Sp!t !n My F*ce

You and Billie were inseparable, the kind of inseparable where even your parents thought you were dating.

And in fact, you were more than just friends—but neither of you had taken that step.

Late nights in bed, tangled together, one earbud each, looking into each other’s eyes while listening to something Billie and Finneas were working on. Your eyes drifting to her lips at some point—hers too. But it never went further than that. Always stolen glances.

No one knew her, at least not at that time, so just being the one who got to hear that felt kind of… intimate.

They really were magic, making music, and you always pushed Billie to put it out there—for everyone to hear.

At one point, when you turned sixteen, your parents thought it would be “good for you” to stop homeschooling and start at a normal school. Make friends.

Even with Billie’s fame slowly turning into a reality, she always had time to find you. She still came at three a.m. to see you after a day of interviews, or simply texted, outside, come out, and you would practically bolt.

But that soon changed.

You gained quite a bit of popularity—on Instagram, at school. People saw you knew Billie, and that, as much as you didn’t want it to be true, played a part.

You started going out more, coming home late, and what used to be nights with Billie quickly turned into something else.

“Can I come see you?” she asked over the phone.

“I can’t, sorry, I already told them I was going,” you would answer.

“Okay.”

Simple.

And you, selfish as you were, would hang up without even saying goodbye.

Another day, she texted you, I’m outside your house, can I see you for five minutes?

Can’t, sorry! I’m on FaceTime, you replied.

And from then on, she stopped texting as much. Stopped trying.

Because you?

You weren’t even trying to be there.

And she was getting tired of it.

One day, sitting at lunch with all your friends, one of them asked you to bring her to one of your nights out. You hesitated—not because you didn’t want her there, but because you knew how they had been describing her lately.

The one with the sad music.

The emo.

She’s just depressed, and that’s depressing me.

You didn’t think like them.

But you didn’t think about Billie’s feelings either.

So you just laughed it off.

Not thinking twice.

You agreed anyway, saying you’d ask her.

So calling her that night felt… strange. And you didn’t like that feeling.

“Hello?” she answered after a few rings.

“Hi,” you replied, too fast for your liking.

She didn’t say anything, just waited. So when you noticed, you spoke again, slower this time.

“Um… how are you?”

“I’m alright.”

That was it.

No how about you. Not even a simple you.

So you tried again.

“I was wondering—tomorrow we’re having a small get-together with some friends from school. Would you like to come? Or… would it be too dangerous?” you asked, still worrying about her without even noticing.

“We haven’t hung out in forever. Why would I do it with your friends around?” was her only response.

Your breath hitched for a second. “Come on, it could be fun. Meeting new people.”

There’s a pause at the other end.

A pause you know damn well what it means.

She’s thinking about it. Really thinking about it. She wants to say no.

But it’s you.

And she never says no to you.

“Okay. Send me the address.”

“Wait, can’t we go—” but before you could finish, she had already hung up.

You looked at your phone and sighed. You knew why she hung up. You knew you had fucked up.

Still, you didn’t do anything to fix it.

But why?

Why were you being like this? Why were you distancing yourself?

You thought about it sometimes.

All your friends were so cool. They had boyfriends, did drugs, drank alcohol.

And you?

You weren’t like that.

You liked girls—fuck, not girls. Billie.

You’d liked Billie for a long time now.

But she was a girl.

And your “cool” friends didn’t date girls.

You also didn’t drink or do drugs.

But they did.

So why not try?

You thought that by distancing Billie, maybe you’d be cooler. No girl you liked, maybe you could try something new—a drink, a joint.

So the night Billie was supposed to come, you sent her the address. She left it on read, which made you doubt if she was even going to show up.

When you arrived, your friends already had a joint going, the strong smell filling the air as they passed it around.

“Hey!” they welcomed you.

“Hi, guys,” you answered, smiling politely.

Some of your girl friends hugged you, your guy friends fist-bumped you.

“Want some?” Cindy asked, passing you the joint.

You looked at it, and before even processing the question, you said, “Sure.”

