𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐌𝐄 𝐁𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐍𝐀𝐌𝐄 - 𝐁.𝐄

thirty nine - bags

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julia.
•

august 24th, 9:53 p.m.

i stood across from her with the kitchen island between us, my fingers loosely cradling the stem of my wine glass, the rich red liquid swirling in slow and lazy circles with the faint scent of berries and spice curling up to meet me.

the kitchen was dimly lit, and the shadows seemed to creep closer with each second, drawing the two of us into a small and intimate little bubble with the final moments we had left. her voice was soft and steady as filled the space between us, and i could listen to it forever. her voice, the same one that soothes me, could just as easily break me, and i think she knew it too. she's got to be self aware of it the chokehold she has on me, especially after all this time.

somewhere along the way, our conversation had meandered towards tomorrow—towards me leaving. i wasn't sure how we got there, but suddenly, her words had cut through the air like a knife, like they normally do. "you leave tomorrow?" she asked, playing it off with ease as though she didn't really care. maybe she didn't. scratch that, she didn't. i'll make myself believe that she didn't whether she did or not, it'll ease the pain that comes with missing her that way.

why should she care? what would she gain from knowing everything? it's not like we were on the cusp of some grand magical moment where everything would fall into place, where she'd suddenly realize that she needed me and only me, where i'd finally have her by my side for good, and all of that would happen within the next few hours i had her for the night. no, this isn't fucking disneyland where every wish comes true. i wasn't naive enough to believe it could be. i'm eighteen, not stupid.

"uh yeah, why?" i replied with my voice flat and detached as i leaned back against the cabinets, swirling the wine again to hide my anxiousness which i've been trying to get better at not wearing on my sleeve.

honestly, the truth is, i didn't even like wine. i had never liked it, not since claire and i had raided the liquor cabinet here when we were thirteen and sworn off the stuff. but for billie, i'd sip from the glass occasionally and pretend to enjoy it just so she wouldn't feel like the odd one out between this game for two.

she took a slow sip from her glass, her eyes flickering away from mine before she set it down on the cool marble countertop. "oh," she piqued slightly, as if in mere surprise, her gaze widening just slightly. "doesn't school start the first week of september for you?" she questioned, folding her arms across her chest and leaning her back against the wall like she was settling in for something.

i nodded, trying to keep my voice steady and my face neutral. "yeah, i just need time to settle in and get back into routine before college... y'know?" i replied, my words dry and my tone distant. and for all she knew, my detachment could be because i was just simply tired and dreading the idea of the long trip back home tomorrow. she probably had no idea that my exhaustion was from something much deeper and far more painful—the slow and agonizing realization that she didn't see what we had the same way that i did, and the understanding in knowing that she was never going to. she didn't know, or maybe she didn't care to pry into it. and maybe that was worse. regardless, she doesn't love me, and that fuckin hurts man.

"oh," she said again, a little softer this time with her voice barely louder than a whisper. she shifted in her stance almost awkwardly, glancing down at her feet like the floor was suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world.

for all her bravado and for all the dominance and control she projected, there were these moments where she seemed so small and vulnerable even. and it was in those moments where i pitied her. it was in those moments that i had excused everything she had done to me, all because she just looked so lost and so helpless to the point where you just wanna protect her and tell her that everything would be okay. and i was weak for that. so. fucking. weak.