Denoument

"I suppose, you know," she says. "Not that it matters anymore."

I sit up. "But, I do. Doesn't it? That film would have gotten you into Art school. That matters."

She blinks, tears wetting her cheeks. But, still, she just stares at me. "That's not true."

"That's why you were so mad at Grace. She was living your dream."

"Stop!" She's yelling. Screaming. Only, I can tell that it feels good getting everything out of her system. She grabs her chest like it hurts, and I bet it does was. She just not willing to admit it. "Stop."

"And Ashlae stole that from you." I stare at her. But, she isn't looking at me anymore. "You're angry at the wrong person."

"It doesn't matter!" she sobs. "It. Doesn't. Matter. What hurts me... What really makes me angry is that you didn't believe me! You were supposed to be my friend. You...were supposed to be my partner..."

I don't have anything scripted. So, we stare. And stare. And stare. And stare... She wipes her face, and I can tell, it really doesn't matter to her anymore. She's not the person inside of that body. She's someone that has learned to feel something for other people.

"I'll make it better." This time, I say it aloud. Loud. And clear enough for her to hear. "I'll tell Miss Richards. I'll do something."

She smiles. A sad smile that makes me think that there's a scar inside of her that can never be fixed. That can never be made better.

She holds out her hand to me. She's not demanding. She not being classic Billie. There's a dimness, a little like hope, within her eyes. She's asking me to choose her. Not because we were partners before all of this mess. But, because she's a person inside of her. A person that is vulnerable and wants to be loved. There's a girl behind the camera.

I take her hand and she pulls herself up and sits beside me. She leans her head on my shoulder, warm and gentle. "Let's just lay down for a while"

We lie there until the sun sets, and we are illuminated by the lights strung across the room. Little goldfish shining orange beneath our skin. We are radiant. We are beautiful. We are more than our abilities.

Billie holds her camera in front of us, finger-ready to capture the newness of who we are. But, it's different this time. It's sweet. It's warm. It's sincere. I nod, touching my lips to her cheek. And she loses her breath a bit just before the camera flash blinds us. The memory of us burnt to the back of our eyelids. I think a bit. I think about a film with her as the subject: Crashing into Billie Eilish—

—she'd make a beautiful model.