Chapter Text
“Billie, Billie, please, we need to talk. What’s been going on?” I ask her, stroking her hair as she sobs into my neck. The scent of her shampoo fills my nostrils, mixing with the faint scent of despair and sadness.
She pulls away slightly, her eyes red and puffy, but the intensity in them is something I’ve never seen before. “Finneas, I-I don’t know how to do this anymore,” she whispers, her voice cracking.
My heart breaks into a million pieces. I know she’s been struggling, but I didn’t realize it had gotten this bad. I sit up, keeping my arms around her, and stroke her back soothingly. “Do what, Billie? Performing? The fame?”
Her breath hitches as she shakes her head. “Everything. The music, the tours, the interviews, the expectations. It’s like I’m drowning and no one can see it but you.” Her words hit me like a ton of bricks. She’s always been so strong, so resilient, but here she is, confessing her pain.
I pull back and wipe the tears from her cheeks, my own eyes stinging with unshed tears. “We can get through this together, Billie. You don’t have to do this alone.”
She looks at me, her gaze searching, desperate. “But I don’t know if I can keep going. Everyone expects so much from me. What if I let them down?”
My chest tightens. “Billie, you could never let anyone down. You’re the most amazing person I know. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we can take a break from the music for a while, get you some help, some time to heal.”
Her eyes light up with hope for a brief moment, but then they cloud over with doubt. She looks down at her hands, playing with the strings of her sweater. “What if that’s not enough?” she whispers.
Understanding her desperation, I tighten my hold around her. “We’ll find a way. You don’t have to carry this alone.”
Billie looks up at me, a glimmer of something else in her eyes. It’s like she’s trying to communicate a silent plea, a need for something more than words. She leans in, her breath warm against my cheek as she whispers, “Make me feel something else, Finneas. Anything else but this pain.”
I hesitate, torn between my protective instincts and the sudden, confusing shift in the air between us. But I know Billie. She’s desperate for a distraction, a reprieve from the dark thoughts that consume her. And if I can provide that, even just for a moment, I’ll do it.
Gently, I tilt her chin up and lean in, pressing my lips to hers. She responds with surprising fervor, her arms wrapping around my neck. It’s not a kiss filled with passion or love, but one of desperation. It’s a silent plea for relief, for anything other than the crushing weight of her depression.
I deepen the kiss, trying to convey the depth of my care and concern without crossing a line that we can’t come back from. Billie’s hands are fisting in my hair now, pulling me closer. For a moment, the world outside this room doesn’t exist. It’s just us, two siblings lost in a whirlwind of pain and confusion.
Our kiss is interrupted by the sound of the door opening and our mother’s worried voice. “Billie? Finneas? Are you two okay?” We break apart, both breathless, and I see the panic in Billie’s eyes as she scrambles off me. She quickly wipes her cheeks and tugs her sleeves down to cover her wrists.
“Yeah, we’re fine,” I call out, trying to sound as normal as possible. But when she enters the room, she takes one look at us and knows something’s off. “What’s going on here?” she asks, her gaze darting between us.
Billie’s eyes are wide, searching for an escape, but I stand up, placing a hand on her shoulder. “We were just talking, Mom. Billie’s had a tough time lately, with all the pressure.”
Mom’s expression softens as she walks over and sits on the bed beside us. She takes Billie’s hand, inspecting the fresh bandages. “Sweetie, what happened? You know you can tell me anything.”
Billie’s breath hitches, and I can feel her tension through the fabric of my sweater. She looks up at me, a silent question in her gaze. I nod slightly, giving her the courage she needs. She turns back to Mom, her voice shaky. “It’s just been too much. I can’t handle it all anymore.”
Mom’s eyes fill with concern. She looks at me, searching for confirmation. “Is she okay?”
I swallow hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “We need to get her help, Mom. This isn’t just a phase or a bad day. It’s something more serious.”
Mom’s gaze locks onto Billie’s, and she nods. “Okay. We’ll figure this out together. I’ll make some calls tomorrow, set up an appointment with a therapist, maybe even consider a break from the music for a bit. Whatever you need, we’re here for you, Billie.”
