Billie had always felt grounded and safe with Odessa, and, of course, her family had been there for her every step of her career. But as much as she loved them, and as grateful as she was, there was a weight in her chest that sometimes grew heavy under the spotlight. Her music and fame had always been an escape, yet there were moments—especially now, on the last leg of her world tour—when the pressure overwhelmed her. She felt raw, stripped down to something vulnerable, and unprotected.
She hadn’t known much about age regression until recently. It had started gradually, small moments of feeling emotionally younger or wanting to curl up with a stuffed animal. Odessa, who Billie trusted deeply, had noticed the shift and carefully brought it up, explaining that some people found peace in a state of age regression, where they could embrace their inner child. Billie had been hesitant to accept this about herself, but once she did, it felt freeing. The idea of setting down her adult worries and just being… small, carefree, felt like a gift.
Today, though, the feeling washed over her without warning.
It was late afternoon, and Billie had just finished rehearsing with her team. Her voice was slightly hoarse, her muscles aching. She thought she could push through until showtime, but the usual motivation to perform felt distant. Instead, a lump formed in her throat. Her chest felt heavy, and her breaths came shorter. Trying to ground herself, she held Odessa’s hand tightly, but a prickling wave of anxiety made it hard to ignore her racing thoughts. It was like a floodgate opened, a rush of young feelings—confusion, fear, and a need for comfort—all at once.
Odessa looked at her, noticing Billie’s face pale, her eyes wide and unfocused. "Are you alright, babe?" she asked softly, her thumb tracing gentle circles on Billie’s hand.
Billie shook her head. "I… I don't know," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mom, Maggie, came over, catching the tail end of their conversation. “Hey, what’s going on?”
At that moment, Billie’s voice cracked, and the words tumbled out in a younger tone. “I feel… little,” she murmured, glancing at Odessa and Maggie with pleading eyes, not entirely sure what she wanted them to do.
Maggie’s expression softened. "Sweetheart, do you want to go somewhere quiet?” she asked.
Nodding slowly, Billie let Maggie guide her toward a quieter area backstage, with Odessa and her brother, Finneas, following closely. Billie’s legs felt wobbly, and her mind swam in a haze of vulnerability. A fuzzy, stuffed toy rabbit was in her bag, and she clutched it tightly to her chest, feeling small and overwhelmed.
The world around her seemed louder than usual, the sounds of people talking and the hum of equipment amplifying in her head. Billie tried to focus on her breathing, but her chest felt tight. Out of nowhere, she felt a sudden jerk in her neck, her head snapping to the side. It startled her, the involuntary movement pulling her out of her haze for a split second. But before she could process it, her neck jerked again, and she let out a loud, involuntary "eh!" sound.
Her family and Odessa noticed, their faces filled with concern but trying to stay calm.
“It’s okay, Billie. You’re safe,” Odessa whispered, running her fingers gently through Billie’s hair. "Just take your time.”
But the more Billie tried to relax, the stronger the tics became. Her body seemed to rebel against her attempts to calm down, her muscles tightening and releasing without her control. Her head kept jerking to the side, her hands clenching and unclenching around the stuffed rabbit. With each tic, a small vocal sound—a squeak, a hum, or a drawn-out "ah"—escaped her. The noises made her feel exposed, almost like her body was betraying her in front of the people she cared about most.
