Hostage to you | B.E

33 take me seriously

Beeping.

Soft. Rhythmic. A heartbeat made of machines.

My eyelids drag open slowly. Everything hurts. My skin feels two sizes too tight. My mouth is dry as ash.

Fluorescent lights hum overhead. White ceiling tiles blur into each other.

The first thing I feel — before pain, before sound — is Billie's hand in mine.

Warm. Solid. Gripping like it's all she's been able to do.

She's right there. Slouched in the chair beside my bed, hoodie long gone, hair a mess, but she's not looking at me.

She's staring across the room.

Her jaw's locked. Shoulders tense. Eyes sharp with rage she's barely keeping inside.

I follow her gaze.

Fred.

Standing near the wall in some expensive jacket, arms folded, like he's waiting for a valet. Like this is a meeting.

Billie's voice cuts through the air — low and cold.
"Why are you here?"

Fred doesn't even blink.
"Because I'm her father, you idiot."

Then, when he notices movement in my face —
"Oh good, you're awake. I knew it wouldn't be anything serious."

Billie's head whips around to me.

"Oh, baby—" she gasps, and she's already out of the chair, leaning over me.

Her hand comes to my jaw — gently, reverently — and she kisses me. Quick, a little desperate, like she needs to anchor us both. Her fingers slide into my hair like she can't stop touching me now that she's sure I'm real.

"You scared the shit out of me," she breathes. "You're okay. You're okay, I've got you."

I try to speak, but everything's dry. I just nod. Barely.

She presses another kiss to the corner of my mouth, then to my cheek, not caring who's watching — not caring that he's watching.

"You passed out. At the party. They think someone spiked your drink."

I blink. Everything's foggy. "Hospital?"

She nods, brushing a strand of hair off my face. "Yeah. You've been out for hours."

I inhale slowly. Then I hear it.

The clearing of a throat.

I turn my head slightly — wincing — and see him.

My father. Fred. Standing near the window like he owns the room.

Gray suit. Clean shave. Hands folded neatly in front of him like he's at a board meeting instead of a hospital.

Billie's entire body stiffens beside me.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" she says.

Fred doesn't blink. "I came when I heard. That's what family does."

"You're not family," Billie snaps. "You're an interruption."

He glances at me, expression unreadable. "She's my daughter."

"Yeah," Billie says, venom soft and slow. "And I'm the one holding her hand while you stand there pretending you care."

He exhales through his nose. A beat of silence. Then he says it:

"She's not yours, you faggot."

The room goes still. The monitors beep on, unaware.

Billie doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. She just looks at him like he's already made himself irrelevant.