Behind the spotlight

Her gaze drifted away, settling somewhere on the sheets as if the answer to her thoughts might be hidden in the crumpled folds. I could feel the weight of something pressing down on her, and I knew she was holding back.

I reached over, brushing a strand of hair from her face the same way she'd done for me. "What's going on, Billie?" I asked softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips parted like she wanted to say something, but then she closed them, her teeth catching her bottom lip in hesitation. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. Finally, her eyes met mine, wide and brimming with a storm of emotions. "It's just...I'm scared."

"Scared of what?" I pressed gently, my thumb stroking the back of her hand in slow, steady circles.

Her voice wavered, barely holding together. "Of this. Of feeling this...happy. It's like—it doesn't feel real. And when it does, it just feels like a countdown until it's gone." A bitter laugh escaped her lips, and she shook her head. "I've been stuck in this dark place for so long that feeling happy doesn't even feel real. Like, my brain doesn't trust it. Every time I start to feel okay, there's this voice that's like, 'Don't get comfortable. It's not gonna stick around.'"

Tears welled up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. "I don't know how to stop that voice," she admitted, her tone breaking as a single tear slid down her cheek.

I couldn't just sit there. I shifted closer, pulling her into my arms, my hands finding the small of her back as I held her tight. I buried my face into her hair, inhaling her scent—something soft and comforting, warm vanilla . "Billie," I murmured against her ear, "You don't have to try to stop the voice all at once. You've been through so much, and it's okay to still be fighting. But you're not fighting alone anymore."

She pulled back just enough to look at me, her eyes glassy and her bottom lip trembling. "What if I can't keep this up? What if I ruin it?"

"You won't," I said firmly, cupping her face in my hands. My thumbs wiped away the tears trailing down her cheeks. "You don't have to be perfect. You don't have to know all the answers. I'm here, Billie. With you. And I'm not going anywhere. Even on the days you feel like you can't fight it, I'll be here to hold you."

Another tear fell at that, but this time there was something different in her expression—a flicker of hope, like a small crack of sunlight breaking through a clouded sky. She leaned into my touch, closing her eyes as if my words were something she could soak in.

I leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if I could somehow transfer every ounce of my belief in her through that one tender moment. When I pulled back, her hand found mine again, her fingers tangling with mine like she needed the connection to stay grounded.

"I don't deserve you," she whispered.

"Don't say that," I said, shaking my head. "You deserve everything good, Billie. You deserve love. You deserve joy. You deserve to feel safe and wanted. And I'm going to remind you of that every single day if I have to."

She let out a shaky laugh, a mix of a sob and something lighter, and she wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "How did I get so lucky with you?"

I smiled, leaning in to kiss her nose, then her cheek, before finally brushing my lips against hers in a way that felt more like a promise than anything else. "Maybe," I murmured, "we're both lucky."

Her hands slid up to my shoulders, her touch more sure now, and she nodded as if my words were starting to sink in. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw but sincere.

"For what?" I asked, tilting my head.

"For making me feel...worth it," she said, her lips curving into a small, genuine smile.