Paint is everywhere. I've spent the morning in my studio working on a commissioned piece for an unknown buyer. It's not unusual for them to remain anonymous, because they find me intimidating. Not really sure why though. As I'm working, my phone rings and I absentmindedly pick it up expecting it to be Layla on her lunch break.
"Hello."
"Hello, I'm calling for Hayden Grey."
"Speaking. How can I help you?"
"Perfect, my name is Ellis and I'm calling from Time magazine. I'd like to do a piece on you-"
"I don't do interviews..."
"I am aware that you don't have an interest in interviews Ms. Grey, but you were unanimously voted Time magazines person of the year."
"I-... wait are you serious?"
"Completely ma'am. Your work is phenomenal." she's a suck up, but person of the year is a big deal... I sigh debating on whether or not I want to do this.
"I'll give you an hour of my time. When is the interview?"
"It's in a month, but is it ok if we set up a photo shoot next week? That way the photographer can go over proofs and you can choose from a selection during your interview."
"Sure. Email me the details."
"Will do. Thank you for your time Ms. Grey." she says hanging up.
What did I just agree to? What if I forget to take my medication that morning? What if they ask me about my mental health? What if they know about the voices?
Voices.
Voices.
Voices.
I run my fingers through my hair now paranoid as fuck. I stare at the painting in front of me knowing I have the capability of finishing it, but my head isn't in it anymore. My brain is fixated on the impending interview... nope I can't be worrying about this.
My phone rings again. Shit! What if they're calling to cancel the interview? I take a peek at my phone and my nerves calm a bit when I see it's just Layla.
"Hey baby." I answer bluntly.
"Hey you, you alright? You don't sound like yourself." she asks. She knows me all too well.
"Just accepted an interview and its making me nervous... what if they know about the voices?" I whisper through the phone.
"Hayden your medical records aren't public knowledge... I haven't told anyone. I don't think Billie has either, otherwise it would be all over the internet." she explains.
Layla always knows how to calm me down. Our conversation comes to an end and I focus my attention back to the canvas in front of me.
Time to crush this shit.
~~~~
*Billie's POV*
I hear a knock on the green room door. "Billie! Five minutes till showtime!" Finn's voice shouts through the door.
I'm spiraling.
Like the room is spinning.
How the fuck am I supposed to get up and do a show?
I don't know how, but I made it to the stage. Everything is still spinning. I step onto the stage and my babies go wild.
Halfway into the show I start spiraling again and start to stumble all over the stage. I slip on a cord and I fall back, my head smacking on the stage. Fuck that hurt... Get the fuck back up. Focus Billie focus. Remember the lyrics. Remember the ly——
Blackness.
Complete blackness.
"She is not ok Patrick! You can't sit here and tell me that she's fine when her blood alcohol level is three times the legal limit! Plus the string of 'fans' she takes back to her bus on a daily basis!" I hear my mom going the fuck off on my dad.
"Ok fine! She's not ok Maggie, what the hell can we do though? She's a grown woman for crying out loud. I can't exactly bend her over my knee and hit the reset button."
I can hear my mom sigh, "I don't know... I feel like I indulged her too much growing up."
"No you didn't. Even if you did, it's only because you loved her."
Loved.
Past tense.
I can't have my parents turn against me too. I open my eyes and see my parents in a loving embrace. I wanted to have that one day... "Mom..?"
My mom looks over at me giving me a small smile while still looking disappointed. "Billie... we need to talk." Hearing the disappointment in her voice hits different... I nod and brace myself for what comes next.
"Honey, what's going on? We know you've been relying on alcohol and you're not exactly subtle when it comes to your... affairs." my mom says bluntly. My cheeks heat up knowing I'd have to answer to my actions one day. Didn't realize it would come so soon.
"I just- I hate myself... I hate who I've become. I hurt the people that I care about and I just wanted to hate myself a little less." I say avoiding eye contact and staring out of the hospital window.
"Billie... sweetie. Since this 'incident' the label contacted us because you've been out. They're threatening to drop you as an artist, you have got to get yourself together."
"Drop me!! They can't drop me I'm Billie fucking Eilish!!" I shout furious at the news I'm hearing.
"They can and they will Billie... they're not playing around. They've asked you to start a recovery program of your choice. From what I've seen, or heard rather, I think you need to come to terms with the fact you're using sex to mask your emotional issues." my mom explains.
I sigh and close my eyes. "Fine. I'll do it, just know this is fucking bullshit." I grit through my teeth.
My mom kisses my forehead, "I need you to take care of yourself Billie. I love you too much to watch you do this to yourself."
She's right.
I hate when she's right.
a/n: HAPPY CINCO DE MAYO. I'm not even Hispanic, but ya girl loves tacos and any excuse to eat Mexican food, I'm sold.
Also this day has been fucking great! How has everyone's day been? Whatchu been up to bubbies? I luv you all 💕
