Billie Eilish and her daughter imagines

Faking being sick

Amelia 14 yo

Billie's POV

I sighed as I leaned against the doorframe, watching Amelia huddle under her blanket. Again. This was the third time this week. She hadn't even tried to get up for school. It was like a silent ritual now – every morning, she would try to fake being sick. And every morning, I'd have to be the bad guy and tell her to get dressed.

"Amelia." I said it gently, though I was starting to lose my patience. "You know you have to go to school today."

She peeked out from the covers, her eyes wide and anxious. "Mom... I don't feel good." Her voice was small, wavering, and it broke my heart every time. But I knew the truth. I could see through the act. Her forehead wasn't hot, her eyes weren't glassy. She was just scared—of school, of the pressure, of everything. I got it. I really did.

But she had to face it. "You're not sick, Mia," I said, walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. "You have to stop doing this. You've got that history presentation today, right? You can't skip it."

She let out a frustrated groan, pulling the blanket over her head. "I don't want to go," her voice was muffled, but I could hear the panic creeping in. "Everyone's going to laugh at me, I hate it there."

I felt the familiar pang of frustration mixed with sympathy. I rubbed her back through the blanket, trying to keep my voice calm. "I know school sucks sometimes. I hated it too. But you can't keep running away from it. I'll be with you until you go in, okay?"

She didn't answer, just lay there in silence.

I stood up, tugging the blanket off her gently. "Come on, kid. Get dressed."

Amelia sat up slowly, her expression miserable. I could see how tense she was, how hard she was trying to find a way out of it. But I wasn't giving her one this time. I was exhausted from playing this game. "I'm not letting you stay home, Amelia. Let's go."

Amelia's POV

I sat in the passenger seat, fidgeting with my hoodie strings as mom drove. The quiet hum of the engine filled the silence between us. I could feel the pit in my stomach growing as we got closer to school. I hated this. All of it.

"Do you have everything you need for the presentation?" mom asked suddenly, glancing at me from the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," I muttered, though I wasn't sure if I even remembered what I was supposed to say. I had barely slept last night, worrying about it.

"You'll be okay," she said, her voice softer now. "You're prepared. Just get through today."

I didn't answer. I wanted to believe her. But the thought of standing in front of everyone, with all their eyes on me, made my chest tighten so much I could barely breathe. They didn't like me. I wasn't like them. And I knew they were waiting for me to mess up. They always were.

When mom pulled up to the school, I hesitated. I stared at the familiar front doors, kids streaming in and out, laughing and talking. How did they do that so easily? How did they just exist without this constant fear?

"You got this, Mia," mom said again, but I could hear the impatience beneath her tone. She was tired of this too, I could tell.

I forced a nod and opened the door. "Bye, Mom," I mumbled, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and walking toward the entrance. I felt her eyes on me as I walked away, and I wished more than anything that I could just turn around and get back in the car.

By the time I reached third period, my nerves were completely shot. I hadn't spoken to anyone all day, not that it was anything new. I usually sat alone, keeping my head down. But history... history was different today. We had oral exams, and my stomach had been in knots since I'd woken up.