The relief in Billie’s eyes is palpable, and she leans into Mom’s embrace, her sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. I sit beside them, my hand resting on Billie’s back as I feel the tension slowly seep out of her body.
Mom whispers reassurances into Billie’s ear, stroking her hair as she cries. “It’s okay, sweetheart. We’re here for you. We’ll get through this together. I’m so sorry it’s been so hard for you.”
Maggie then leaves them alone again, her footsteps retreating down the hallway. The door clicks shut, leaving us in a silence that feels heavier than ever. Billie’s breathing slows, and she turns to me, her eyes still red but no longer brimming with tears. “Thank you, Finneas,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible.
I nod, not trusting my voice to form words. Instead, I give her a small smile and squeeze her shoulder. She looks at me, really looks at me, and I see the exhaustion etched into her features, the dark circles under her eyes. The weight of the world is on her shoulders, and it’s crushing her.
Without another word, she crawls back onto the bed, curling up beside me, her head resting on my chest. The beat of my heart is a steady rhythm under her ear, and she relaxes slightly. I can feel her body heat seep into me, and the scent of her fills my nostrils—it’s a mix of sadness and hope, a scent I never want to smell again.
Every time she moves, even just a little, my body reacts in a way it shouldn’t. The proximity of her, the way her breath hitches when she’s in pain—it’s all too much. I try to ignore the tightness in my chest, the way my skin feels hot and too tight, the way my stomach flutters when she shifts closer. It’s not the time for this, not now.
Her breathing evens out, and she falls into a fitful sleep. I can feel her heart beating against my ribs, and it’s a comfort and a curse. The way she’s curled into me is soothing, but every time she presses closer, it’s like a knife twisting in my gut. I can’t help but feel like I’m betraying her by even having these thoughts, but I’m only human.
The room is bathed in the soft glow of the moon outside the window, casting shadows across Billie’s tear-stained face. She looks so small, so fragile. I want to scoop her up and carry her away from all of this, protect her from the monsters that have made their home in her mind.
I lay there, my heart racing as I listen to her shallow breaths. Every inhale is a battle, and every exhale a victory. I stroke her hair, hoping the motion is as calming to her as it is to me. The silence is a thick blanket that we’re both hiding under. It’s a strange comfort, a shared secret that we’re not ready to share with the world yet.
Billie’s breathing starts to deepen, and I know she’s fallen into a deeper sleep. Carefully, I ease out of the bed, not wanting to disturb her. The floorboards creak under my weight, but she doesn’t stir. I tiptoe to the door, taking one last look at her before closing it softly behind me.
In the hallway, the reality of the situation hits me like a punch in the gut. I lean against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I can’t believe she’s been going through this alone. I’ve been so focused on her career, on keeping her safe from the outside world, that I’ve neglected the one thing that truly matters—her mental health.
My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of Billie’s door opening. I look up to see her standing there, her eyes red-rimmed but determined. “I need to show you something,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I follow her back into the room, my stomach in knots. She walks over to her vanity and opens the top drawer. Inside are dozens of little plastic bags, each filled with something that makes my blood run cold. “These are the pills they give me. They’re supposed to help, but all they do is make me feel numb,” she says, holding up a handful of small white pills.
The sight of them makes me want to scream, to throw them out the window. But I don’t. Instead, I force myself to stay calm, to be the rock she needs. “Billie, we’ll talk to the doctor, okay? Maybe there’s something else they can do, something that won’t make you feel like this.”
Her eyes are glossed over, staring at the pills in her hand. “I’ve thought about it, you know,” she says, her voice so low I almost miss it.
My heart stops. “Billie, no, please, you can’t think like that,” I reply, my voice cracking.
Her gaze shifts to meet mine, the despair in her eyes a mirror to the horror in my own. “Sometimes it feels like the only way out. Like if I just take enough, maybe the pain will go away.” She opens her palm and the pills scatter across the floor like tiny grains of hope lost to the wind.
I kneel down and pick them up, one by one, feeling the weight of each pill as if it’s a piece of her soul. “Billie, you can’t think like that. You’re so much more than your pain, more than the music, more than what anyone expects of you. You’re my sister, my best friend, and you’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this, I promise you.”
