what you can't have (b.e.)

big jet plane

inspo: big jet plane, angus & julia stone

~

I wanna hold her, I wanna kiss her...

Billie's POV:

"Please, Mila, can you listen to me?" I try to gain her attention, placing both of my hands around her face carefully. She just flutters her eyelashes and smiles wide, but not the type of smile that makes me dizzy. It feels too fake, induced by pills and nothing I did or said. Deep down I know she cares because she fights through the fogginess to nod her head slightly and murmur a 'yeah.'

"I came back because I couldn't leave without you, and... And I know that you said you didn't want to, so I don't really know why I thought you'd change your mind. I guess part of me was living inside the stories inside my head and thought they'd have to come true," I struggle to find the words, but once I say it, I realize my mistake. And now I feel a heavy weight of hopelessness again, that I expected things would change if I stayed here. We still have the same problems, I just knew distance would strain us even more.

But I'm running out of time and can't be in two places at once. I promised Finneas I'd be back, and I'm torn between two commitments.

"So, I don't know..." I pause, feeling terrified to ask the question. Like maybe if I don't ask it, we can just stay here a little while longer. I breathe out and for once Mila finally meets my eyes.

"Can you give me an answer?"

She grins and pokes my cheek and I wish I could smile at that, but it doesn't feel real. I don't tear my eyes away from her and I can almost see my reflection in hers, cold and shaking and unsure.

"Okay," Mila leans her head back on my lap and laughs. My stomach drops like I'm on a steep roller coaster, an uneasy feeling that doesn't settle with her confirmation. She's not in the right state of mind so I feel like it would be betraying her to take her with like this.

"I don't know what to do when you're like this," I sigh, looking away. She tilts my chin down and tries to muster up a serious expression. It falls apart and she caves into the high, but whispers with a smile:

"I need you."

She drive me crazy, she drive me crazy...

I forget everything for a second and start to feel okay.

"Really?" I mutter breathlessly.

"Stupid, stupid," she laughs and I almost cry, hoping this isn't a trick or the drugs.

"Wh--"

"Stupid for me to stay. I wanna be with you," she draws out the last word, lets it hang in the air between us. I wipe away the beginnings of tears and shake my head a little, sniffling as I look down at her, nuzzled in my lap.

"Me too," I smile, and all the tension leaves.

But now I'm left with the mess I made, and it's far from cleaned up. I let myself stay like this with her for a few more minutes before breaking the moment to tell her we need to leave.

~

Gonna take her for a ride on a big jet plane...

I put my hand over Mila's mouth as the plane takes off down the runway, to keep her from yelling or laughing, and her eyes widen, focused outside the window. When she calms down a bit, I pull my hand away and she buries her face in my neck. I can feel her smile with her lips pressed against my neck, and I twirl a ring around my finger nervously. This feels like a bad idea in the making.

Slowly, she starts to settle and falls asleep on my shoulder; I pull a blanket out of my backpack and drape it over her, leaving a few inches of it for myself. We may be flying but time isn't: it stands still.

Watching her sleep, I feel like I can breathe again, like I kept her safe as best as I could. And I don't fault her for jumping into dangerous situations, because it's what she's learned to do and no one was ever there for her. I finally start to understand Mila; she was never wrapped up in suburban safety, so maybe her version of safe is taking dramatic risks. No one was there to care, to tell her they want her alive and well, and I always feel like I stepped into her life too late. Like all I'm doing is driving past a car wreck, calling 9-1-1 when the damage is already done.

My thoughts run wild with no outlet, so I cautiously lean over to the side to pull out my notebook from the side of my bag and set it on the tray in front of me. I look over to make sure she's still sleeping.

When she finally started eating again, I assumed that everything was okay. But now she's replacing old bad habits with new ones, and I fear that she won't accept help this time. I fear that this was my fault, that if I didn't leave, she wouldn't have done this. I feel so powerful in ways that I don't want to be, and so useless in the ways I wish I could be.

I start to draw big puffs of smoke from a cigarette in Mila's lips. Then, me beside her, standing enveloped in it with her.

Because that's how all this feels, like I'm in her secondhand smoke, watching but not participating, but still getting hurt nonetheless. My lungs take in the same carcinogenic air as hers, but she can't see my puffy eyes or me coughing through the cloud of smoke. She doesn't know what she's doing to me, and I know I could just walk away and stand somewhere else, but I don't feel right unless I'm beside her.

Underneath the drawing, I write: "I can't afford to love someone who isn't dying by mistake."

I need to blow away the smoke from her eyes so she can really see me. I need her to care that I'm hurting in the way that I care she's hurting. I need this flight to carry us away from our problems.

Gonna take ya away from harm...