Billie sat on a worn leather stool in the dimly lit studio, headphones snug over her ears as she leaned toward the microphone. Finneas sat at the mixing console, twisting a few dials and listening intently to the playback of her latest take. The sibling duo had been in the studio for hours, working on a haunting new track. While the instrumentation was perfect, Billie had been struggling to nail the vocal takes.
Her voice quivered slightly as she sang, but on the third attempt, her pitch wavered. She stopped abruptly, yanking the headphones off and running her hands through her hair.
“Ugh!” she groaned, her frustration mounting. “I can’t get it right! I sound awful.”
Finneas swiveled his chair to face her. “Bill, it’s not awful—it’s just not the take yet. Let’s try again. We’ve got this.”
Billie shook her head, her hands clenching and unclenching. “No, no, I’m—” Her body jolted suddenly, her head snapping to the side with a sharp movement. A vocal tic escaped her, a sharp “Ack!” sound that broke the tense silence in the room.
Finneas immediately recognized what was happening. “Hey, take a break,” he said softly, standing up and moving toward her. “It’s okay.”
But Billie couldn’t stop. Her shoulders twitched violently, and her hands slapped against her thighs involuntarily. She let out another vocal tic, this time a string of high-pitched hums followed by a repetitive clicking sound from her tongue. Her breathing grew shallow, and her face contorted briefly as she blinked hard—another tic that often accompanied her episodes.
“I can’t stop,” Billie whispered, her voice shaky. Her body jerked again, her arm flinging outward as if trying to swat something invisible.
Finneas placed a steadying hand on her shoulder, but she pulled away, her movements becoming more erratic. She let out a loud “Yip!” and then a growling noise, her frustration adding fuel to the fire. Her legs kicked out, knocking over the stool she had been sitting on.
“Okay, okay,” Finneas said, trying to keep his voice calm even as worry flickered across his face. “Let’s sit down. Take a breath.”
Billie crouched to the floor, her hands gripping the sides of her head as her vocal tics continued. “No, no, no!” she cried out, her voice breaking into a repetitive stutter—“No-no-no-no!”—before another involuntary “Ack!” escaped her lips. Her neck jerked to the side, and she began hitting her fists lightly against her legs, a physical tic she often had during intense episodes.
Finneas crouched beside her, his heart racing. He had seen Billie have tic attacks before, but this one was escalating fast. He pulled out his phone and dialed Odessa, Billie’s girlfriend, knowing she had a unique way of calming Billie down.
“Hey, Odessa, it’s bad,” he said quickly when she picked up. “She’s been going for a while, and I can’t—she’s not coming out of it. Can you get here?”
“I’m on my way,” Odessa said, her voice laced with concern. “Traffic’s insane, but I’ll get there as fast as I can. Just keep her safe.”
Finneas hung up and turned back to Billie, who was now rocking slightly as her body twitched in sporadic bursts. Her vocal tics continued in a pattern—short yips followed by guttural sounds and an occasional string of words that seemed to burst out unbidden: “Stop it! Stop! No!”
“Billie, Odessa’s coming,” Finneas said gently. “Just hang in there.”
But the minutes dragged on, and Billie’s tics showed no sign of slowing. She slapped her hands against the floor rhythmically, interspersed with a whistling noise she couldn’t control. Her breathing grew more erratic, and tears streameddown her cheeks, a mix of frustration and exhaustion. Finneas sat close by, not touching her directly but keeping his voice calm and steady as he spoke.
