But the words you said destroyed my planet
Title: My EverythingAuthor: Logan
Pairing: young!Billie/Mike
Rating: PG
Summary: I'm eight months pregnant, and barely sixteen years old, when I tell my mom that I can't go through with it.
I’m eight months pregnant, and barely sixteen years old, when I tell my mom that I can’t go through with it.
“But, sweetie,” she starts, turning away from the pot of bubbling pasta that she has been stirring, “You picked out such a lovely family and you know that he’s going to have a really great life with them. Why do you want to back out and hurt them and yourself?”
I just shake my head and lean back against Mike’s lanky body. His arms move to encircle my thick waist and I can feel him kiss that spot underneath my ear, “I just can’t. I--I talked about it with Mike and he agreed that I shouldn’t give the baby up. He doesn’t want to do it either.”
My mom just gives me a look filled with sadness and worry as she tries to step closer to me. I jump away, startling my boyfriend, and hurry out of the kitchen so that I can still see her but she can’t touch me. Can’t touch us.
“I thought that we agreed that you don’t talk to Mike about these things first, Billie Joe,” she meets my eyes with her own and sighs softly, “You’re supposed to come to me first, okay sweetie?”
I just nod before turning around and grabbing onto Mike’s hand. I know that he doesn’t like hearing her talk about him as though he’s not here and I just want to get him as far away from her as possible. I drag him upstairs to my bedroom and we both fall onto my bed. He’s got his head resting on my stomach and his hand is traces patterns that make me shiver.
“Mikey…baby, do you really think that we’ll be able to do this? Raise him, I mean.”
He just looks at me and grins. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t have to because his smile says it all. He knows that we can do this. He knows that we’ll be the best damn parents out there.
“Well, I think we can do it too,” I wait a few seconds, my fingers tangling in his messy, matted hair, “I love you, baby.”
I feel his lips on my stomach and his soft caresses whispering the same sentiment as I drift off into sleep.
-----
I’m scared. I’m thirty-eight weeks and driving to the hospital with my mom in the driver’s seat and Mike in the passenger seat as another contraction hits.
I pull onto the back of my boyfriend’s headrest and curl my fingers into his hair. I can feel him tense and relax, allowing me to pull on his hair because he knows how much I’m hurting. He’s never felt this kind of hurt but he’s felt hurt and he’s pretty sure that it’s on the same level as my hurt.
My mom is shooting me worried glances every now and then. She’s watching as my fingers curl around his hair while I whisper curses and complaints to him.
“Baby, I know we’ve talked about more kids and a big family but--oh god--I--fucking Jesus Christ--I don’t think I--fuck--can. This hurts too much,” I whisper out my apology and he nods in answer, he doesn’t speak much anymore and especially not around my mom, “But we can figure it out later, right? When we’re older and married and living in that house that you’ve always wanted.”
He nods again and turns his head slightly so he can kiss my fingers that have fallen out of his hair.
“Baby, we’re going to be parents right away. We’re going to have--holy fucking mother of god--to have--Jesus--a baby,” I wince and moan from the pain and he just grabs my hand and kisses it over and over again. He does this because he can’t reach my mouth. So my hand has to do for the time being.
My mom clears her throat and stops the car, “We’re here, sweetie. And I’m sorry, I couldn’t catch much of what you were saying on the drive over. Minus the curses, of course.”
She helps me out of the car and loops an arm around my waist to steady my walk. Mike’s doing the same on the other side and the thought of their arms colliding sends shivers down my spine.
“I was talking to Mike, not you.”
She mutters a quiet oh and drops the subject. Together, they lead me into the emergency room and sit me down on one of those plastic chairs.
-----
I’m driving home and crying along with my baby boy. He’s two and a half days old and has blue eyes like his daddy. We named him Brixton.
He’s in his carseat, buckled behind my mom, and I’m squished up next to him because Mike’s taking up the rest of the backseat. Mike’s running his hand up and down the length of my back, as I’m leaning over my baby, and telling me in that silent way of his that it’s okay to be crying.
