mute

chapter 15

Chapter: A Bad Tic Day

The next day started rough for Billie from the moment she woke up. She could feel it in her body—an unrelenting tension, the telltale signs of a bad tic day. The vocal and physical tics came almost immediately, and they weren’t the small, manageable ones. Her head jerked violently to the side as soon as she sat up in bed, and a loud “Eh! Eh!” escaped her throat. She hadn’t even been awake for five minutes, and already her body was working against her.

Billie pressed her hands to her sides, trying to steady herself, but the tics only worsened as she got out of bed. Her arms flung outward, hitting the edge of her desk. “Hm-hm! Tsk! Eh!” The sounds came fast, a staccato rhythm that she couldn’t control. Her legs twitched, causing her to stumble as she made her way to the bathroom. It was exhausting, and the day had barely begun.

At breakfast, her family could tell right away that things weren’t going well. Her vocal tics were loud and persistent, each one punctuated by sharp, sudden movements. Her head kept jerking to the side, and her hands were flailing, knocking over her spoon and sending cereal splashing onto the table. “Eh! Hm-hm! Tsk!” Her body just wouldn’t stop.

Maggie exchanged a worried look with Patrick, but they both knew the best thing they could do was to give Billie space and let her tic without drawing too much attention. It wasn’t easy, though. Watching their daughter struggle like this always tugged at their hearts.

“Do you want to skip dance today?” Finneas signed gently, sitting next to Billie and offering her a reassuring look.

Billie shook her head, her body twitching as she did. Dance was usually her safe space, a place where she could focus and release her emotions in a way that helped soothe her. She wanted to go, even though she knew her tics might be difficult to manage. She hoped that moving her body through dance would calm them down.

When they arrived at the dance studio later that day, Billie immediately sensed something was off. Odessa wasn’t there. Her absence felt like a gaping hole in the room, and Billie’s anxiety spiked. Odessa was usually the one who helped her when her tics got overwhelming during class. Without her, Billie felt exposed, vulnerable.

The dance warm-up began, but Billie’s tics made it nearly impossible for her to follow along. Every few seconds, her arms jerked uncontrollably, her legs kicked out at odd angles, and her vocal tics filled the studio. “Eh! Tsk! Hm-hm!” She tried to focus on the movements, but her body refused to cooperate. Her hands slapped her legs, her shoulders jolting back and forth, causing her to lose her balance.

The other dancers exchanged concerned glances, but they didn’t say anything. They had seen Billie tic before, but never like this. The tics were constant, almost relentless, and Billie was visibly struggling to keep up.

By the time the group moved on to a more complicated routine, Billie’s body had had enough. Her tics escalated rapidly, her movements becoming more erratic and forceful. Her head whipped to the side, and she let out a loud “Eh!” followed by a rapid burst of “Hm-hm! Tsk! Tsk!” Her arms swung wildly, knocking into the dancer beside her, and she stumbled, nearly falling to the floor.

The teacher, Miss Aria, stepped forward immediately. “Billie, are you okay?” she asked, her voice full of concern.

Billie tried to nod, but her body refused to cooperate. Her tics surged, her arms flailing uncontrollably as she let out another series of loud vocal tics. “Eh! Eh! Hm-hm!” Her breathing became shallow, and she felt a familiar sense of panic rising in her chest. This wasn’t just a normal tic day—it was a full-blown tic attack.

Miss Aria crouched down beside her, placing a gentle hand on Billie’s arm. “I’m going to call your mom, okay? Just hang in there.”

Billie could only manage a quick nod before her head jerked to the side again, her body twitching violently. Miss Aria quickly stepped aside to make the call, leaving Billie sitting on the floor, her body overwhelmed by the tics.

The ride home was quiet, but Billie’s body was still in full rebellion. Maggie drove as quickly as she could, glancing at Billie every few seconds in the rearview mirror. Billie’s tics hadn’t slowed down—they were just as aggressive as they had been in the studio. Her arms flung outward, hitting the door of the car, her head jerked back repeatedly, and her vocal tics came in loud bursts of “Eh! Tsk! Hm-hm!”

When they finally arrived home, Billie tried to get out of the car, but her legs gave out under her, her knees buckling as her body jerked with more tics. Maggie rushed to her side, helping her inside, but the tics only worsened once they were indoors.

Billie’s arm shot out, hitting the edge of the counter as she stumbled through the kitchen. The sharp pain that followed was instant. Her body convulsed, and she let out a guttural “Eh!” as her hand collided with the countertop again. There was a loud crack, and Billie gasped, her face twisting in pain. Her arm—it was broken.

Maggie’s face turned pale as she quickly realized what had happened. “Oh no, Billie,” she whispered, rushing to her daughter’s side. “We need to get you to the hospital. Patrick, call 911!”

Billie’s mind was a blur of pain and tics as they rushed to the hospital. Her body refused to calm down, her tics surging uncontrollably as they wheeled her into the emergency room. “Hm-hm! Tsk! Eh!” Her head jerked back, her arms flailing despite the broken one, sending shockwaves of pain through her body.

The hospital was overwhelming. The bright lights, the bustling noise, the unfamiliar faces—it was too much. Billie’s sensory overload kicked in, amplifying the intensity of her tics. Her breathing became ragged, and she could feel the meltdown coming on before she had any chance to stop it.

As soon as the doctor tried to examine her arm, Billie’s body went into full meltdown mode. She screamed, thrashing in the hospital bed as her tics spiraled out of control. Her hands flew to her hair, yanking at it as her legs kicked wildly. “No, no, no!” she wanted to scream, but the words couldn’t come out. Instead, her vocal tics took over, a jumbled mess of “Eh! Hm-hm! Tsk!” mixed with sobs of frustration.

The sensory overload hit like a tidal wave. Billie’s hands flew to her head, pulling at her hair as she rocked back and forth in the hospital bed, her body shaking violently from the combined force of her tics and meltdown. The doctors and nurses tried to help, but Billie couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming chaos in her mind. Every touch, every noise made it worse. Her body was on fire with overstimulation, and she couldn’t escape it.

Maggie stood by Billie’s side, tears in her eyes as she watched her daughter struggle. “It’s okay, Billie,” she whispered, even though she knew Billie couldn’t hear her through the meltdown. “You’re going to be okay.”

After what felt like an eternity, the medical staff managed to stabilize Billie’s arm with a temporary cast, though it took several attempts due to the tics and her thrashing. Billie’s body finally began to calm, the energy of the meltdown slowly dissipating, but she was left utterly drained, both physically and emotionally. She lay in the hospital bed, her body limp and exhausted, her tics reduced to small twitches and murmurs.

The doctor spoke softly to Maggie, explaining the steps for Billie’s recovery, but Billie wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t. Her body was too tired, her mind too overwhelmed. All she wanted was to be home, away from the noise, away from the pain.

As they finally wheeled her out of the hospital, Billie could feel her body calming down, though the exhaustion weighed on her like a heavy blanket. Her arm was throbbing, her head ached from the meltdown, and her vocal tics—though quieter now—still escaped her lips in occasional bursts of “Eh! Hm-hm!”

It had been a bad day, maybe one of the worst, and all Billie wanted was to be back in the safety of her room, surrounded by the people who loved her. She knew the road to recovery would be tough, but she also knew she wasn’t alone.