Her eyes searched mine for the truth, and I hoped she could see it reflected back at her. “But what if I don’t?” she whispers.
I sit on the floor with her, the cold seeping into my legs as I gather the scattered pills. Each one feels like a lie we’ve been told about the glitz and glamour of the music industry. “Billie, you do. You’re so much more than this. You’re talented, kind, and incredibly important to so many people, including me. We’re going to get you the help you need, and I’m not going anywhere. You’re not alone in this fight.”
Billie’s shoulders slump, and she sits down next to me, her legs curled up under her. She looks at the pills in my hand, then back at me. “I don’t know if I can do this, Finneas. I just want it to stop.”
I put the pills aside and wrap my arms around her. “You can, and you will. We’re going to figure this out together. You’re not alone.”
Her eyes are so tired, so defeated. I can see the exhaustion in every line on her face. “Why don’t you go to sleep, Billie? I’ll stay here with you, okay?”
With a nod, she crawls back into bed, pulling the blankets up to her chin. I watch as she closes her eyes, her breathing growing slow and even. She’s asleep in moments, but I know it’s the kind of sleep that’s full of nightmares.
I stand up and start to clean her room, the gravity of what’s happening settling in like a thick fog. The first thing I notice is the mess—clothes strewn everywhere, half-empty water bottles littering the floor. It’s a stark contrast to the meticulously clean space she usually maintains. As I pick up a pile of laundry, I spot a glint of metal under her bed. My stomach drops.
It’s a razor blade, the silver gleaming in the moonlight. I can feel bile rising in my throat as I realize the depth of her pain. How many times has she used this? How close has she come to letting go? The thought sends a cold shiver down my spine, and I quickly put it aside, not wanting to think about it anymore.
I find more pills scattered under her bed, some crushed into the carpet. It’s clear she’s been hiding her pain, trying to fight it alone. My heart feels like it’s being torn apart. I need to be stronger for her, to be the person she can lean on without fear of judgment.
As I continue cleaning, my eyes fall upon her open journal on the floor, pages torn and ink smeared from her tears. I hesitate, knowing it’s a private space she’s entrusted me with, but the desperation in her voice earlier echoes in my mind. I pick it up, and the sight that greets me sends a cold wave of horror through my body.
The pages are filled with dark, twisted drawings of herself, surrounded by shadowy figures, mouths open in silent screams. Each one more disturbing than the last. My heart wrenches as I realize the depth of her anguish. Then, I find a page with a half-written suicide note, the words addressed to me, and my world comes to a screeching halt. The room spins around me, and I struggle to breathe.
"Dear Finneas...
I'm so sorry I couldn't be stronger for you. I know you've always tried to be my hero, but even heroes have limits." My eyes blur with tears as I read the words that hang in the air like a noose. The weight of her pain is suffocating.
I sit on the floor, the journal clutched in my hands like a lifeline. I can't bring myself to read the rest of it. The weight of Billie’s pain is a heavy burden that I never wanted her to bear alone. The thought of her feeling so lost, so consumed by darkness that she’d consider ending it all, makes me want to scream and break down right here. But I can’t. I need to be strong for her.
I carefully close the journal and place it back on the bedside table. My mind is racing with thoughts of what to do next. I know I can’t ignore this, but I’m scared to confront her with it. What if she pushes me away? What if she feels like I’ve invaded her privacy? But the fear of losing her overpowers everything else.
I sit down on the edge of the bed, my hand hovering over her arm. Her skin is cool to the touch, and she flinches slightly. “Billie, wake up,” I say gently, my voice cracking. She opens her eyes and looks at me with confusion.
Her eyes scan the room, taking in the clean space, the closed drawer, and finally landing on the journal in my hand. A look of pure terror flashes across her face, and she snatches it away, hiding it under her pillow. “Don’t read that,” she says, her voice a mix of desperation and anger.
But I can’t lie to her. “I’ve already seen it, Billie. We need to talk about this.”
Her eyes widen in horror, and she tries to sit up, but I put a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder. “Please, Billie, don’t push me away. I just want to help you. You’re my baby sister, and I love you more than anything in this world. I can’t stand seeing you hurt like this.”