You grabbed it between your fingers and took a long drag, coughing slightly at the sudden feeling. Your friends cheered around you, urging you to take another hit—which you did—before passing it back to Cindy.

That’s when you heard it.

The sound of an engine coming to a stop nearby.

You turned around, eyes already slightly red—and she noticed.

Of course she did.

She cut the engine and stepped out, hands immediately slipping into her pockets. She stood there for a moment, awkward, waiting for you to do something.

That’s when you walked over.

“Hey, Bills,” you said, the nickname still slipping out like nothing had changed.

She looked at you.

Then at your friends.

Then back at you.

“What are they doing?”

No hello.

No hug.

She didn’t even try to reach out.

And it hurt.

More than you expected.

But you didn’t show it.

You looked her in the eyes, and she noticed—the redness, how dry they were.

She knew what you’d done.

You knew she didn’t like it.

But once again—you weren’t thinking.

She looked past you and walked forward before you could say anything.

“Hey, guys,” she said, a small, clearly fake smile on her face.

And from the first moment, it started.

“Hey, sad girl!” someone said, approaching her for a hug.

Of course she hugged back.

She was like that.

Naturally nice, loving, caring.

You laughed.

Not even noticing.

The drugs starting to settle in your system.

After a while, the joint came back to you. All of you were sitting on the floor, Billie by your side—but with a clear distance between you.

You took another long drag.

And the whole time, you felt her eyes on you—on the way you inhaled, on the way you were changing yourself to fit in with people you’d known for barely a year.

But most importantly—

you were slowly drifting away from the girl who would’ve given you everything.

You were both young, innocent.

But you knew.

You both knew.

There was something there.

You just never said it.

Conversations continued around you.

“So you’re the one making all that sad music, right?”

You feel it.

That shift.

That small, almost invisible moment where something changes.

Billie shrugs slightly. “I guess.”

A laugh. “Damn. That’s kinda depressing.”

You could say something.

You know you could.

Instead, you laugh.

“Well, it was nice meeting you guys, but I need to go.”

And with that, she stood up, looked at you—and started walking.

You stood up quickly, trying to follow her, your steps uneven as you stumbled forward.

Of course she caught you.

Like she always used to.

“I’m getting you home,” she said.

“Nooo, I’m having fun heree,” your words came out slurred. “And you should stay too.”

Her grip on your arm tightened slightly.

“I’m not staying,” she said, more firmly this time.

You tried to pull back, but your balance failed you again, your body leaning into hers in a way that used to feel natural—safe—but now just felt… off.

“Come on, don’t be like that,” you muttered.

“I’m not being like anything,” she snapped, and that alone was enough to make you look at her properly.

Billie didn’t snap.

Not at you.

Ever.

“I’m taking you home,” she repeated, already guiding you toward her car, not giving you room to argue anymore.

You didn’t fight it this time.

Not really.

You just let her, already being shoved into the passenger seat.

The drive is quiet.

Too quiet.

You rest your head against the window, eyes half-lidded, the world outside blurring into streaks of light. The high is still sitting heavy in your body, making everything feel slower, softer—but the silence between you?

That feels sharp.

You glance at her.

Her jaw is tight.

Hands gripping the wheel harder than they need to.

She doesn’t look at you once.

When you get to your house, the one she used to love being at, she walks you to the door.

You almost trip on the last step.

She catches you.

Of course she does.

Your parents open the door before you can even reach for it.

Their expressions change immediately.

“Hey—what happened?”

Billie doesn’t hesitate. “She’s not okay. She smoked some shit with her new friends.”

Your mom sighs, like she expected this eventually.

Your dad just shakes his head slightly.

“Come on,” he says, gently taking your arm from Billie.

You barely register it.

“Billie, sweetheart,” your mom says, softer now. “Do you want to stay? You can sleep here.”

There’s a pause.

A small one.

But heavy.

You turn your head slightly, trying to look at her.

She’s already shaking her head.

“No,” she says.

Quiet.

“I’m not staying.”

Another pause.

