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I wish I was dead.
I know it's a horrible thing to wish for; death. Why do I want it so bad, then? Why is it the only thought that seems to pull a breath of fresh air past my lips. When I think of death, I think of freedom.
If I was dead, no one would have to worry about me anymore. I wouldn't even have to worry about myself. I wouldn't have to worry about other people.
That's horrible too, isn't it? To wish I didn't have to care about other people?
But, if I had never cared about Billie in the first place, then I wouldn't be so affected by her current disappointment in me. My heart wouldn't feel as heavy as the rest of my body. My eyes wouldn't strive to look at anything but her. My shoulders wouldn't tense when I see her mother. My breath wouldn't hitch when Billie walked by.
As if she was a plague, the thought of Billie never left me.
Is she still thinking about me? Is she still upset? Is she too focused on the show to focus on her emotions? To focus on me?
I wanted her attention, yet anytime it was mine it fell through my hands like water.
I would grab for it; I would squeeze my fingers together to close every crevice and ensure that no water could escape my hands. Still, there was always some way it would get out; A crack I didn't notice; A step that tilted the liquid too far, a sudden stop, a sudden movement; something; anything.
If I were dead I wouldn't be thinking about this so intensely. Thinking about her so intensely.
"Are you hungry?" Maggie asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I cleared my throat and glanced up at her from where I was on the floor. "No... no, I think I'm okay, thank you." I said quietly, not on purpose, just without the intention to speak up.
Maggie seemed worried about me as well but it didn't cross my mind as much as Billie's worry. I love Maggie, she's incredibly sweet, but I've never had a mother-figure in my life. Why would I need one now?
After Billie had sent me out of her room, I went straight back stage just as I was told. Maggie was waiting for me near the entry way and asked if everything was okay. I have a tendency of wearing my emotions on my face, no matter how many times I tell myself I don't, I most certainly do. Even if I manage to mask whatever I'm feeling, my eyebrow will twitch, my eyes will dance around to look for a comfort, my fingers will graze over my clothes or my jewelry until I've calmed down. I told Maggie it was okay as my neck ticked to the side.
She could tell I was lying, but she didn't poke for the truth which I was grateful for. How could I put into words how I was feeling or why I was feeling that way?
My tongue felt like it was stuck in my throat, my body was tense and I felt like everyone was looking at me. I felt like everyone knew what had happened with Billie. I felt like everyone was disappointed in me, not just her. I felt like my heart was caged in my chest and as each second passed, that cage grew smaller and smaller. I felt like my knees would buckle and my ankles would roll and I'd be unable to stand or call for help. I felt helpless. I felt alone. I felt anxious. I felt frustrated.
