Behind Closed Doors // Billie Eilish

Chapter 24

Trigger warning: If you get triggered easily by talk of self-harm and suicide, do not read this chapter.

"You're doing it right. You're just not doing it well." I shrug. "If you're crossing over, it has to be a powerful pass otherwise somebody's gonna get it very easily, got it?"

"Yeah." Astro nods.

"Okay. Try it again." I pass the ball to her and she passes it back, more forcefully than last time. "Better."

"The phone... the phone is ringing. The phone... we'll be right there. There's an animal—" The "Wonder Pets" theme song stops when I answer my phone. I don't care what anybody says. That's the best ringtone ever. "Hello?"

"Where are you," she asks, agitation lingering in her voice.

"Um... at Astro's house," I reply confusedly, not understanding why she's asking me this.

"I thought you were coming over."

"Oh, shit. I forgot about that. I'm sorry. I'll be there in a little bit."

"Okay." The phone beeps a few times as she hangs up.

"I gotta go," I say as I shove my phone back into my pocket. "You can just keep the soccer ball. I don't do anything with it anymore anyways."

"Okay. Want a ride?"

"Yeah. Can you just take me home?" I'll walk from there. I can't really just give Billie's address to anybody.

"Mm-hm."

"Thanks."

-

I knock on Billie's door and Patrick opens it. "Hello? Can I help you?"

I furrow my eyebrows a little. "Billie... i-invited me over."

"Who are you?"

What?

Out of all the times I've been over here, he doesn't remember who I am? I know that he's terrible with names but I'm a little offended.

"I'm just kidding, Camilla. She's in her room." He steps aside, letting me in.

I shake my head, stepping into the house. "Really?"

"How would I forget who you are? You've only been coming to my house basically every day for like four months now."

I shrug and go into Billie's room. "Hey."

She licks her lips, throwing her phone up in the air and then catching it. "Hey."

"Is everything cool?"

"Uh... yeah. Yeah. I just... we need to talk." Her head tilts a little and her eyebrow twitches. She's nervous. I never really notice her tics unless she's getting more than usual, and that usually only happens when she's nervous.

"Okay," I reply quietly, sitting on her bed. I hate hearing her say that. It makes me anxious. What is it about? She probably doesn't like me anymore.

Her head falls as she plays with the drawstrings on her hoodie. "I think that we should just stay friends."

I bite the inside of my cheek, tears pricking at my eyes. "Oh... Yeah. Okay." I should've known that I wouldn't be good enough for her. I just wish I was. God, I wish I was. I'll never be as pretty as Billie. That's for sure. Maybe if I was skinnier, or my nose didn't look weird, or I wasn't so awkward. Maybe then she'd like me. Maybe if I didn't talk weird, or didn't always walk with my head down, or if I could afford nice clothes. Maybe she'd like me. I just wish I knew what it was.

Or maybe it's just everything.

"Hey." She hits my knee. "Stop. It's not what you're thinking. It's not because you're not pretty enough or anything like that. I just... I think you should focus on your mental health."

Or maybe I'm just too damn sad. I have to admit, that one didn't cross my mind. I purse my lips, finally looking up at her. "Really? Out of everything you could've told me... you had to tell me that I'm too depressed for you to like me? That's a little low, Bil." I nod, trying to hide how upset I really am. "I wish you would've just told me that I was too ugly or something. At least it wouldn't be a stab at who I am and what I really can't help. I guess I'm gonna go home and work on my happiness. Maybe I'll be happy enough for one of those sadder souls out there. We can still be friends though, right? I'll be back tomorrow to do all of the friendly things with you. We can play Ilomilo together on your Xbox 360, or is that too sad for you too?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. We can do something happier and more friendly. Maybe we can play Uno again. Or..." I clap my hands together and then point at her, a forced smile playing at my lips. "No. Tomorrow I'll bring my Pokémon cards. We can talk about which is our favorite. A nice, friendly exchange. I'll be back tomorrow at twelve." I walk out of her room before she has the chance to say anything else.

-

I shut the front door behind me and a single sob escapes my mouth, a lump burning in my throat as I put my back against the wall and slide down to the floor. My head falls into my hands as I try desperately, pathetically to hold back tears.

Why does this hurt so bad? So what if she doesn't like me? There are other people out there.

But I don't want anybody else. I want her. Why doesn't she want me? She said she did. Was she trying to hurt me? I didn't think she was the type of person to do that to somebody. Maybe it really was because I'm too sad. Is that why Andrew did what he did? Was I too sad for him too? Should I have acted differently around him? Did he come home feeling the way I do right now every night? Tired of people telling him he's too sad? People probably told him that all the time.

I'd never do that. I couldn't. I understand. I understand not being able to help it. I thought Billie did too. I didn't think I acted that sad around Billie. She made me happy. How could I?

Why can't I make her happy? What makes me not enough? What makes me sad? Why am I so sad? I don't feel sad. I feel numb. I can't feel anything. I just don't understand. It's times like these that I miss the cold blade in my hand, slicing across my skin. I could feel that. I could control that. It's times like these that I hate depression more than ever. I'm not as depressed as I used to be. Not at all.

But when I get upset, I don't know how to handle myself. I go back to my old mindset. Every little bad thing that happens makes me feel worthless. Every little bad thing piles up to make one very bad thing. And ever bad thing makes me want to die. Every bad thing makes me wonder if that gun is still in my mom's purse. Every bad thing makes me wonder if I have it in me to slit my wrists and let myself bleed out. Every bad thing makes me wonder if I could manage to take just enough pills to kill my self. And every bad thing makes me desperately... pitifully... miserably wonder if anybody—anybody at all—would care. I'm so pathetic. And stupid. And selfish. God, I'm so selfish.

How could I think such things right now? Over something so stupid. It just doesn't feel stupid. It feels terrible. Overwhelmingly terrible. I just want it to stop. I want to hug Billie. I want to know if she cares about the toll that her words took on me. I just want her to hold me and tell me it'll be okay, but that just doesn't seem possible since she's the reason I feel like it won't be.

I just miss the way things used to be. When Andy was still here.