Billie's POV
I felt warm, that was the first thing I could sense as I began to emerge from a haze of sleep. Warm, I had a warm chest. Be more specific...my chest was warm and heavy. Great, thanks for that acute analysis brain.
I felt something shift against me, and I began to realise that the warmth was radiating from this moving being. Light started to become recognised by my eyes, leaving the skin behind them glowing red. I groaned; I felt like shit.
Sighing, I finally opened my eyes. I was met with the usual sight of my bed sheets, and the not-so-usual sight of a sleeping Annabel Winters. It was as if I had been knocked to the head, all of the memories of the night before drumming around in my skull. I couldn't help but grasp her tighter, feeling a pain sting inside at the recounts of her nightmares, of those months of hell. Of Cassie, of an unborn baby which lay deep below the ground inside of a girl who broke her little sister's heart only so she would not feel any more hurt. But fuck, she was wrong. She was wrong because Annabel had hurt each and every day after that. I knew it, I could see the ache behind her eyes and I could see the guilt and shame trembling in her bones. She was a walking tragedy.
She shifted again, her brows furrowing, a small noise of protest. Her face somehow seemed less sunken than before. Perhaps this was the most she had slept in a long while.
Finally, her eyes opened. They blinked, as if assessing her surroundings. Then they finally landed on me. I watched her, waiting for her to make the next move. She was cocooned in my arms, our foreheads separated by mere inches. Her gaze widened and I saw her start to recoil into the sheets, her hands clutching the blankets tight to her chest as if to form a barrier between us. I noticed that without her coat, which was strewn across the ground, she was only wearing a bra. In that moment I saw her completely different to as I had. She was so young, and so scared.
We both were.
She looked at me then. She didn't look tired, or sad. It was if all of that had been ripped away, and all that was left was raw and naked and burning.
"Morning droogie."
A hint of a smile.
"Morning nazz."
"Nazz as in Ziggy Stardust or Anthony Burges?"
A real smile.
"Both."
Silence.
"A real horrorshow day."
"Wasn't a real horrorshow nochy."
"Yeah, I was admiring Bog and all his holy angels in my left shoe, wasn't I?"
Her smile softened slightly at that.
"You're surprisingly good at speaking Nadsat."
"I have my moments."
Silence again. She dropped her gaze. I felt my grip tighten against my better wishes.
"Do you want to talk about it?" My voice seemed to come out of its own accord as a mere whisper. I didn't dare to look at her, but focused on tracing patterns into the sheets.
She shook her head slowly. She looked at me, as if wanting to hide. But not from me, not even from the world, I discovered then. She wanted to hide from herself. From everything she hadn't done and everything she could of, of the uncontrollable murmurings in her head of "what if". What if she had said something sooner? What if she had made Cassie stay? What if she had tried harder?
We both knew that she couldn't have done anything more. She was just a kid. She was still just a kid.
We both were.
"Do you know what I want to do?" She hummed softly, bringing her eyes back to mine, sparking with a bit of her old self, the Annabel I knew, the inept James Bond and my Lucy in the Sky all at once.
I raised an eyebrow in question.
"I want to get burritos, and then I want to watch you play. I need to see if you live up to all the hype."
I felt a smile begin to creep slowly across my face.
"As you wish devotchka."
We began to slowly untangle ourselves then, the sheet falling from around her slim shoulders. I felt myself burn in the face as I tried my best to avoid looking at her barely-clothed torso, especially at what was barely contained with clasps and white lace. Fuck, hormones are so goddamn annoying, especially when you're trying to be a sincere friend to a gorgeous scantily-clad girl in your bed. I thought briefly, for the not the first time I must admit, to how my previous, and excessively talked about adventures with the opposite sex compared to the rush I felt at the sight of her. It felt different, a strange twinge that was as if hormones weren't the only culprit.
My thoughts were scattered however when a hand grasped dangerously high up my leg, balancing her to breath in my ear.
"Come on ded, before that pan-handle of yours becomes a problem."
I lent her a shirt first, an old Cheap Trick one, and then we were off. The house was thankfully empty; Mike had gone to a party the night before and undoubtedly not even conscious at 8am.
The air was cold but it was sunny, leaving you to feel a bit more alive than dead.
A/N hey i'm sorry this was a tad short but it's going to be less depressing now! so the next chapter or so should be better. if you're a bit confused about the conversation i would recommend checking out a nadsat dictionary. of course i have to be difficult. thanks for reading!!!
