Metathesiophobia || Billie Eilish

Chapter 9

I rarely woke up in the middle of the night since I could probably sleep through a rock concert without being bothered. Tonight though, I heard a faint sound resonating like a siren through the the wall and into my ears. I checked my phone and sure enough it was around one in the morning. The time most people were sleeping or getting tired from watching Netflix.

I lifted the covers of the duvet and soon felt my feet where touching the cold wood of the floor. I put the red lights on and grabbed my phone before carefully treading to the door as to keep the wooden floor from squeaking. I turned the nob of the door only slightly to test if I'm going to make a sound too loud, luckily there was no risk and I continued to twist the nob and open the door wider for me to slip through the small slit. The sound seemed to become more clear. Now it sounded more like whimpering and quite mumbles. I inched closer to the door of the room next to mine, moving impossibly slow. When I reached the door, I gave two light knocks, but the whimpering seemed to continue, so I followed the same action as I did with the previous door.

Upon entering, I was met by a room smaller than mine, the streetlights painting a blue hue over the room. On the one side stood what I thought was studio equipment, but what really piqued my interest was the small mumbling and whimpering figure on the bed, half of their body over the covers, but laying as still as a statue. Tears rolled down Billie's cheeks as her whole forehead had a sheen of sweat covering her porcelain skin.

I cautiously closed the door and quickly moved to her side. When I placed my hand on her forehead, the skin under my hand felt hot to the touch. When my sister was young she often had nightmares, but unlike Billie she would be thrashing around on the bed, sometimes yelling and hitting me when I tried to help. The only thing that calmed her in the end was me hugging her and staying with her until the crying had exhausted her to a point where she would fall asleep in my arms.

I figured that was the only way to help Billie. I snaked my arms around her back and lifted her upper body up and into my embrace.

"It's okay, I'm here," I whispered in her ear as I stroked her damp hair. I swayed us back and forth for a while, whispering the same phrase in her ear until her body started to shake and out her mouth came racking sobs.

The sound shattered my heart.

She pressed her face in the nook of my neck and my shoulder as to muffle the sound. In response, I only pulled her in tighter, not caring if her tears ruined my hoodie. When you see someone in pain, all the material possessions you have don't matter, making them calm and comfortable is the main priority, it doesn't matter who it is or how well you know them.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask softly after she had calmed down and her body layed limply in my embrace, deep even breaths the only sounds that could be heard in the small cluttered room.

"Not yet," she replied quickly in a broken tone. I only nodded my head and held her until she wanted to let go.

"Come with me," she says quietly and if it wasn't for the silence that came paired with the night, I might've completely missed it.

She pulled out of my arms and grabbed her keys on the table with all the equipment on it before pulling on some sneakers laying next to the door. She tried to avoid showing her face to me as we made the journey down the stairs and to the front door, her actions lazy and automatic, like she has performed this ritual too many times. She opened the door and slid one of the keys in her hand, into the lock after we both stood outside. I hear the door lock before Billie turns around, facing the dark of the night and starts to walk, me following close behind when I realised she expected me to follow.

We walk in the dark. No flashlight. Just the light of the full moon lighting the path for us. It seemed as if she could've walked it with her eyes closed.

"Watch your step," she says just as I felt the dip from going down a step. The lights of a car flashed twice illuminating the outline of what seemed to be a sleek looking muscle car and Billie quickly rounded the car to climb into the driver's side. I followed her actions and opened the door to the passenger side, easily sliding into the car thanks to the smooth black leather seats.

Billie slid the key into the ignition and the car soon roared to life, music starting to play through the speakers. It didn't seem to bother her though because she continued to expertly reverse out the driveway before we were on the road a few seconds later.

The loud music blasting through the sound system and the feeling of having control over something in her life seemed to relax her as her tensed up shoulders fell as soon as we were on the highway. I furrowed my brows when she reached for her phone to quickly skip through her playlist without tearing her eyes from the road until she stopped skipping, reaching the song she wanted to play before tossing the phone into the cup holder.

The sound of crickets, the ring of a cellphone and the howling of a wolf followed by some 80's inspired beat similar to those of a artist like The Weeknd, started to play. As the strange song continued to play, I glanced at Billie to see how she was doing.

Her face was apathetic, no emotion whatsoever showing on her face, yet I didn't miss the tears glistening down her cheek every time the lights from the highway flashed by in its brief intervals. Her grip on the steering wheel seemed tense as we zoomed across the highway. After the song had ended and the car was left in silence, I let Billie be the one to talk first.

"It's been happening a lot these days," she states abruptly, after we had sat in silence for a few minutes. I don't say anything though, instead I leave room for her to elaborate if she wanted to.

"Normally my brother would be there when it happens, but he moved out a couple of months back. He still visits often enough, yet I had to learn to take care of them myself," she explains.

"What- what is it exactly?" I ask, trying to make sense of what caused tonight's events.

"It's called sleep paralysis. Kind of like a nightmare. You're awake and aware, but you can't move or speak. I've learned to control it for the most part, but sometimes I-," she pauses, probably remembering something as her brows were knitted together in concentration.

"Slip up," she says quietly, letting out a breath.

I'm not physical when it comes to showing my emotions. Hell! When I was twelve, one of the girls I befriended cried over something I can't even remember now, but I just stood there. I tried to search for the right words to comfort her but I've never gone through the same experience as she had, my words would just sound bitter and non convincing because I've always been a terrible liar.

The thing that I've learned since, is that people seem to find comfort in the touch of others. In this case, I would probably cause a crash if I leaned over the dashboard to give her a hug, so I opt for the second best thing.

I reach my hand over to her side and lightly take her right hand off the steering wheel. She lets me continue my actions before I delicately intertwine our hands.

My thumb starts to rub back and forth over the smooth skin on the back of her hand as I redirect my gaze to look over the little yellow lights of LA glinting in the distance. I feel her eyes boring into the side of my head, but after a while of driving, the music starts to flow through the speakers again.

-
Know the song?
I'm truly interested in finding out how old the people reading my book are.
Stay safe (and healthy)
- D