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

the story

A/N: I got really emotional writing this cause I got outed but some people still dont know so now this person just has this power over me AHHH I HATE IT anyways if yall have any advice or had this happen pls help ahah okay I'm done now

Inspo: the story, conan gray

~

Let me tell you a story, about a girl and a girl, it's kinda short kinda boring, but the end is a whirl...

Mila’s POV:

The last time I saw my mom I was 13. Just like the nights before, it was a never-ending cycle of drowning out the screaming and fights with two pillows covering up my ears. And I got so good at drowning everything out, I could even fall asleep. I was sleeping through everything at that point. Sleeping through fights, sleeping through class and conversations, sleeping as soon as I got home. 

So when she tried to shake me awake one night, to tell me she was leaving, that this was my chance to leave my dad with her, I ignored her. I curled deeper into the blankets, the only place that felt like anything close to a home. I’d heard her say a million times before that this was the night she’d leave, so when she never came back, all I could do was what I was used to doing: shut it out and spend more time inside dreams than real life. 

Billie broke that cycle. She woke me up, made me realize you can’t sleep away or run away from everything killing you. And she gave me a place to be, she gave me distance to keep me safe. 

But Billie woke up too. I guess we both thought she was just making music in her brother’s bedroom, releasing it, and playing it live for anyone who gave a shit. We realized, getting shaken awake in the morning by her family, that there’s things we didn’t know, secrets we never knew we were meant to be keeping. 

~

Billie’s POV:

“I--what?”

Mila sits next to me, her chair moved so close her knee touches mine, both trembling. Both messes, snatched out of bed in the morning and told we had an emergency meeting with managers I’ve barely spoken to in person that have more importance than I knew before. Until now. 

No one answers me, because there wasn’t really a question, just a story. My story. My story that people and fans and critics have pieced together through pictures and police reports with the Molly situation. 

Someone on twitter created a thread “exposing me” with every bit of evidence tacked against me. Against me, for me, or just saying it as it is, I don’t know. But it doesn’t feel good, it feels like something I never knew I should feel ashamed or secretive over has been ripped from my private life and shoved directly under a spotlight. Something is the wrong phrase, calling my relationship just ‘something’ for the first time turns my blood cold. 

It’s like I’m letting all these opinions from others diminish me and Mila to a something, and maybe to a nothing. And I’m learning in only minutes that for straight famous people, their exposed dating life turns into a ship among fans who care, but for me… For me it’s a debate, it’s a front page headline, it’s up for discussion, and it’s considered okay to hold a hateful opinion. 

It’s everything I never wanted. 

“She needs a statement, we need to write something for her to post or say--”

“No, she shouldn’t say anything, if she does, it becomes real--”

Words fly around the room, and I can feel Mila’s pulse racing in her wrist from her hand locked in mine. I know she’s staring at me, the only one actually looking at me, but I can’t look at her. I hate it, but I kinda wish she wouldn’t sit so close to me or hold my hand right now. For the first time, her being with me doesn’t make me feel okay, it makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed. 

I want to leap out of my seat, pound on the table, tell everyone my relationship isn’t an ‘it’ and that we’re very real. That Mila isn’t someone I’m going to give up for a million more streams. 

But it feels like my lips have been sewn or taped shut, like I’m a little kid again, letting the adults make all the decisions surrounding my life while I sit down and shut up. 

I don’t have any energy left in me to fight. So I stare blankly at the tabletop, blink back tears, and don’t show any emotion like my face in every picture lately. 

Eventually, they decide I keep touring and don’t address anything until they give me a script. 

And thats how they ruin music for me. Because the thing I loved about it was that I meant every lyric, every word was mine even if I wasn’t the one who wrote it, every sentence was a choice. 

I don’t want to read or post something crafted for me to please people, but today I woke up. 

And I just want to go back to sleep.

And I'm afraid that's just the way the world works, it ain't funny, it ain't pretty, it ain't sweet…

~

Mila's POV:

When we get back to the hotel room, Billie immediately falls into the bed face first. I walk over to her and lift her in my arms, then slide her under the covers so she's more comfortable.

Billie hasn't spoken a single word to anyone. Not even me. Finneas pulled me aside earlier and asked me to do something, anything so she can get on stage tonight. But I can't make her do anything and part of me wants to curl up next to her and just hide away forever. 

I sit up next to her and start to play with her hair, when she shrinks away from my touch and moves to the other end of the bed. 

No-- this isn't how things-- we were about to heal, we were figuring things out, we were gonna rip out the old pages and start a new chapter. Now it feels like this is the end and there won't be a sequel this time.

I'm just always saying goodbye to people and friends and my mom and I want just one person to stay. But everyone has their own stories and their own trauma and sometimes two people's stories don't match up together. You watch people who left your book start new ones through pictures on a screen and they change and grow and get their happy ending. 

What if I'm a static character? What if I'm just the character death that helps move the story along so other people can learn from my pain?

I don't want that for me and Billie. I don't want to be some gay Romeo and Juliet or fleeting Elio and Oliver. I want to write my own pages.

"Billie," I shake her and pull her onto my lap. Her blue eyes sad and glistening in tears and just so hopeless and empty. She's dying on me right in front of my fucking eyes.

She just whimpers and tries to turn away but I hold her in place.

"Listen to me. I know everythings scary and you probably never wanted to have everyone know about us, but they do now. And it's unfair and fucked up but who gives a shit what anyone else thinks? Don't give them power over us, don't let them write us into an ending. I have so much left to say to you and do with you and you have songs to sing for people that only care if you're happy. That's all they want, that's all I want. Don't sleep away life when shit happens. Because you, you fucking dragged me out of bed and opened my eyes so now it's your turn to get up. Please, I love you and I know you're strong enough to get through this," I ramble on, and when Billie doesn't answer I open my mouth to say more, but she pulls me down for a kiss, and that says more than any words.

"It's not the end of the story," she whispers and I just nod through tears and choke on a laugh and hold her tighter.

That's just the way the world works, but I think that it could work for you and me, just wait and see...