For a moment, she’s frozen, then she collapses back onto the pillows, the fight draining from her body. Her chest heaves with sobs, and she whispers, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for you to see that. I didn’t mean any of it. I just—it’s all too much, Finneas. The pressure, the expectations, the fear of letting everyone down. It’s like I’m drowning, and no matter how much I kick and scream, no one can hear me.”
Her voice is so small, so unlike the fierce Billie I know. It breaks my heart into a million pieces. I sit beside her, taking her hand in mine. “You don’t have to be sorry, Billie. I’m just sorry it’s gotten to this point. We’re going to get you the help you need, okay? You’re not going through this alone anymore.”
Her eyes are wide with fear, but she nods. I can feel her trembling under my touch, and it’s all I can do not to break down with her. Instead, I stand up, gently pulling her with me. “Let’s get you dressed. We’re going to get out of here for a bit, get some fresh air. Maybe that will help clear your head.”
Billie lets me guide her, moving like a sleepwalker as she pulls on a pair of sweatpants and a baggy t-shirt. She looks so much smaller than she did just a few minutes ago, like the weight of the world has finally gotten too heavy for her to carry. We head downstairs, and I grab her a coat and shoes, trying to keep my voice light.
“Come on, let’s go for a drive. Maybe grab some ice cream?” I suggest, hoping the normalcy of the situation will help ease the tension in the air.
Billie nods, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. She’s always had a soft spot for mint chocolate chip, especially when she’s feeling down. We slip out of the house into the cool night, the quiet a stark contrast to the chaos within. As we walk to the car, I can see the exhaustion in the way she moves, each step heavy with the burden she’s been carrying.
The drive is silent, the only sound the hum of the engine and the occasional sniffle from Billie. The neon lights of the city pass by in a blur as we head to the 24-hour convenience store. When we pull up, I glance over at her, her eyes red and puffy from crying, and I’m reminded of the little girl I used to play with, the one who used to laugh at the silliest things.
Inside, the fluorescent lights buzz overhead, casting an eerie glow over the aisles of snacks and drinks. Billie moves mechanically, her eyes scanning over the ice cream options. She finally chooses mint chocolate chip, a hint of a smile playing on her lips—it’s her favorite, something that hasn’t changed despite everything else.
We sit in the car, the engine idling, and she takes a tentative bite, the coldness of the ice cream contrasting sharply with the heat of her mouth. She winces, and I realize she’s forgotten to let it melt a little. “Here, let me help,” I say, taking the spoon and scooping a small bite for her.
Her eyes are on me as I bring the spoon to her lips, and she opens her mouth, letting me feed her. It’s a simple gesture, one that feels so intimate in the shadowy confines of the car. As she chews, she sighs, the minty sweetness seeming to calm her a bit. We continue like this, passing the spoon back and forth, the silence between us no longer filled with fear but with a strange, unspoken understanding.
Suddenly, she leans in, her eyes on mine, and for a moment, I’m lost in the depth of her gaze. The hunger in her eyes is unmistakable, a desperate lust that takes me by surprise. It’s not the love of a sister looking for comfort, but something else, something raw and primal.
“Finneas,” she whispers, her voice thick with need. She’s looking at me like I’m the only person who can save her, like I’m the one who can make all the pain go away. And in that moment, I understand what she wants from me. It’s a desire that’s been simmering beneath the surface for a while now, something we’ve both been too scared to acknowledge.
I set the ice cream aside, my hand shaking. The air in the car is charged with a tension that’s both terrifying and exhilarating. “Billie,” I start, but she’s already leaning in, her eyes locked on my lips. I know I should stop her, but the part of me that’s been holding onto our childhood bond tightly whispers that maybe this is what she needs, that maybe this will make the pain stop.
Her kiss is urgent, desperate, and I feel my resolve crumbling. The line we’ve never dared to cross is blurring before my eyes, and I find myself kissing her back, my hands sliding up her arms, feeling the warmth of her skin. Her touch is feverish, her nails digging into my back, and the sound of our breathing fills the car like a cacophony of need and fear.
We break apart, panting, and for a moment, I’m lost in the fog of her desperation. But then, reality crashes down on me like a tidal wave. “Billie, no, we can’t do this. You’re not thinking straight.”
