online love (billie eilish)

can i call you tonight?

A/N: new book yay ;)

inspo: can i call you tonight, dayglow

~

I feel close, well maybe I'm not, heaven knows...

Freya's POV:

My dorm room is the safest place. I step one foot out the door and the world is watching, like the opening scene of a coming of age movie. I keep my head down, but if I dare to look up, eyes linger on me in slow motion. Then again, maybe it's me always thinking I'm the main character, always thinking everyone is watching me through screens, when I'm really hiding in the background. Just a head in the back of a shot, to make the scene feel more realistic.

I have to force myself to leave once a day, not for class. I still find myself cheating, ordering coffee through an app, taking the less traveled by sidewalks to get there, then sitting as close as I can get to the corners.

I'm running out of time, the sun beginning to set, the sky like a density science project: the daytime pale blue sits on top of the orange, a thin pink layer rests at the bottom of it all. I almost trip down the flight of stairs, slipping on my headphones and choosing a song. I know I should expand my playlist, but I stick with what's comfortable, and hit shuffle on 'this is billie eilish.' The opening notes of 8 start to play just as I push open the door.

I'm always imagining things instead of making them happen. Sometimes I wish I didn't obsess over people that don't and will never know I exist, because it keeps me trapped in my room. I don't need to go out, don't need to make friends, when I could lay on top of my bedsheets and spend hours building up scenarios. I get so far, so deep into them, until something tips over my building block tower and I fall back down to reality.

I screenshot the spotify screen and without thinking for once, add it to my instagram story, writing 'underrated' in little letters at the bottom. I tag billie and erase her name, over and over, always overthinking. There's a part of me that screams to be heard, do it, she'll see it and respond. I listen to myself and just post it.

I fall back onto a stone bench, donated in memory of somebody's name that I'm covering up with my back. I don't want to accept that maybe I'll never be anything like Billie, I'll never do anything special. I can't talk to people, I stand in circles of people and listen to everyone else talk. I murmur something like 'true,' but it's like I'm talking to myself, because nobody is ever listening. I wish I was heard, but for that to happen, I'd have to speak up, say something loudly. And I can't do that.

There's so much time for me to speak up, but I keep quiet...

I'll die really old, because I'll never live the type of life that flies by in the blink of an eye. I won't be remembered, I won't have a bench at a college made in memory of me. If I never conquer my anxiety and talk to someone, anyone at all, I'll be alone, forever. I have so many words, so many rehearsed shower lines, but my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth, and they never come out.

I pick myself up when the app says my order's ready, walking fast all the way down and up little hills the way there. I slide off my headphones and all the sounds clash with each other. I flinch at the bell tied to the top of the door. There's ten conversations fighting over the top of each other to be loudest, to be heard. Names are called, cups hit the counter, chairs screech across the tiles, high heels click, coffee machines blast out steam.

I tremble and snatch my coffee, shyly nodding at one of the baristas who waves at me, and I quickly find my two-person table shoved in the back corner. I can breathe again when my headphones return to their usual spot, and the noises get drowned out by her voice and soft ukulele strums. Opening up my laptop covered in stickers, I almost cry at the blank page where an essay due at midnight should be. I close my eyes.