misery || b.e

gala

and you don't wanna know
how alone i've been
let you come and go
whatever state i'm in

the ink on the page was slightly smudged, like her hand had trembled when she wrote it. billie sighed, the familiar ache in her chest stirring as her eyes lingered on the words. when she first wrote them, it was more a release of frustration — frustration with the way y/n seemed so distant, always out of reach. but now, they felt like a confession, a reminder of how much she'd hoped for something that couldn't be.

she remembered the exact moment she'd scrawled them down, sitting on the floor of the apartment they'd once shared, her back pressed against the door after she'd had another argument with y/n over the phone, a few weeks before they'd broken up.

she'd been slipping through her fingers for weeks, maybe even months, and billie had let it happen. she'd let y/n come and go like a ghost, never asking her to stay, never fighting for her to love her the way she needed.

she had understood, or at least thought she did. y/n had to be away for filming for months. it was a career, a dream she couldn't just put on pause, and billie knew that. but it didn't make the loneliness any easier. it didn't make the moments where billie had wanted to celebrate — the milestones she'd crossed, the little victories she'd had — feel any less hollow when y/n couldn't be there. she had tried to be understanding, tried to be patient, but it didn't stop the hurt from building up quietly, in the corners of her heart, growing heavier with every passing day.

her hand tightened around the notebook, her chest tightening with it. the distance had felt safer back then — more manageable. but now? now it was unbearable.

because the truth was there, staring back at her in her own handwriting. she'd been alone for longer than she realized. even when y/n was still there, she'd been lonely. and now that she was gone, that loneliness felt suffocating.

it wasn't y/n's fault. she hadn't chosen this distance, hadn't wanted to be apart. she'd just been caught in the whirlwind of her own world, trying to chase her dreams. billie knew that. but still, she couldn't help but feel abandoned in a way that she didn't know how to voice. she had spent so many nights staring at her phone, waiting for a message, for some kind of connection. instead, she'd learned to carry the weight of her absence — silently, always.

billie ran her thumb across the page, pressing the words deeper into the paper like she could make them hurt less. but they didn't. they only reminded her of the nights she sat in silence, waiting for y/n to change her ways, knowing deep down she never really would.

maybe she had let herself believe they could have both — the career, the love. but not everyone could balance it the way she wanted them to.

she'd told herself it was okay. that this was just the reality of being in a relationship with someone so devoted to their craft. she tried to push aside the hurt, to remind herself that y/n was out there, doing what she loved, creating something meaningful. but as time passed, the little pieces of her that had once felt whole started to feel empty. she began to question whether she had asked too much of y/n, expecting her to fill the spaces in her life that were always meant to be hers alone.

it was stupid, really. she knew better than to rely on someone else to fix her, to fill every gap. but the thing about love — about being with someone who makes you feel seen, who brings warmth into your world — was that it made you forget about the voids you hadn't yet healed.

she stared down at the notebook, her reflection ghosted in the glossy surface of the page, and she couldn't help but wonder if she had really been fair to y/n. the actress hadn't abandoned her. she hadn't chosen to leave her in the shadows. she'd just been lost in her own world, and maybe that was the hardest part of all — realizing that no one could truly be there for her if she couldn't even be enough for herself.