what you can't have (b.e.)

title and registration

inspo: title and registration, death cab for cutie

~

The glove compartment is inaccurately named, and everybody knows it...

Billie's POV:

I've gotten pulled over twice.

December 18th, 2018

The boxes barely let me see through the back window, only lights and colors. I can't keep looking behind me. I press down on the gas pedal, towards Mila. There's still time for me to make it right. I just have to be faster, get there faster.

Red and blue peek through the cardboard, filtered out but still send my heart racing. I take my foot off the pedal, slowly decelerating, pulling off the side of the road. My chin trembles, ripping off my seatbelt so I can reach to open the glove compartment. I dig through papers, bring them into my lap, trying to find my registration. A flashlight shines through the window, fingers rapping at the glass. I roll down the window, barely able to speak or I know I'll cry. I nod through the 'do you know how fast you were going's' and hand over the paper, a picture falling into my lap. He rolls his eyes and walks back to the cop car.

I sit here, staring at our faces. And that's it, I can't even remember when this picture was taken. I don't know what we were doing, except that we look happy. And I can't remember the last time I was truly happy. The picture feels photoshopped, it feels too fake. But it's not, it's an imposter syndrome, because this is me and Mila.

I pull off the sticky note on the back, read it over and blink through the blurriness:

If you ever find this here's just another reminder that I love you <3 ~ Mila

I jolt in my seat as the cop knocks on the halfway-rolled down window. He hands me back the paper, talking more and more, I keep my head down and sniffle. He asks if I hear him and I stare directly into the flashlight, nodding, and he walks away. I slip the picture back between the forms and shove it into the glove compartment. It pops back open and I push it closed, three more times. When it finally clicks shut I'm left here, lights still flashing behind me, waiting for me to make a move, pick a direction.

Cause behind its door, there's nothing to keep my fingers warm, and all I find are souvenirs from better times, before the gleam of your taillights fading east to find yourself a better life...

Mila's POV:

January 25th, 2019

I sit up in bed, signing discharge forms, when the doctor comes in with a smile. I try to mimic her facial expression, but I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm going to do. I don't know how to pay medical bills. And I don't know how to leave the hospital when every day I woke up with the hope that today was going to be the day Billie would walk in through the door. When I'd fall back asleep, playing out scenarios that make more sense rather than believe she just doesn't want to see me.

"I have news!" she holds up some pieces of paper. My heart races thinking it's gonna be a letter, I lunge forward and my eyes burn with tears from the pain. She steps closer to my bed and breathes out.

"An anonymous donor paid for all of your medical bills, and transportation, and-- and left money for your aftercare, a lot of it. Isn't this amazing!"

I fall back down into bed. I gather up the discharge forms and hand them to her, just shrugging.

"It's great."

Her excitement dies down, concern as she just nods, clicks a pen and signs the form, saying a few more things before leaving.