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my shit from new york came so i've been putting things away in my house and that helps past time. i started working too and the paparazzi had haulted, but i knew they could come back whenever they fucking wanted to. billie calls me all the time, she's calling me right now.
i pick up the phone, leaning against the kitchen counter, my hand brushing against the box labeled "clothes" i hadn't gotten to yet.
"hey, baby," i say, trying to sound casual.
"hey, nessa," billie's voice comes through soft, warm, but there's this edge to it, like she's holding something back.
"what's up?" i ask, folding one of the towels i'd just unpacked.
"i, um... i saw something," she says.
"okay...?" i prompt her, frowning.
"i don't want to freak you out, but someone sent me a picture of you with some guy outside your house."
my chest tightens, and i stand up straight. "what are you talking about? what picture?"
"it's probably nothing, i swear," she says quickly, like she's trying to calm me down before i even react. "but it's already making the rounds, and i wanted you to hear it from me first."
"billie, i don't even know what you're talking about. no one's been here except for the movers."
"are you sure, baby? because... this kind of thing gets out of control fast, and i don't want you getting hurt," she says, her voice trembling just slightly.
my heart sinks. i haven't even been here long, and this shit is starting up again. i glance at the clock—it's late, but the room suddenly feels too quiet, like the whole world is watching me.
"send me the picture," i say through gritted teeth.
a moment later, my phone buzzes. billie sent the photo, and when i open it, my blood runs cold. the picture shows me at my front door, talking to some random delivery guy. except the way the angle is shot, it looks way more suspicious—like i'm handing something off instead of receiving a package.
"billie, this is bullshit," i say, my voice sharp. "it's just a delivery. you know how they twist this crap."
"i know, baby," she says, softer now, almost pleading. "i know you wouldn't do anything, but it looks bad, nessa. and you know how fast people jump to conclusions."
"i didn't do anything wrong," i say firmly, pacing the kitchen.
"i believe you," she whispers, and my chest tightens at how genuine she sounds. "you know i do. i'm just scared for you... for us."
her voice cracks on the last word, and it hits me like a punch to the stomach.
"billie, i didn't ask for this shit. i'm trying, okay? i'm trying to keep it together, but it's like... i can't even breathe without someone twisting it into something it's not," i say, my voice breaking.
"i know, baby. i hate this for you. for us."
for a moment, neither of us says anything. the silence feels louder than her words, and i can feel the tension curling in my chest like smoke.
"i love you, nessa," she says softly, and her voice feels like a lifeline, even as everything else feels like it's crumbling. "i just... i need to figure out how to handle this, okay?"
"handle what?" i ask, my voice cracking.
"everything," she whispers. "just... give me a little time to think."
"billie, don't—" but the line goes dead before i can finish.
i stare at the phone in my hand, the sound of the dial tone echoing in my ears. my chest feels like it's caving in, and for the first time in weeks, i feel like i'm completely alone.
and then there's a knock at the door.
i freeze, my heart pounding. slowly, i move to the window and peek out. a man in a hoodie stands on the porch, his face shadowed.
my breath catches.
i back away, grabbing my phone again.
"who the fuck is at my door?" i whisper to myself, my hands trembling as i hit 911.
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"you make me feel like shit when im the victim." this is the first time ive heard nessa claim herself as the vicitim, she always avoids even muttering the word.
the police came, arrested the guy and found a knife and gun on him. i feel like shit, i wish i was there to help her and make her feel safe. she has nothing to protect herself and what if something really bad happened to her?
people are already posting about it, i already see photos of my girlfriend standing in her yard in nothing but my hoodie, her legs exposed with no shoes on, not even socks. she was crying, her phone up to her mouth on the phone with me.
she hates the pictures (i think she looks pretty for the situation) and she cried for an hour about it. i wish i could truly help her, im coming home in 3 months, telling her that would be no help.
"that's not what im doing. you're just tired, and shaken up, baby. is gianna coming?"
"yeah, she's pulling up right now. i just want you to come home, billie.." she cried more, "im sorry, honey. im so sorry. you're too pretty to cry, dont cry."