Brixton’s sobbing and I can’t pick him up because if I did and then my mom crashed the car he wouldn’t have the safety of his carseat. Not that I’m even sure it’s that safe. But I’m just being a worried…mother? I guess that’s what I am now. A mother. And Mike’s a father. And Brixton is our baby.
Mike leans overtop of me and I watch as he kisses the baby softly on the cheek. The cries stop and instead he just opens his little eyes as wide as he can and stares. He looks around for a few seconds before focusing in on me and blinks twice before slipping back into baby dreamland.
“Thanks, baby. I guess your kisses are enough to make him quiet down.”
My mom turns her head a tiny bit and gives me that look, “Billie Joe, who are you talking to?”
I can’t help but roll my eyes and stare down at my little, perfect, baby once again, “I’m talking to Mike. You know, my boyfriend.”
She frowns and turns her attention back to the road. I still can’t believe that after a year and a half of dating she still doesn’t acknowledge his presence.
-----
Brixton is three months old and I’m exhausted. He cries all the time and Mike never wants to get up with him.
I’m always the one that is up at those god-awful hours of the night feeding him and changing him and loving him. While Mike sleeps in my bed. It’s the morning after one of those nights when I turn to my mom with bloodshot eyes and tell her that maybe I made a mistake.
“I told you that keeping him would be hard but you said that you had it all figured out.”
“But, mom,” my eyes are wet with tears as my arms hold both my baby and his bottle, “I thought that Mike would help out more. All he does is sleep and then sometimes he kisses Brixton and he stops crying but that’s all he does.”
My mom takes the baby out of my arms and begins to burp his tiny body, “Sweetie, Mike’s not here to help you.”
“Yes he is,” I still don’t understand why she hates him so much, “He’s up in my room. I can go get him if you want me to.”
She sits down at the table, directly across from me and sighs heavily, “Billie, sweetie, Mike’s not here. He hasn’t been here for the past eleven months.”
I can feel the tears spill out of my eyes, tears of pure frustration, as my baby turns his head to stare at me, “No, he’s been here the entire time. He was here for my pregnancy and he’s in my bedroom right now. I can go and get him!”
She looks at me before standing up and setting Brixton onto his play mat that’s spread out across the kitchen floor, “Sweetie, Mike hasn’t been here for eleven months. It’ll be twelve months on the fifth of next month.”
I jump away from her and the table and run up to my bedroom. I call for her when I open the door and I see that he’s lying on my bed, sleeping like always. She comes up behind me, Brixton babbling in her arms, and shakes her head.
“He’s not in your bedroom, Billie. I think that we need to go out for a little bit.”
She turns away and goes to Brixton’s room to get him ready. I just tell Mike that I’ll be back in a few minutes and that he better be awake by the time I’m back.
-----
She’s brought me a fucking graveyard and I’m ready to scream out of anger and frustration.
“Look at it, Billie Joe. Look at it and read what it says.”
She points at one headstone and I take a few cautious steps forward because I don’t want to step on the person sleeping in the ground underneath my feet. My eyes widen and I can feel my legs ready to give out underneath me as I read just the name.
Michael Ryan Pritchard
“No…But he’s…Mom, he’s…he is up in my bedroom…just sleeping…”
She crouches down next to me, adjusting Brixton on her hip, and kisses my forehead, “Sweetie, he’s not in your bedroom. He…baby, Mike was killed in a car accident.”
My eyes have become wet with tears and I can’t see worth shit because I’m scared and confused and angry and, “Does--did he know?” I manage to choke out, motioning towards my baby, “Brixton? Does he know?”
My mom shakes her head and stares down at her grandchild. He’s become interested in trying to reach for the pale blue butterfly that has landed on the grass covering his daddy’s grave, “You told him at the hospital but he had already…you didn’t listen to them though. You were on his bed and screaming at him that he had to wake up. That he had to come back to you and your baby.”
“But, I see him. He’s in my fucking bedroom.”
“Billie, sweetie, he’s not in your bedroom,” she bites on her lip and places one gentle hand on my shoulder.
