a work of art

chapter 5: falling in love overnight

Billie disappeared into the bathroom to shower. While she did, I dug through a box the merch guys brought me, feeling like a kid on Christmas. It felt weird taking so much, but when she came out in a fresh t-shirt and baggy sweatpants, she insisted I take as much as I wanted. I loaded up, gathered my stuff, and headed to bring my car around back for her.

Her hair was still wet, and I could smell her shampoo the whole short drive from the arena to my apartment. She didn't make a single crack about my mini, crappy car, though I'm sure she was dying to. My hands shook and I gripped the steering wheel, willing them to stop.

Don't be a bitch, I told myself.

"Do you always wash your hair after a show?" I asked, immediately feeling weird about my attempt to make light conversation.

She grinned, her eyebrows raised. "Are you asking me about my shower habits?"

I cleared my throat. Billie was flirtatious by nature, and anyone could see that. But she seemed especially inclined to flirt with me all day, unless I'd been imagining it in my hyper fixated state.

Part of me wanted to flirt back, but a deeper part wanted to protect myself. In a couple of hours, she would be on a bus, and I'd probably never see her again.

"Oh, absolutely," I smirked at her, the foolish part winning.

She smirked back, said, "It's mostly just hot...and wet."

I looked at her too long, smirking rudely at me, and had to swerve sharply as I crossed the median. She cackled.

Somehow we made it to the house in one piece, and climbed the outside staircase up to my studio. As I opened the door, I remembered the clothing pile. Perfect.

She laughed. "Laundry day?"

I tried to swallow the dry lump in my throat. "Something like that."

I led her in and turned on the tiny lamp beside my bed. "Well. This... is it."

She looked around. Her eyes took in the books stacked by the wall, my rumpled bed halfheartedly made. "You have a lot of plants," she said. "And...books. That's... really a lot of books."

"...yep," I shrugged.

"And no couch," she pointed out, gesturing at the empty space in the middle of the room that was filled with my clothes.

"Oh," I said, and it felt like I was noticing this for the first time also. "Yeah, I guess I don't have a couch. I just mostly sit on my bed... or the chair." I pointed at the sad little chair beside my sad little table. The second chair was piled high with books I was currently working on.

She began wandering around, looking at my books. She spotted my vintage record player on the far side wall. She headed right for it and I held my breath. What if she hated the music I loved?

She began pawing through the crate my collection sat in. "Wow, you have some great stuff. The Beatles, Bright Eyes..." She laughed and held up Finneas' last album.

I laughed, too. "Great album."

She nodded. "I agree." She kept looking through, the sound of albums slapping against each other the only noise in the room.

I didn't know what to do with my body. I stood in the middle of the room, next to my clothing pile, wishing I could put it away. Never in a million years had I considered her coming back to my intimate little home.

"Let's just put on what you were listening to last," she said after a few minutes, eyeing me mischievously.

I held my breath. She got up, went to the record player and flipped it on. Clairo's Immunity started playing. She looked up from the player and smiled at me.