In My Dreams - Bill Kaulitz Story

81. Back where I belong

In the weeks that followed in my own world, I kept the secret of my reality shifting closely guarded. I hadn't even told my mother the truth. During this time, more information had surfaced about this phenomenon, confirming that my other life wasn't a dream.
Those who knew me and had witnessed my peculiar behaviors attributed my actions to a temporary identity crisis. Frankly, I was okay with people thinking that way. How could I explain to them that I was actually moving back and forth between two worlds? The complexity of reality shifting was not something easily shared, and I chose to keep it to myself.
I resumed my work at the hotel and tried to pick up my daily routine again. Although I was now aware that other worlds existed, I tried to focus on my life here.
My return to work didn't go unnoticed, and I had to exert a lot of effort to be able to resume my responsibilities.

It wasn't an easy decision to go back and plead for my old job, but the reality of my financial situation forced me to take this step. Mr. De Vries, the owner of the hotel, raised an eyebrow as I entered his office. "Elise, what brings you here after all this time?" he asked gruffly.
I took a deep breath, trying to keep my nerves in check, and explained my situation. How my life had taken an unexpected turn in the past weeks and how I now wanted to get back on solid ground. I begged to regain my old position.
Mr. De Vries leaned back in his chair and eyed me with a judgmental look. "You left quite a mess here, Elise. And we don't have room for people who come and go as they please."
I tried to convince him that I would be committed again, that I was willing to work hard to make up for lost time. He stared at me in silence for a moment, but eventually agreed under certain conditions.
"Fine, you can come back. But you start at the bottom, with minimum wage. And I expect you to take extra shifts to prove your worth."
I nodded in agreement, knowing I had little other choices. Returning to my old job felt like a bitter pill, but it was a necessary evil to get my life back on track. I left the office with an uneasy feeling, knowing that this job would no longer be the same.
The first days at my old job were like a plunge into cold water. Colleagues eyed me with suspicion, rumors buzzing through the halls about why I had left and returned. It was as if I had become a pariah, a label hard to shake off.
My tasks had drastically changed. Now I found myself dealing with the dirtiest chores, cleaning up after parties and handling the rooms that no one else wanted to touch. My employer seemed to take pleasure in assigning me these demeaning tasks, likely as punishment for my unannounced departure.

I had to work double shifts regularly, without any form of compensation. It felt like an endless cycle of exhaustion and humiliation. Yet, I nodded obediently, knowing that any sign of resistance would cost me my job. My work had become a hellish experience, but I had little choice. I dragged myself through the days.

At the food bank, they were happy to see me again. They had ensured that my mother continued to receive food during my absence. It was heartwarming to witness how the community came together to support each other. However, initially, the people there weren't exactly friendly in their response; many were genuinely angry because of my reckless behavior. And honestly, I couldn't blame them.

When I entered the food bank, I felt the heavy glares of people who could barely conceal their disapproval. I knew I had betrayed their trust by leaving abruptly, without an explanation. The volunteers behind the counter gave me stern looks, and I realized that this was a warranted reaction.
As I shuffled through the lines to pick up my food package, I faced various stares. Some people averted their eyes, while others looked straight at me with a sense of disappointment. It was evident that my actions had an impact on this small community that relied on the support of the food bank.
One of the volunteers, a kind elderly lady named Maria, approached me. Her gaze wasn't as harsh as the others; instead, I saw a mixture of understanding and concern in her eyes. "Elise, we've been worried," she said softly.
I took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes. "Maria, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have just left without saying anything. Things happened, and I know I owe an explanation."
Maria placed her hand on my shoulder. "It's not for me to judge, dear. We're here to help, and we want you to know that we're here for you. But please, be honest if there's anything we need to consider."
I nodded gratefully and thanked her for her understanding.

Over time, people began to let go of their judgment and accepted me again as a member of the community. The food bank provided not only physical support but also a sense of community that I appreciated. I realized that I couldn't share my experiences with reality shifting with anyone, but here, I found support in a different way, in the warmth of the people around me.

The absence of Bill and the rest of Tokio Hotel weighed heavier with each passing day. Although I tried to build my life here in my own world, I couldn't let go of the memories from my time with them.
The evenings were the most challenging. I missed the dynamics of the tour bus, the smiling faces after a successful performance, and even the small arguments that are inherent in sharing such an intense experience. It felt like a void that couldn't be filled, as if a part of my identity still clung to that other world. I couldn't deny that I missed Bill, more than I had ever expected. I missed his gentle touches, his presence, his voice, the way he understood me without many words—it all seemed farther away than ever. It hurt when I thought of him; the longing was so great, and I didn't even know if I would ever see him again.
Even though I tried to distract myself with work and daily obligations, there were moments when the desire for my other life became overwhelming. I looked at old photos and videos of Tokio Hotel, silently hoping that I would return to that time someday.