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Billie had never been the type to draw attention to herself, but her Tourette’s made it impossible to blend into the background. Most days, she could manage her tics—small vocal sounds and occasional twitches that people pretended not to notice. But in high school, pretending wasn’t always the norm.
Willow, the queen bee of their school, was everything Billie wasn’t—confident, popular, and utterly intimidating. For reasons Billie couldn’t fathom, Willow had decided that Billie was her prime target. Whether it was her slightly outdated clothes, her quiet demeanor, or the occasional outbursts that Billie couldn’t control, Willow found endless reasons to torment her.
“Hey, twitchy!” Willow called out one afternoon in the hallway, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Billie’s cheeks flushed red, and she quickly looked down, trying to ignore the tight knot forming in her stomach.
“Just ignore her,” Billie muttered to herself, trying to will the tics away. But the more she tried to suppress them, the more they fought to escape.
Willow sauntered over, her posse of friends giggling behind her. “What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or are you gonna start quacking like a duck again?”
Billie’s heart pounded as a vocal tic slipped out, a loud “Quack!” She winced, knowing it would only fuel Willow’s mockery.
“There it is!” Willow laughed. “You’re such a freak, Billie.”
Tears welled up in Billie’s eyes, but she blinked them back. The last thing she wanted was to cry in front of Willow. Instead, she turned and walked as quickly as she could toward the restroom, praying to make it there before the dam burst.
But as she reached the door, the tics came in a relentless wave. “No! No! No!” she shouted, the words bursting out of her uncontrollably. Her hand jerked up, slapping against her thigh repeatedly.
Billie stumbled into the restroom, gripping the sink as she tried to ride out the attack. “Stop! Stop!” she cried, her voice echoing off the tiled walls. The tics were strong, each one a burst of energy she couldn’t contain.
She didn’t hear the door open behind her.
“Billie?” Willow’s voice was soft, almost unrecognizable. Billie flinched, expecting more taunting, but when she looked up into the mirror, she saw something different in Willow’s eyes—concern, maybe even guilt.
“Just… go away,” Billie managed to choke out between tics. “fuck! Quack! Please, just… leave me alone.”
But Willow didn’t leave. Instead, she stepped closer, her previous bravado nowhere to be found. “I didn’t realize it was this bad,” Willow said, almost to herself. “I thought you just did it for attention or something.”
Billie’s breath came in ragged gasps as the tics started to slow, though her body still trembled with the aftershocks. “You don’t know anything,” she said bitterly, feeling a mix of exhaustion and anger.
Willow hesitated, then reached out, her hand hovering uncertainly over Billie’s shoulder before gently resting on it. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words awkward and stilted. “I didn’t know it was… real. That you couldn’t control it.”
Billie wanted to shrug her off, to tell her that an apology wasn’t enough to erase the months of torment, but something in Willow’s voice made her pause. It was the first time she’d heard anything genuine from the girl who had made her life miserable.
“It’s not something I can just turn off,” Billie said quietly, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. “It’s… exhausting.”
Willow nodded slowly, her eyes studying Billie as if seeing her for the first time. “Why didn’t you ever tell me to stop? I mean, really tell me?”
