𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢 | billie eilish

005

tuesday - june 23, 2020

𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲𝐬𝐨𝐧
𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝟐𝟕, 𝟏𝟎:𝟎𝟎𝐚𝐦
𝐥𝐨𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬

"Have a good day," the Starbucks barista wishes me and the woman beside me in the car through the window.

The person, to be exact, is my mom.

How'd we arrange to get there? Sit next to each other? Even look in the other person's eyes?

Apparently, pretending like no big incident has ever taken place in the past days seemingly isn't too difficult for her to manage. That doesn't explain the courage that I need, though. Sitting still, not feeling the urge to let all my true emotions spill over the edge of my already overfilled head, not letting my thoughts overwhelm me, these things are the hardest challenge in that current moment.

"You too," I smile and roll up the window back up, then slowly drive away.

My eyes are sleepy and I'm extremely weary, yet I'm committing myself to pretending like I'm totally awake and aware of what's going on around me. Again, I could barely fall asleep last night. The shock still won't stop invading my thoughts and the privacy I need at nighttime. Personal space is something I used to know many, many months ago, it's disappeared ever since. And by that I'm referring to not being terrorized by hatred fighting wars inside my imagination. However, I sometimes seem to get better, I live a few positive minutes or hours a day, then everything returns to me, it finds its way home again and breaks down on me, simultaneously letting me sink to the floor. But that's a story I've lived too many times in the two years that vanished like white smoke in the wintry morning mist.

It's now almost four days ago. Not exactly yet. Some time is missing to fulfill the number of 96 hours in total. The week didn't deliver a piece of motivation, any joyful events or a single reason to smile. Days flew past me, they left me in the past. They nearly traveled faster than the speed of light, that's what my first thought was when I dared to have a look at my phone yesterday evening. In my head, the time was approaching 4pm, if at all. When my emerald eyes spotted the highlighted digits eight and eleven on my black lock screen wallpaper, I refused to believe them. Though hours should've felt like days, it was rather the other way round.

Thoughts crash my attempt of trying to properly focus on the street, hence I am suddenly harshly reminded of reality and brought back to it by my mom pulling over the steering wheel to the right.

"Ella," she yells and my heartbeat travels up into my tight throat instantaneously, beating aggressively out of pure shock, causing my trachea to narrow.

My chest rises and falls quickly as my hands firm their grip around the steering wheel. Did I zone out for too long? What even did I do at all? Did I almost crash into a vehicle rolling merely a couple of feet before me?

"I know why I never let you drive," she spits and shakes her head dramatically, exaggerating the hateful tone in her voice and her movements, which are supposed to give hints about what an awful driver I am.

"You can't just zone out." Her annoying, scratchy voice won't stop resounding in my ears over and over and my previously tranquil behavior is replaced by irascibility.

"Pay attention to the road, Ella Jade, or we're gonna end up in a car crash." She speaks out words that I wish she wouldn't have let slipped from her thin lips.