Real Love Hurts // Billie Eilish

Chapter 6

B I L L I E E I L I S H

"What do you mean you're not... you? What's your name then?" I asked. Riley, or who I think is Riley, just said some confusing ass shit and I don't understand.

"Billie, I can't tell you that, at least... not right now." What the fuck does that even mean? She groaned and rubbed her eyes. "I really should not be telling you this."

"Uh uh, no backing out. You gotta tell me now."

"It's just," she paused and sighed. "I've worked so hard to forget all of it, and bringing it all back might..." She gestured to her head. "Fuck me up."

"Please? For me? I promise I won't tell anyone. Ever." I said in a less annoying, more caring, voice.

"I kind of- I basically- I-" she paused, trying to find the right words. "I basically have superpowers?" she said as a sort of question.

"Uh, what?"

"When someone or something is sick or hurt or dead, I kind of..." Riley tried to explain through gestured what she did, but we both knew that it didn't make any sense. "You know what, fuck it, c' mere, I'll show you." She crawled over me and off the bed. I followed her to the kitchen where she opened a drawer and pulled out a big ass kitchen knife.

"What are you doing?"

"Just trust me, Billie."

"It's hard to trust someone who's holding a knife."

"Shut up and watch." She held the knife over her left forearm and made a deep gash all the way up.

"What the fuck are you doing!?!?!" She just shushed me and set the now bloody knife down on the counter.

"Are you watching?" she asked. I nodded, not sure what was going on. She put her right hand over the large cut and closed her eyes. Suddenly, her head shot back and her eyes were open. But this time, there were glossy and completely milky white. I looked down at her arm and miraculously, the wound was healing. After about five more seconds of this, her head dropped back down and her eyes closed again. She opened them, and they were back to her regular hazel. She removed her hand and nothing remained but a scar.

I stood there, speechless, not sure of what to say.

"Tada," she said sarcastically.

"Wha- what? How?" I stuttered, not sure if I was dreaming or not.

Riley shrugged her shoulders. "Been able to do it since I was little, I'm assuming I was born with it." She walked over to the couch, laying down, and I followed her. I was still in shock. Or was it disbelief? I honestly don't fucking know anymore.

"Wait, but, how in the fuck does this relate to the tattoo?"

"It's a long story."

"I've got time. Tell me everything," I said.

"From when?"

"From the beginning."

She sighed, then started. "I was born in Seattle, I didn't lie about that. But I wasn't born Riley Reynolds. My real name is Luna Annabeth Walsh, my grandmother named me. When I was little, about 6 maybe, I was out at recess one day, and there were some kids throwing rocks at birds. One of the birds was really badly hit and about to die. So I ran over and picked it up. I felt this... power surge through me, and next thing I know, the bird is perfectly fine and flies away. I go home and tell my parents, but they just think I'm a little kid with a big imagination."

Flashforward maybe two weeks. My parents and I were out walking my dog after dinner. A car comes out of nowhere and she gets hit. Really bad. My parents don't know what to do, the guy who hit her doesn't know what to do, and I'm sobbing. I pick her up in my arms and just hold her. She's clearly dead. But again, I feel that same feeling go through me. I open my eyes, and she's up and running around like nothing ever happened. My parents aren't sure what in the hell just happened. So you know what they do? They call the police. The police don't know what to do, so they call the mother fucking FBI. The FBI is like 'Oh, you gotta demon child on your hands? We'll take her off you, free of charge.' My parents are like 'Bet.' Next thing I know, I'm in a high-security van, bars, handcuffs, the whole fucking thing, and I'm apparently on my way to San Francisco, where they have a little lab over there where they can do experiments or whatever on me. Mind you, I'm like, fucking 6 years old. I think this is a fun little vacation. I thought I was a guest. Turns out I was a prisoner."