The Artist / Billie Eilish

Chapter 42

Rose's POV

"So, yeah, I guess when we get home I'll just... Billie?"

My girlfriend's head snapped up from staring at her phone, her eyebrows raising as she watched me.

"Yeah?"

I sighed quietly, feeling slight anger creep up into my chest as I watched her eyes lock back onto her phone again.

Ever since she posted about us, she's been so off with me. I understand that it was stressful and a lot will change now, but I just thought it was a little weird how she started being distant after we were meant to have more freedom.

"So," she started, clearing her throat as she tossed her phone aside and wandered over to the fridge, swinging the door open to peer inside. "Gotta business trip when we're home. Couple days. They ain't taking this whole 'coming out' thing lightly."

My jaw clenched as I watched the green-haired girl pull out a water, jogging back over to the couch where she picked up right where she left off on the phone I'm so sick of seeing. Feeling my breath get a little shaky, I mumbled something quickly about needing air, and grabbed my room key from the counter before walking outside, closing the heavy door softly behind me.

Billie's POV

I exhaled the breath I didn't realise I was holding in once Rose left the room.

The muffled voices on the TV, the whir from the air conditioner, and the quiet music floating through the room from outside all started to pound against my skull, and I slammed the bedroom door shut before sliding my hands into my hair. My forehead rested against the flowery-papered wall as I squeezed my eyes shut, any barrier I've had up over the last few hours keeping me from crying breaking away as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I don't understand how I let it get like this.

Not again.

That was the old me, the old me who didn't have responsibilities or millions of people watching her every move or who wasn't in love.

I've always been obsessed with self-destruction. I don't even fucking know why. It doesn't hurt anyone as much as it hurts me, and yet, for some reason, all I can do is wait until I'm feeling good about my life, and then think of a way to supremely fuck it up.

I don't know if it's more of a 'no one can hurt me if I hurt them first' attitude, or if it's something else entirely. I used to not care about it. I could see 8 guys at a time and not give a flying fuck, because, none of them really cared about me, so, so what if they had to share? They'll find someone else to play, and it'll be fine for me because I'll have 7 other guys to fall back on. Back then, if I thought about being wrong, and what if they actually did care?, I couldn't handle it. The guilt was overwhelming, consuming.

But, that was years ago.

I knew it was wrong, so I stopped.

Until I met Rose.

Okay, okay, wait. I know you're all so fucking mad at me, which is understandable. I am too, always.

But.

You have to hear me out.

I was 'with' Aiden before I even met Rose. I've known him for years, he used to be my best friend, and we've been dating for a long time. He's comfort, he's reassurance.

Do I love him?

Fuck no.

Do I love that he loves me?

Hell fucking yes.

That's the only reason I've ever kept him around; he tells me nice things, he calls me nice names - I've never believed anything that's come out of his big-ass mouth, but the attention was all I ever wanted.

He's always been on the back-burner, and he knows he's never my first option. But he knows he's an option. A constant option, actually - an option I got way too used to these last couple years. He expects it, I don't even think about it.

But, now, it's all different. And it's never been this different before.

Rose.

Rose is an angel. I know she is, and I can swear on my goddamn life to you that there isn't a second of the day where that isn't all that's on my mind. All these gross guys who have side hoes and play their girls like it's a game, I'm not like that. I know I'm not. I love her; I love her with all that I've got and nothing is going to change that.

She was a light that I've never found before. From the moment I saw her, when I ran into her behind the venue, it hit me deep in my soul that those hazel eyes were gonna royally fuck me up one way or another.

She's gentle, she's soft - she treats me as if I deserve everything lovely that she can possibly offer. And, I don't. She deserves it, and I don't give it to her. I kiss her on the cheek once, and it fills her head for hours, distracting her whilst I go and reassure my boyfriend.

I make myself sick. You don't have to tell me, I already know.

I'm not asking for pity. I know this is fucked, but I promise I'm not like those other guys.

I'm not going to hurt her. She won't even find out.

And, I know I should break it off with Aiden. Hell, I should've broken it off with Aiden when red light was dancing against her skin and Summertime in Paris was on the speakers and her lips were against mine.

But, I didn't. I felt like I couldn't. The thought of being without him panics me - not because I care, but because he's there, and if Rose finds out how much of an asshole I am and breaks up
with me, I'll have no one to run to and I'll be alone.

Alone.

Being alone is something I'm familiar with, but not something I'm good at. Being alone is dangerous. And, the thought of being alone after Rose? Shit, man. We won't even think about that.

Everyday my finger hovered over that call button, and a million ways of breaking up with him run through my brain. And then, there's an excuse. Or I'm busy. Or Rose is back.

And it doesn't happen.

And, it sure as hell won't happen today.