a work of art

chapter 49: ICU

i'm thinking out loud
i've been playing dead my whole life
and i get this feeling
whenever i feel good
it'll be the last time

Standing in the hallway, Billie called for a car, complete with two security guys, to come pick us up.

"Need to get the fuck outta this hospital, ASAP," she muttered under her breath.

I watched her, bewildered by the sudden, jarring change in her demeanor. Something had snapped; her attitude had completely changed. The softness I'd seen her display in the hospital room as she spoke with Claire and offered me snacks had gone completely.

I didn't want to leave Claire's side, and hadn't really in days. But the shift made me nervous, and knowing somehow that my relationship with Billie hung in the balance, I stayed, and waited for the car.

She had the driver take us to a park on the water, and found a spot without a lot of people. The weather was bad, so no one was really out; it was cloudy and cold, much colder than it was in Los Angeles. We got out and walked on the sidewalk, next to the rail that separated us from the water, the cold wind blowing in our faces.

After about 50 feet of strolling, I noticed the bodyguards got out and followed casually. I watched them over my shoulder for a bit, then looked at her while we walked.

"Did something happen?" I asked quietly, barely audible over the wind. "You seem... upset."

She was looking out at the water, hands shoved in her pockets. She didn't answer, and I didn't push it. I walked tensely along beside her, my hands shoved in my pocket. I wished she would offer hers for me to hold.

The path sloped gently and we walked another 10 minutes in silence. I looked out at the buildings of downtown Boston, at the gray water. It mirrored the sky, the clouds moving in getting darker, and I wondered if it would rain. The leaves on the trees were starting to turn colors, and I remembered a time when Claire told me that, despite being a little stereotypical, Boston in the fall was heaven on earth.

Then I'd rolled back into her arms and reminded her that she was that place for me. Heaven on earth in her dimple, her smile, the freckles on her pale cheeks.

A man jogged towards us, and I tensed, but he kept going. I followed a step or two behind Billie, who was walking faster than I, her shoulders tense and her head down. I couldn't take it anymore, finally catching up with her and opening my mouth to speak —

"You told me, not even a week ago, that you can't compare me with anyone else," she said, her voice low and raspy. "That I'm like blood, or water to you."

My breath caught in my throat. She was deeply intense and serious. I knew better then to interrupt her. I waited for the question that would surely follow such a statement.

"Was it a lie?"

I stopped walking and stared at her. She slowed her steps and turned to face me.

Her face looked as gray as the sky.

"Billie... I love you."

She grimaced. "That doesn't answer the question, though, does it."

Her eyes were lighter than I'd ever seen them, translucent blue. It made the red rims of her eyelids stand out more, made the bruises beneath them look deeper and darker.

I wanted to hold her. I wanted to run away.

"Me or her, baby," she continued, a deadness in her voice. "This is it. It can't be both. Time to choose."