Then, softer—but it lands harder than anything she’s said all night—

“I don’t belong here anymore.”

Your chest tightens.

You don’t fully understand it in this moment, not through the haze, but it hits anyway.

Your mom frowns slightly. “Of course you do—”

Billie shakes her head again.

“No,” she repeats. “I don’t.”

Her eyes flick to you.

Just for a second.

“I don’t even recognize her anymore.”

That one lands.

Even through everything.

And then she’s gone.

Your parents don’t say much after that.

They’ve noticed.

Of course they have.

The late nights.

The changes.

The distance.

They don’t argue anymore.

They don’t ask questions the same way.

They just… deal with it.

Your mom helps you to your room.

Your dad pulls the covers over you.

“Get some sleep,” he says.

And that’s it.

No lecture.

No disappointment out loud.

Which somehow feels worse.

The next day you wake up with a headache.

A bad one.

Your mouth dry, your body heavy, your mind… too clear.

Too aware.

Everything comes back slowly.

The party. The comments. Billie.

Her face. Her voice.

I don’t belong here anymore.

I don’t even recognize her anymore.

Your stomach twists.

You sit up too fast, immediately regretting it as the room spins slightly.

Your phone is on your nightstand.

You grab it.

Hesitate.

Then call her.

It rings.

Once. Twice. Three times.

You almost think she won’t answer.

Then—

“…hello?”

Her voice is quiet.

Flat.

“Hey,” you say, and it already feels wrong.

There’s a pause.

“What do you want?”

That hits harder than you expect.

You swallow. “Can we talk?”

Another pause.

Longer this time.

“I don’t know if I want to see you,” she says.

And that—

that hurts.

Because she always wanted to see you.

Always.

“Please,” you say quickly. “We need to talk.”

Silence.

You can hear her breathing on the other end.

Thinking.

Then—

“…fine.”

You let out a small breath.

“I’ll come to you.”

“No.”

You freeze slightly. “What?”

“I’ll come to you,” she repeats. “You’re not coming here.”

It takes you a second to understand.

She doesn’t trust you enough anyomre to give you her new address.

That lands deeper than anything else.

“…okay,” you say quietly.

“I’ll be there in a bit.”

And she hangs up.

You don’t sit still after that.

You pace.

You try to think.

Nothing comes out right.

Nothing feels enough.

When she knocks, your heart jumps.

You’re at the door almost immediately.

You open it—

and there she is.

Same as always.

And not at all.

You don’t even think.

You move forward, arms opening slightly—

She steps past you.

Just like that.

“Hi,” she says to your parents, polite, distant.

And then she walks straight to your room.

Doesn’t wait.

Doesn’t look back.

You stand there for a second, frozen.

Then follow.

She’s by the edge of your bed when you walk in.

Jacket still on.

Shoes still on.

Phone in her hand.

Car keys wrapped tightly in her fingers.

Like she might leave at any second.

You close the door behind you.

“…why are you being like this?” you ask, your voice already tighter than you meant it to be. “Why won’t you even let me hug you?”

She lets out a small, disbelieving breath.

Then looks up at you.

And something in her snaps.

“Are you serious right now?” she says, her voice sharper than you’ve ever heard it.

You blink. “What?”

“How are you saying all this shit to me,” she continues, standing up now, “when you’re the one who’s changed everything just to fit in with some people?”

Your chest tightens. “I didn’t change—”

“You did.”

“I didn’t—”

“You did,” she repeats, louder this time. “You act different, you talk different, you don’t even look at me the same anymore.”

“That’s not true.”

“It is.”

You run a hand through your hair, frustrated. “You’re overreacting.”

Her expression drops.

Just slightly.

But enough.

“I’m overreacting?” she repeats quietly.

You don’t answer.

Because part of you still wants to defend yourself.

And she sees it.

Of course she does.

“You don’t call me anymore,” she says. “You don’t show up. You don’t even try.”

“I’ve just been busy—”

“With them.”

“With school—”

“With them,” she repeats.

Silence.

