Know Your Enemy

Part 11

Anxiety has always been my "issue". People usually make anxiety look like nothing with statements such as:
Oh, my anxiety is acting up.
It's just my anxiety.

Anxiety is not just some matter that people can use as a petty excuse. Anxiety is the feeling of leaning back in a chair, and right when you fall, your heart lurches. In some situations, it feels like that every day.
I get anxious every day, believe it or not. My parents always think I'm being ridiculous. They don't believe me when I try to say something. So I don't tell them anything anymore. Being almost 18 years old, I haven't told my mother something that bothered me about myself in three years. So instead I acted like everything was okay. I was lying to them. To myself. I felt that if I just held everything in, it would all just go away. But it didn't. It never goes away.

Sitting with Billie in his room, on his bed, in the middle of the night, everything came out. Three years of holding it in, and it was like my mental dam had broken. I slipped,
"I'm messed up." Tears were graciously falling. Billie's face changed. It turned to worry.
"Scar, it's o-"
"Don't," I interrupted, "say it's okay. It's not. It never has been."
"I believe you." He said, which had surprised me. "Tell me from the beginning. We can stay here all night, if you want. I'm here, and I want you to know I care, yknow?" He fiddled with his fingers. I wiped my nose with the back of my wet hoodie sleeve, but it didn't really work, considering I was soaked. And freezing. I shivered.
Billie got up and walked over to the end of the room, where there was a dresser, which he dug through. I put my head down, and tried to stop acting like such a baby. He was annoyed with me. I can see why. I'm always dramatic, wherever I go, and people hate that. At least, that's what my mom says.
When Billie came back over, he had a bundle of clothes in his hand.
"Here, change into something dry. You're cold as fuck." My heart dropped. I took the clothes from his hand, and he went to stand in the other side of the room. I went opposite of him, and we faced away from each other. I was in my pajamas, so I wasn't wearing a bra, but I was wearing underwear. I pulled off my heavy, soaking wet shirt and shorts. I looked over my shoulder at Billie, was was still facing away from me. I quickly put on the flannel shirt Billie handed me, and buttoned it up. Then I slipped on a pair of his boxers. Instantly, I felt warmer. I turned around, and told Billie he could too. Then I walked in between the two twin beds in the room, and sat against the one on the left, while Billie sat against the one on the right. Then, I began to tell him everything. I told him about my issue, about the fight I just had with my mom, I told him about how I was slowly breaking inside and no one could ever understand. I poured my heart out to Billie, and when I was finished, he said something that was completely off topic.
"Come with me."
I was taken aback, I had just told him everything, and all he wanted to do was take me somewhere?
"Why?" I asked, kinda upset.
He stood up, "Don't ask, just come." I shut my mouth, and followed Billie to his car. It had stopped raining, but you could still smell it in the air as we both got into his car. He started it up, and we took off.

•••

We arrived at the cemetery. I was confused as to why we were here at all. Billie parked he car and got out. I followed him. We went around headstones, seeing many names, and then stopping in front of one in particular. Billie shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets, and said,
"He was my father." I squinted to read the letters on the stone, which clearly read "Armstrong".
"He died in September of 1982. Cancer. I've only just started to visit his grave about a year ago." My heart sank. Here I was, talking about my petty problems. How could I ever say to him that no one could ever feel like I did? Here he was, strong enough to hold all of this together, to hold himself together. And he was showing me something so personal; I was nothing but a sorry excuse for a person.
When we got back to the car, the sky was completely clear. I started to speak,
"Billie..." whimpered, tears welling up.
"I'm so sorry..." I started.
"Its okay, Scar." He said, "people, family, they die. And we have to move on. It's still so hard for me to cope with this, but I do. You can get through this, Scarlett. And I'll be with you, on your side, every step of the way."
Billie pulled me into a hug, and stroked my hair like he always does. I let go of him to see the tears in his eyes. One rolled down his cheek, and I wiped it off with my thumb, and then hugged him again. When we pulled away, we got into the car, and drove back to Billie's house.