ꜱᴡᴇᴇᴛ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ⇴ ᴛᴠᴅ ² ✓

thirty three

A man lay slouched against the shelves, his aged features became clearer the closer she got. It took her a second to register the fact that the floor was flooded with dark, not entirely fresh, crimson blood.

Billie held a hand to her lips, trying to keep in the gasp that threatened to escape, that, or she was about to throw up everywhere.

Panic settled in her when she realised she couldn't see his chest moving. Not to mention the knife impaled in his gut. 

She cast a look behind her, hysteria creeping into her bones. She'd had enough of dead bodies to last her several lifetimes and Billie couldn't stop the heavy, uneven breathing her scared lungs gave her.

He could die if you don't pull it together, Billie.

Trying her god's best to calm down, Billie approached the still man. His phone had stopped ringing and the room was dead silent again.

Kneeling down beside him, careful to avoid staining her knees in his puddles of half dried blood. Billie pressed two fingers against his neck, where the carotid should have been pumping the blood that was on the floor around his body. Nothing.

Pursing her lips and taking another deep breath, she pressed the back of her hand against his forehead, flinching away a moment later. Ice cold. He'd been there for a while.

Billie didn't stand, she shuffled away from where the pool of red ended, laying on the ground and trying to pull her phone from her pocket with shaking, almost entirely unresponsive hands.

Clearing her throat of nerves, she called out with a shaky voice. " Mr. Taylor? The door was open..."

Willa shook her head, holding in the frustrated, painful tears in her eyes. She couldn't unlock her phone. Her hands were shaking too much, she could barely even breathe right. She was having a panic attack.

Billie peaked her head tentatively through every door she passed, she felt lost, not knowing where she was going.

The vague sound of a TV came into her senses and her body stiffened, following the noise blindly to the entrance of the living room.

She scrunched her fingers into her hair, clenching her fists so tight it felt like they would split in two. She just needed to call someone, anyone, but Billie couldn't even speak. It felt like her own lungs hated her, like her head betrayed her when she needed to think clearly.

Billie relived the day in her head, vision clouding further and further every time her throat refused to give her enough air. 

You need to calm down.

She punched straight into the floor in a panic, feeling a momentary clear of conscience as the pain distracted her manic head.

Tears fell across her cheeks as she struggled, gasping as she cried.

What would they think of you?

Her phone fell from her limp hand, clattering uselessly to the floor.

You can't afford to be weak like this. This is how you will die, Willa.

He wouldn't want to see you like this.

Her own thoughts came to a pause and her vision cleared a little as she let herself take in a slightly deeper breath.

What would he say? God knows... but whatever it would've been, it would've worked.

Billie pressed a palm to her chest, feeling it expand further than it had since she'd entered the room.

Alex would've made it better, she convinced herself. Alex made everything better.