Kleptomania | Billie Eilish

Twenty

Maddie

"Can I pleasee take them out?" Billie whines with her hands in a praying position.

"Have you ever removed stitches before?" I ask.

"No."

"Then, no. You cannot take out my stitches, I don't want you to fuck it up." I drop tweezers and surgical scissors into a boiling pot of water for sterilization before use. I'm lucky enough to know what I'm doing with my stitches. Even if I could go to the hospital, I wouldn't be able to afford it. The nonexistent free health care in America has always made Europe look so much more appealing. But, typical, I'm here for that perfect "American Dream." Billie sits on the counter beside the stove she takes my hand and pulls me in between her legs.

"I want to help you," she mumbles.

"I know you do," I sigh. "If the first stitch comes out clean and painless, I'll let you take out the rest."

A smile spreads across her face, "yes!" She twirls the ends of my hair then touches my necklace gently. "I'm glad you like the necklace so much."

"I love it more than words can describe," I smile. "Now it feels like she's always with me along with my star tattoo." Her hand pushes my hair behind my ear, revealing that tattoo.

"I can't wait to get inked," Billie murmurs.

"Neither can I, I'm sure you have like a million ideas."

"Obviously," she says. I sit my finger underneath her chin and kiss her. She kisses me back with ease and cups my cheek.

"We can't get distracted," I mumble against her lips. "I gotta take out these stitches." Billie whines as I pull the medical tools out of the pot, with a pair of tongs. Her hand slips behind my waist and she pulls me in-between her. Her lips meet mine. She jumps off the counter without discounting our lips and pushes me against the wall.

"Let me take care of you, baby," she whispers.

"Baby?" I cock a brow. "That's new."

"Yeah, I want everyone to know that you're mine," she smirks.

I think everyone wants to know we're together. Especially those specific fans of Billie who swear, she likes pussy. They're not wrong, but I'm sure that Billie isn't too open to the idea of telling the world. Press would be up in her ass and poking at her till she said those words of, "yeah, I'm gay... so what?"

"Billie," I whine as her lips kiss my neck slowly. "I'm serious."

"And I'm serious about fucking you."

"In my kitchen?" I snort.

"Your parents aren't home." She looks me in the eye, her lip in a pout but a smirk still present. It's funny to see Billie so dominant since she's a good 4 inches shorter than me and she's got me pushed against the wall. Yet, at the same time, it's hot-- so I'm not complaining. I roll my eyes then eagerly smash my lips into hers again. She takes the lead and before I know it, I'm calling out her name.

A few hours pass after Billie assists in removing my stitches to find a perfectly, healed wound. A nasty scar was left behind but I don't really care, scars are cool sometimes. That's going to be a fun story to tell my kids. I drive Billie home and my parents arrive soon after.

I'm not sure where they were all day, but it's clear it wasn't good. My dad comes home buzzed off of Scotch and the stench of pot lingers off of him. My mom is, the same as always. I hide in my bedroom as they curse each other out downstairs. Their yelling makes me feel boundless amounts of overwhelming.