying her face in her hands. I rushed over to her to comfort her, afraid I'd lose it myself. "What? Sara, it's okay, just tell me what."

"We found brandy in her room..."
I trembled. 

"And her journal..."
Again, I trembled. 

"Can't be terrible," I said to myself. "Bebe's ok, right?"

I was reluctant to ask what they found in the journal, but Sara told me anyway: "She's suicidal, Y/N. We don't know how long she'll last. We're watching her hard. It's too much for me to take, Y/N, she's my best friend!"

***

Two words echoed around my mind in a constant swirl, driving me mad: She's suicidal.

It wasn't my fault, I reminded myself. But it felt like it was. Constantly--I mourned for her as if she was already gone. My gut feeling told me she'd be gone soon, so I should go and make things right for her. But I resisted, knowing that I would only make things worse. And not only that: I was too scared to face her. I felt like I barely even knew her. 

Bebe? She was always the Beth of the group, the happy, quiet one who was always excited to do anything, went with the flow, and kept the group positive no matter what. And now, Benny, Sara and I were all in distraught--and I had been gone for the past few days, feeling sorry for myself that I had bad friends. But I didn't; I was off with other people. I silenced Bebe. I felt her blood was on my hands, and no matter how many times Sara tried to tell me it wasn't,  how many times Timothee had tried to tell me everything was okay, it never felt like enough. I was a mental mess and nothing could ever change that. 

How long had she been dealing with this? Why didn't she tell us? Questions swarmed my mind, making it an unbearable prison that I was stuck in. The day felt like an eternity, and I just sat, I didn't speak, I didn't cry--and I knew that if Bebe left this world, I would follow in her footsteps shortly after. Because losing Bebe meant losing myself, and that was too much for me to take right now.

"Hey," Timothee's soothing voice said. He creaked opened the bedroom door and padded in. I looked at the floor, focusing on his white socks with tiny Nike branding on them. I let out a sigh, trembling as I spoke: "Bebe's going to die and there's nothing I can do to stop it."
"Hey, don't say that," Timothee comforted, setting his arms around me. "Bebe's gonna be ok."
"I feel it," I demanded quietly, "I feel it, she's gonna be gone. And I should go see her, but it'll make things worse, and..."
"Don't worry," he said in a hushed tone, "it'll be okay."
"It won't!" I persisted, standing up, grabbing a coat from off the bed. "Damn it, Timothee, take me to Bebe!"

Timothee sighed, realizing there was no use arguing. We were going to see Bebe, no matter what.