Her eyes are wild, a mix of anger and hurt. “Why not? You’re all I have. You’re the only one who understands. Why won’t you help me?” she says, her voice shaking.
I swallow hard, trying to find the right words. “Billie, I’m your brother. What you’re asking for, it’s not right. It’s not what you need. We have to get you professional help, not... this.”
Her expression falls, and she looks away, the hurt in her eyes a dagger to my soul. “You don’t get it,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’ve never had to deal with this kind of pressure, this kind of pain. You don’t know what it’s like to feel like everyone expects you to be perfect, all the time. And when you can’t be, when you just want to scream, no one cares. No one listens. But you... you’ve always been there. You’ve always understood me.”
Without another word, she opens the car door and runs. I watch her in disbelief, the cold reality of the situation setting in as she sprints towards the woods that line the road. The darkness swallows her up, and all I can do is sit there, heart racing, wondering if I’ve made the right decision.
Finally, I shake myself out of my paralysis and jump out of the car, calling her name. "Billie! Billie, wait!"
Her figure is barely visible through the trees, but I can make out the pale glow of her shirt as she disappears into the darkness. I sprint after her, my heart hammering in my chest. The branches snap and whip against my face as I push through the underbrush, the cold air biting at my skin. "Billie, come back! We need to talk about this!"
My voice echoes through the night, but she doesn't stop. Panic sets in as I realize I might not be able to find her. The woods are dense and unpredictable, and she's in no state of mind to be out here alone. The fear of losing her is more than I can handle.
"Billie, please!" I shout, my voice strained with desperation.
The sound of her retreating footsteps fades into the night, leaving me with the deafening silence of the woods. I push through the foliage, tripping over roots and rocks as I try to keep up with her. My heart is racing, pounding in my chest like a drum in a war dance. The darkness seems to close in around me, each step feeling like a battle against my own fear.
Finally, I spot her, standing in a small clearing, her silhouette framed by the moon’s silver light filtering through the canopy above. She’s panting, her chest rising and falling rapidly, and she looks so small and lost amidst the towering trees.
My eyes are drawn to the object hanging from the gnarled branch above her head—an old noose, the rope frayed and weathered, but the intent behind it as stark as the shadows it casts upon the ground. My blood turns to ice. This isn’t just a random escape into the woods; she’s found a symbol of her own despair.
“Billie, please, don’t,” I say, my voice shaking as I approach her. She’s standing under the noose, her hand reaching up to touch it, the tips of her fingers tracing the loop with a haunting curiosity. Her eyes are glazed over, as if she’s lost in a dark fantasy where the noose represents a form of sweet relief.
“It’s just a piece of rope,” she murmurs, her voice hollow. “But it feels like a promise, you know? A way out.”
I can’t breathe. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and the heaviness of unshed tears. I force myself to walk closer, each step feeling like a battle against the fear that’s threatening to consume me. “Billie, it’s not a promise, it’s a trap. Life is hard, but it’s full of moments that are worth living for. We can get through this, together. You don’t have to do this alone,” I plead, reaching out to her.
Her eyes are glassy, reflecting the moon like two shimmering pools of despair. She looks at me, and for a moment, I think I see a flicker of hope, but it’s quickly extinguished. “You don’t get it, Finneas. Sometimes the darkness is just too much. Sometimes it feels like it’s all there is. And you can’t save me from this. No one can,” she says, her voice devoid of emotion.
I swallow hard, fighting back the tears that are threatening to spill over. “Billie, you’re not alone in this. I’ll do whatever it takes to help you. But you have to let me in, you have to talk to me. Please, tell me what you’re feeling, what you need. I’m your brother, and I love you. Nothing will change that.”
For a moment, she looks at me, really looks at me, and I can see the love and trust that’s always been there. She takes a deep, shaky breath and steps away from the noose. “Okay, Finneas. I’ll try,” she says, her voice a whisper.
I wrap my arms around her, feeling the tremors in her body as she clings to me. The coldness of the night seems to seep into my bones as I hold her tightly, willing my warmth and love to fill the void inside her. “Thank you,” I murmur into her hair.