Billie Eilish and her daughter imagines

Amelia regression

Amelia 15 yo

(This story is about age regression)

Amelia sat in the middle row of her science class, trying her best to focus on Mr. Daniels' lecture about chemical reactions. The hum of the fluorescent lights overhead buzzed incessantly, a sharp contrast to the occasional scrape of a chair against the tile floor and the constant rustle of paper. For most of her classmates, these were background noises, barely registering in their minds. For Amelia, they were overwhelming.

At 15, Amelia Eilish had learned to navigate the world with a heightened sensitivity to her environment. The daughter of the famous singer Billie Eilish, she often found herself in the public eye, a place where the noise was omnipresent and the scrutiny intense. But here, in the supposed sanctuary of her school, she felt the weight of her differences more acutely. Her autism made every sensory input a challenge to be processed, every interaction a potential minefield.

Today was particularly difficult. She had woken up feeling off-kilter, the remnants of a vivid dream clinging to her mind like cobwebs. Her mother had noticed her unease at breakfast.

"Are you okay, honey?" Billie asked, her voice a soft anchor in the storm of Amelia's thoughts.

"Yeah, just...tired," Amelia replied, forcing a smile.

Billie had given her a look that said she wasn't entirely convinced but didn't press further. Instead, she made sure Amelia's favorite noise-canceling headphones were in her backpack, a small comfort against the chaos of the school day.

Now, as Mr. Daniels droned on about exothermic and endothermic reactions, Amelia felt the familiar prickle of anxiety creeping up her spine. The classroom was too bright, the lights flickering just enough to be noticed. The sound of someone tapping their pen on the desk three rows back felt like a hammer striking her own skull. She took a deep breath, trying to ground herself, but the attempt only made her more aware of the tightness in her chest.

She glanced at the clock. Still twenty minutes to go. Twenty minutes until she could escape to the relative quiet of the hallways. She tapped her fingers on her desk, a stimming behavior that usually helped her focus, but today it was doing little to stave off the rising tide of panic.

"Amelia, are you paying attention?" Mr. Daniels' voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and sudden.

She looked up, meeting his gaze with wide eyes. "Uh, yes, sir," she mumbled, though she had no idea what he'd just asked.

Mr. Daniels sighed, a hint of frustration in his expression. "Can you tell me the difference between an exothermic and an endothermic reaction?"

Amelia's mind went blank. She knew this; she had read the chapter last night. But the information was trapped behind the fog of her anxiety. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. The silence stretched, and she could feel the eyes of her classmates on her, their whispers like daggers.

"Alright, we'll discuss it later," Mr. Daniels said, turning back to the board.

Amelia's face burned with shame. She dropped her gaze to her notebook, the lines of her half-finished notes blurring as tears filled her eyes. She blinked rapidly, willing them away. Crying in class was the last thing she needed.

The room felt smaller, the air heavier. Amelia's breaths came in short, shallow gasps. The edges of her vision started to blur, and she felt a familiar sensation, one she both feared and craved. Her mind began to retreat, slipping into a space she called her "little space."

In this state, Amelia regressed to a younger version of herself, a coping mechanism she had developed over the years. It was a place where the world was simpler, where the expectations and pressures of being a teenager disappeared. Here, she was safe, cradled in a bubble of innocence and comfort.