You hate that she’s right.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” you mutter.

That’s it.

That’s the worst thing you could’ve said.

She lets out a small laugh.

But there’s nothing funny about it.

“Of course you didn’t.”

You look up at her. “Why are you making this such a big thing?”

Her eyes flash.

“Because it is a big thing,” she snaps. “You used to be the only person I cared about seeing every day. The only one I wanted to talk to. And now I feel like I have to fight just to get five minutes of your time.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I know,” she cuts in. “That’s the problem. You didn’t mean to. You just did it anyway.”

Silence fills the room.

Heavy.

You feel it pressing against your chest.

“I just…” you start, but your voice falters.

She watches you.

Waiting.

And for once—

you don’t lie.

“I didn’t know what to do,” you admit.

Her brows pull together slightly. “What does that even mean?”

You shake your head, frustrated at yourself now. “I didn’t know how to act around you anymore.”

“…what?”

“I like you, okay?” it comes out sharper than you meant. “I’ve liked you for a while, and I didn’t know what to do with that.”

She goes still.

Completely still.

“So I just—” you gesture vaguely. “I thought if I distanced myself, it would go away or something.”

There’s a long pause.

Then she lets out a breath.

Not surprised.

Not shocked.

Just… tired.

“We always knew that,” she says quietly.

You blink. “What?”

“That we liked each other,” she says, like it’s obvious. “You’re just embarrassed that I’m the one you feel that for.”

That hits.

Hard.

“No—”

“You are,” she continues. “Because I’m the ‘sad girl,’ right? The one your friends make fun of.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything?” she shoots back. “Why didn’t you defend me?”

You don’t have an answer.

And that’s everything.

Her expression softens—but not in a good way.

In a this is it kind of way.

“You chose them,” she says quietly. “Over me.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

You feel it now.

Fully.

The weight of everything.

Every moment.

Every time you didn’t show up.

Every time you laughed.

Every time you let it happen.

You swallow hard. “…I fucked up.”

She doesn’t answer.

You take a step closer.

Slow.

Careful.

“I’m sorry,” you say, quieter now. “I really am.”

She looks at you.

Really looks this time.

Like she’s trying to decide something.

You don’t move.

You don’t reach for her.

Not this time.

“I don’t know if I can just pretend this didn’t happen,” she says.

“I’m not asking you to,” you reply.

A pause.

Then, softer—

“I just don’t want to lose you.”

That lands.

You see it.

The hesitation.

The crack.

She exhales slowly, her grip on her keys loosening just slightly.

“You already did,” she murmurs.

Your chest aches.

“I know,” you whisper.

Silence again.

But this time—it’s different.

Not sharp.

Not angry.

Just… heavy.

You take another step closer.

Close enough now that you can see the tension in her jaw, the way she’s trying to hold herself together.

“I’m still here,” you say softly.

Her eyes flicker.

You lift your hand—

slow enough that she can stop you.

She doesn’t.

Your fingers brush her wrist.

Warm.

Familiar.

She inhales slightly.

“You’re so frustrating,” she murmurs.

You let out a weak breath. “I know.”

A beat.

Then—

she closes the distance.

Not fully.

Just enough.

Her hand comes up to your jaw, hesitant for half a second before she leans in.

The kiss is soft.

Careful.

Like she’s not sure if she should be doing it.

Like she’s still a little mad.

You don’t move at first.

Then you kiss her back.

And something shifts.

It deepens—not rushed, just… real. Everything that’s been building finally landing somewhere.

When she pulls back, it’s only slightly, her forehead resting against yours, her breath uneven.

“…you really fucked up,” she whispers.

“…I know.” You nod. “I promise i’ll make up for it. I really promise.”

A pause.

Then, quieter—

“Don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

And this time, you mean it.

You kiss her again, and at first, she pulls back, but then she leans into it.

Cause even if you had fucked up, she knew deep down that you were the girl she loved, even if a part of her, hated you right now too.

an; im actually really proud of this one, i love it and i hope you do too. Sorry if it’s too long.😌😌