My legs collapse and I fall. Brixton cries out. My mom is torn between helping me and calming him down.
By the time we get home, Mike’s gone.
----
Brixton is thirteen months old and toddling around my bedroom when I see Mike again. He walks in through the open door and sits on my bed. I hug him.
I hug him so damn hard that it physically hurts. But damn, is it ever good to see him after months, too many months, of him being gone. His arms curl around me, I can feel them, and he kisses the side of my face.
Brixton’s staring at me and walks over to the bed. He raises his arms and demands for me to pick him up and I do. As I set him down next to Mike, I smooth out my baby’s wild, brown curls and smile as he pushes at my hands.
“Mikey, he’s gotten so big. I think he looks like you but my mom also says that she sees me in his little face. But, baby, he’s a goddamn handful. I’m so glad you came back to help me,” I whisper because I’m afraid that my mom will hear me and I know that she doesn’t like me talking to Mike, “It’ll be better now. Now that you’re here to help.”
He kisses Brixton’s head and the baby looks around the room in confusion. He pouts and cuddles up against my body, “Oh, baby, I forgot that you’re not used to seeing your daddy.”
Brixton is out of my arms and into my mom’s the moment the words leave my lips. I don’t know when she came in but she’s in my room and she’s staring at me with such sad eyes.
“Billie…”
“He’s here, mom. He’s right here.”
She shakes her head and carries Brixton out of the room. He’s talking to her about something in that baby babble of his and she answers him back, casting a worried glance towards me as she carries him to his bedroom.
“Mike, I just want her to accept you again. She used to love you,” I choke on the words and fall against my boyfriend, “But she doesn’t anymore. Why doesn’t she love you anymore?”
He doesn’t answer, like usual, and instead just plays with my hair. I’m starting to get pissed off at the fact that he never, ever, answers.
-----
Brixton is five years old and drawing a picture of his family for his kindergarten class when I see Mike for the last time.
He’s got his crayons spread out across the small plastic table that’s pushed in the corner of our living room. I’m sitting on one of the yellow, plastic chairs and watching him colour as he tells me all about what he learned in school.
“An’ Becca only has a mommy, just like me!” he sticks out his tongue as he focuses on the paper in front of him, he looks like his daddy, “‘Cept her mommy is a girl and my mommy is…you!”
“Brix, you’ve got a daddy. He’s--”
“Your daddy’s just not here, baby,” my mom finishes my sentence and shoots me a warning glance. I point at the couch, where Mike’s sitting, and she shakes her head, “Not this again, Billie Joe.”
“He’s here.”
Brixton lifts his head and looks around the living room, “Whose here, mommy?”
I don’t say anything because I’m too busy staring at his picture. He’s drawn out three stick figures underneath the typed out heading of “My Family” that was on the paper given to him by his teacher. One has dark hair and green dots for eyes. He’s holding onto the hand of a littler one with brown hair and blue eyes. The little one is holding onto a woman’s hand that resembles my mom.
“Mommy? Can you help write mommy an’ Brixton an’ grandma on it?”
My little boy holds out a black crayon and gives me a smile that looks just like Mike’s. Mike doesn’t believe me that Brixton smiles like him so I glance over at the couch to make sure that he sees. Except. He’s gone.
“Whe--where did Mike go?” my voice cracks and I’m running to search through the rest of the house before I even let my mom answer. I can hear them both calling for me but I have to find him. I have to find him.
I don’t. He’s gone. He’s nowhere in this fucking house. The only people inside are my mom, my baby and myself. My boyfriend has ran off and I don’t know if he’s going to come back this time.
My feet lead me back to the living room and I find myself apologizing to my mom and Brixton. I tell him that I’ll help him with the names and crouch down next to him. I take a closer look at the picture and see that he’s added a person to it.
He’s got brown hair like Brixton and blues eyes. He’s also got angel wings and a smile on his face.
I’m crying as I push the paper away and reach for my little boy. My little piece of Mike. My everything.
“He’s gone, baby. He’s really gone.”
And then everything falls into place.
And Mike’s smiling at us.
------