Out Of My League

- thirty eight -

I was kept in the hospital for the next 3 days as the doctors assessed my condition. In the end, it turns out I had 4 broken ribs, a fractured cheekbone, 2 broken fingers, concussion, road rash and some other stuff that I can't remember. 

Ultimately, the doctor said that my injuries would heal on their own so I could go home. My parents were with him sorting out discharge papers so it was just me and Billie in the room.

She was sat on the end of the bed twiddling my phone in her hands.

"What happened to this?" she finally asked.

"Your wall." I replied. 

"My wall?"

"When that picture of you and him was on the news, I threw it at your wall." I explained. "I don't know why I still have it, I can't really use it."

"You still have me on it." she said, waving my own lock screen in front of my face.

"I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. And I'm glad I didn't. I can't believe I listened to the bloody media instead of you."

"Speaking of the media..." she said as she pulled her phone out, "We really gave them a story."

She turned her phone to me and revealed the stream of articles about our argument at the airport. 

"I gave them a story." I sullenly admitted, taking the phone from her and scrolling through.

I tapped on one and it revealed a picture of Billie in tears and me, or at least my body. My face was hidden behind another person.

I seem to be really good at staying out of the shot. God, this must be horrible for her.

I continued to read.

'Billie Eilish seen in heated argument. Could this be the cause of her cancelling the Asia tour?'

What? She cancelled her tour?

"Are you supposed to be in Asia?" I asked.

"I was, but you're more important. I wanted to get you back." she said without hesitation.

It was clear in her eyes she was upset about not being on tour. Now I'm the one holding her back.

"Billie! I'm not worth that. You should've gone." I said in upset, dropping her phone on the bed.

"It was worth it. I have you back!" she said with a smile, moving closer to me.

"I'm not worth your livelihood." I remarked.

I'm not worth her sacrificing her career. If her fans are like me, which I'm sure some are, they need her just as much as I do. 

"Girl shut the fuck up." she exclaimed as she rolled her eyes.

"You shut the fuck up!" I mimicked, giving her a playful shove to the shoulder. "Make me a promise then."

"What?"

"Promise me you'll get on the next flight and finish the tour." I said. "There are hundreds of thousands of fans waiting for you."

"I can't just leave you, not like this." she argued. "You literally just got into a huge accident, over me."

"Stop blaming yourself for that!" I said for what seemed the tenth time in the last 3 days. "It was me who rode like that. I was the idiot, and I crashed because of it. Not you."

I really hope she realises that it wasn't her fault. She needs to realise. 

"Anyway, I'm not the only one who needs Billie Eilish." I replied. "And I have my parents to keep an eye on me, so you have to go."

"I don't want to leave you." she admitted, holding my hand.

We seem to keep circling round to this stage in our relationship. One of us has somewhere to be and they have to leave. I am so tired of it.

"Come with me love." she announced, breaking the silence.

It's the second time she's asked me to do that now.

"I can't." I replied with a forlorn tone.

"Yes you can." she persuaded. 

I have school, and my family, and this is all very spontaneous. Then again, it didn't exactly go wrong the first time. Actually, it went very nicely.

Billie was staring at me, that puppy dog look plastered on her face.

"Don't give me that look Bil." I implored.

"What look?" she joked, moving closer. "This one?"

We both giggled as she shuffled in front of me and placed a few kisses on my face.

"I really want you to come." she pressed, resting her chin on my shoulder and holding me in a hug.

She had that puppy dog tone of voice too. The one where it's excruciatingly hard to say no. Shit, this woman is such a pain.

I sighed and wrapped my arms around her.

"Fine. Fuck it."

It's also the second time I've said that.

Is this a good idea? Academically, no; sixth form's obviously going out of the window. But in terms of my happiness? Yes, yes and yes.