✮⋆ ̇ BILLIE EILISH ⋮

Billie was very dependent.

Though she called it “real affection.” But how could it be affection when Billie pushed away anyone who tried to have a conversation with you?

Either way, you never really did anything to stop her. Not exactly.

You had been living together for quite some time now. Maybe that was enough of an excuse for Billie to always stay close to you — only she truly knew.

You weren’t exactly girlfriends either, even if it looked like it. You were simply friends who had known each other for years, ever since you crossed paths at the Met Gala and you told her her dress looked beautiful. But over the last few months, the “accidental” touches had increased, the arms wrapped around your waist, the insistence on spending time with you — absolutely everything had intensified.

Then came the kisses.

At first, they were on the cheek. Sweet. Adorable, even.

But later, they turned into needy kisses, desperate ones, gasps, soft moans...

No need to get into further detail.

Billie was... sweet, in her own way. And it was a very clingy kind of sweetness. Her emotional dependence on you was overwhelming, but you liked it that way.

Having her wrapped around your finger? The celebrity responsible for making women panic over a single glance? Amazing. Stupidly perfect.

But things got complicated with her. She never left your side, even if you weren’t really anything official. At parties? She looked for you. At events? Even worse.

And with that came the arguments. Drunk or sober, Billie couldn’t stand seeing you around other people, even if you weren’t fully hers.

————————————

One of those arguments happened that rainy afternoon, after you had done an interview with Maya Hawke following a movie you worked on together. The fight was intense — Billie was desperate, upset because Maya had gotten too close to you, while you were growing irritated by how possessive Billie had become.

“How can you do this to me?! Why do you let her act like that with you?!”

“Stop it, Billie! Stop acting like you’re my girlfriend!”

And between shouting and a few hurtful words, silence eventually took over the apartment.

You sat on the couch, staring at some stupid television show — two chefs yelling at each other because the soufflé hadn’t turned out the way they wanted. You barely paid attention. There was a pressure in your chest, a cold ache settling there as raindrops slid down the living room window.

Then Billie appeared quietly, after spending at least half an hour locked inside the studio. Doing what? Who knows.

And as if nothing had happened, Billie slipped onto the couch beside you. Slowly, she moved closer, her chin resting against your shoulder, her warm breath brushing against your neck and making you shiver slightly.

Then her hand moved, sliding over your waist, your stomach, until it reached your side, wrapping around you. But you ignored her. You didn’t even spare her a glance — and that hurt Billie.

Her fingers started tracing slow, messy circles against your side while she stared at you with those ocean-blue eyes.

Then came those kisses she always gave you after an argument.

She started at your shoulder, over your clothes, slow and careful. Then the kisses traveled upward, reaching the curve between your shoulder and your neck, as if she were begging for mercy with the same old reliable technique.

Like a dependent puppy seeking love and forgiveness from its owner.

What were you supposed to do?

Reject her? Push her away?

Or fall back into the same sick game the two of you always played?