robbers (sequel) billie eilish

ferrari

A/N: yooo i was fr planning on using this song for this chapter and then BILLIE PUT THE SONG ON HER INSTA STORY TODAY proof she KNOWS she's bad

inspo: ferrari, the nbhd

~

You treat all the rules like you're the queen...

Billie's POV:

"I-I can't do that, it's crossing so many lines, I really wish I could help you," she sputters out, hiding behind her fear, but I've learned by now how to see past that. To see what's underneath and inside. She thinks being a therapist makes her good, but nobody's good, and if you're gonna be bad, at least own up to it.

"You're going to do it."

I ignore her excuses, slightly impressed she has the guts to talk me down with a gun breathing down her neck. There isn't time for this, I leave for tour in three days. She only has one.

"How am I supposed to pull this off?" she cuts to the question at hand and I smirk; she's in whether or not she wants to be.

"You say you're taking a special interest in the case because of your history with me. That you know what's best for Hannah and me better than anyone else in there," I pause and nod my head at her wall of certificates and awards. Inside, it makes my stomach turn knowing she gets praised for ripping love out of people's hands and heads, telling them to trust her. I think about all the people she fucked up, the ones that didn't get as lucky as me, who lost everything from their soulmates to their sanity. If I didn't need her help, she'd be dead already. Maybe she will be when I don't need her anymore.

"That might work..." she thinks about it for real this time and I pull the gun away a few inches to give her a second to breathe. She relaxes until my hand flicks off the safety and returns the barrel to her skin.

"It will work," I insist, because if it doesn't, this is the only plan I have. Other than getting Hannah out myself, but that would require some fucked up shit that I don't want to have to do unless I have no other option.

"If-- if it doesn't?" she trembles over the question like she doesn't really want an answer.

"Then I won't need you anymore," I shrug and watch the clocks spinning behind her eyes, misinterpreting my statement. I know exactly what she's thinking, that she'll purposely fuck this up then say she tried, and I'll let her go. No.

"Let me rephrase: then you won't be needed, because you won't be here," I hiss, and now she knows what's on the line.

"Got it?"

"Yes," she gulps, and I pause, then finally start to make my way out. My hand clenches around the door handle, but there's one more thing I need to do. I turn and stare at her diploma, framed and positioned on the side wall in a way that draws your attention to it as soon as you walk in. Aiming the gun at it, I pull back the trigger and watch as the bullet tears straight through the middle of it, shattering the glass protecting it.

I flash her a smile and walk out for real this time.

"Have a nice rest of your night."

I want it now, I want it loud, I want it my way...

~

Hannah's POV:

I wait in the therapy room, my phone tucked between the underside of my thigh and the black couch cushions. I can't imagine going through another session of hell, but keep reminding myself that Billie says she has a plan, and I have to act normal.

Time passes and the usual guy doesn't show, and my thoughts race with possibilities: where he could be, if this is part of the plan. If I should make a break for it while I can, if I should risk pulling out my phone to call Billie. I go against everything in me telling me to run and continue to wait, until fifty-five minutes pass and I don't know what to think or do anymore.