I don't wanna be you anymore

The evening passed in a quiet rhythm. Dinner had been simple—Billie had cooked pasta, and I ate without much thought, my stomach too unsettled to notice the taste. Afterward, we sat on the couch, the TV humming in the background. I curled my knees to my chest, staring blankly at the screen as my mind spun with everything I'd buried for years.

Billie sat beside me, close but not crowding me. She didn't say much, but her presence was steady, a quiet comfort I wasn't sure I deserved. The silence between us was heavy, not uncomfortable but weighted with unspoken truths.

I could feel her glancing at me, waiting for me to speak. For once, I wanted to.

"Billie?" My voice came out softer than I intended, almost hesitant.

"Yeah?" she said, turning to look at me, her green eyes warm and attentive.

"I've been thinking about... everything," I began, my fingers twisting the edge of my sweater. "About why I ended up here. Why I've been like this for so long. And I think... it started a long time ago."

She didn't interrupt, didn't push me. She just listened, her presence steadying me as I wrestled with how to begin.

"When I was thirteen," I said quietly, my eyes fixed on a spot on the floor, "my parents died in a car crash."

Billie's sharp intake of breath made me glance up, and I saw the shock and sadness etched on her face. "Nat... I'm so sorry."

I shook my head, my throat tightening. "It's not just that they died—it's how. We were all in the car together. They were rushing to the hospital because my sister, Millie... she'd gotten into a fight at some bar. She was nineteen, and someone had refused to give up their tickets to your show. She always did stupid stuff like that, always caused trouble, and they were always trying to save her. That night, I was in the back seat, and... I remember screaming. The headlights, the sound of metal crunching..." My voice cracked, and I swallowed hard, blinking back tears.

Billie reached over, her hand brushing mine in a quiet offer of comfort. I let her take it, her warmth grounding me as I continued.

"I survived, obviously. But they didn't. Millie didn't, either. And after that, I had no one. There was no extended family to take me in, no one to step up. So I ended up in a Catholic orphanage." I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "That was a whole different kind of hell."

"What happened there?" Billie asked softly, her voice careful.

I hesitated, the memories swirling in my mind like a storm. "They were strict, as you'd expect. Rules about everything—what to wear, how to pray, how to act. But it was more than that. It was the way they looked at me, the way they treated me when they found out..."

"Found out what?" Billie prompted gently.

"That I was different," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "That I didn't feel the way they thought I should. I didn't have the words for it back then, but I knew I wasn't... normal, at least not by their standards. I questioned everything—my faith, my identity, my place in the world. And every time I tried to figure it out, they made me feel like I was wrong. Like I was broken."

Billie's hand tightened around mine, her thumb brushing against my knuckles in a soothing rhythm. "You weren't broken, Nat. You were just you."

I let out a shaky breath, her words sinking in but not quite landing. "I wish I could believe that. But after years of being told I was sinful or unnatural, it's hard to shake. I grew up feeling like I had to be perfect to make up for it. Like if I could just work hard enough, be good enough, then maybe I could erase the parts of me they didn't like."

"And that's why you opened the cafe," Billie said, piecing it together.

"Yeah," I admitted, my voice thick. "It was my way of starting over, of proving to myself and everyone else that I could build something good. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being about that and started being about... running. Running from the guilt, the pain, the questions I didn't want to face."

Billie nodded, her gaze steady. "It makes sense, Nat. After everything you've been through, it makes sense that you'd feel like that. But you don't have to carry it alone anymore. You don't have to run."

Her words hit me like a tidal wave, breaking through the walls I had spent years building around myself. "I don't even know where to start," I admitted, my voice trembling.

"You already have," Billie said simply. "By talking to me, by letting yourself feel this. It's a process, Nat, and it's not going to be easy. But you're not alone. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

The tears I had been holding back finally spilled over, and I let out a choked sob. Billie didn't hesitate—she wrapped her arms around me, holding me as I cried.

For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again. Like the weight of my past, while still heavy, didn't have to crush me.

I wasn't sure where to go from here, but maybe that was okay. Maybe, for now, it was enough to know that I didn't have to do it alone.

H