Hostage to you

grown up stuff

Billie's POV

The house was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that wrapped around you like a heavy blanket, making every small sound seem sharper, louder.

I shifted in bed, tangled in the cool sheets. Sleep pulled me under, and the room faded into nothingness.

When I opened my eyes again, I wasn't in my room. I was standing in a dimly lit space, golden light spilling from the edges of the walls. The air was warm, almost heavy, and the faint scent of vanilla and cedar lingered around me.

"Billie."

Her voice hit me first, low and rich, the kind of sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. I turned, and there she was. Raven.

But not the Raven I saw every day. She wasn't in her usual sneakers and loose shirts. No, this Raven was different—confident, magnetic. Her dark hair fell in loose waves around her face, and she wore something fitted, black, and dangerous, hugging her frame like a second skin.

"You've been running through my mind," she said, her lips curving into a slow, wicked smile.

"Is that so?" I managed to reply, though my voice wavered.

She stepped closer, her movements smooth and deliberate. The space between us seemed to shrink without either of us taking a step. Her eyes locked onto mine, holding me captive in their dark depths.

"You've got me all twisted up, Eilish," she murmured, her voice low and teasing.

I swallowed hard, my breath hitching as she reached out, her fingertips brushing against my arm. Her touch was electric, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Raven, what are you—"

She silenced me with a look, her eyes dropping to my lips.

"You're always in control," she said softly, her voice laced with something I couldn't place. "But not here. Not with me."

Her hands slid up my arms, stopping at my shoulders before she leaned in. Her breath was warm against my skin, her lips hovering just a whisper away from mine.

"Tell me you don't want this," she challenged, her voice barely audible.

I couldn't.

Instead, I closed the gap, crashing into her like a wave. Her lips were soft but insistent, moving against mine with a hunger that matched my own. My hands found their way to her waist, pulling her closer, desperate to feel more of her.

The air around us seemed to thicken, the golden light pulsing like a heartbeat. Raven's hands tangled in my hair, and her touch burned in the best way.

"You're mine," she whispered against my lips, her voice possessive and full of promise.

A heat bloomed in my chest, spreading through my entire body as she pressed me back against the wall. Her lips moved to my neck, trailing fire in their wake.

And then—

I woke up.

The room came into focus slowly—familiar yet not my own. Finneas' guest room.

The pale afternoon light filtered through the curtains, illuminating the chaos around me. My hair was a mess, sticking up in odd directions from tossing and turning. My face felt tight, my skin raw from crying. Puffy eyes, a headache, and a hollow ache in my chest were my only companions.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 12:04 p.m.

I hadn't meant to sleep this late, but after the night I'd had, it wasn't surprising. The memory hit me like a freight train—Raven. In jail.