Shake the Glitter Off

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The frigid winter night air burns my throat as I inhale, though I have no intention of heading inside any time soon. The snow crunches under my boots and somewhere in the back of my mind, my brain is shrieking that the snow will damage the leather and my shoes will be ruined. But I can’t bring myself to care anymore.

My hands are pulled up into my cardigan, but the tips of my fingers have gone numb from being outside without the proper clothing. The cold has long ago crept inside my jeans and goose bumps have erupted across my skin. Even my nose has gone from tingling painfully to unfeeling.

I’d wandered much further than I planned. I was only going to sit outside on the swing on the back porch, but my feet didn’t want to sit still. I wanted to get up and walk around, pace out the anger and the confusion that was swirling about in my head like a murky mixture. And so I had stepped out into the yard and started walking along the path, eventually wandering off the concrete and making my way across the yard, crunching along in the snow slowly.

My rambling had taken me off of Bill’s property and probably through a neighbor or two’s yards. I found a little grotto, the trees cleared out and a little sanctuary erected. It looks like someone spent ages catering to this area, tending to the gardens and setting up a bird bath and a bench and even a little statue.

It’s at this time that my feet protest in agony and I clear the snow off of the bench with the cuff of my sweater before I sink down onto the edge and pull the thick gray material closer to me, suddenly aware of how cold it is outside, of how stupid I’d been wandering off without a heavy jacket or gloves.

But I can’t go back inside to my birthday party. Any other girl would kill to be in my position right now. I have a house with Germany’s best-selling band hanging out with their friends and I have plenty of good food and presents. But I can’t enjoy any of it. Not while I’m carrying around this horrible secret.

“There you are,” Bill’s soft voice greets me and I turn slightly as he steps into the clearing and walks towards me. “You disappeared during your birthday festivities.”

“I just needed some quiet,” I admit, offering him a tired smile. “That’s all.”

He goes over my trembling body and red nose with raised eyebrows. “Looks like you’ve been out here for a while.”

“I have,” I shrug, sniffing and wishing suddenly that I didn’t look so messy and unattractive. “It’s hot in there and it feels good out here.”

“You’ve gone a long way from the house just because you thought it was too warm,” He observes, stopping in front of me and holding out his hands. “Come on, let’s get you back inside.”

I accept his hands without protest and let him pull me back onto my feet. He keeps our hands interlocked and drapes his other around my cold shoulders as he starts to walk back the way he came. “How did you find me?” I ask eventually, after listening to the snow crunch beneath our feet became too loud.

“Footprints,” He answers shortly, nodding down at the two sets of prints that are quickly being destroyed because we’re walking back over them. “It doesn’t take a detective to follow them.”

I offer him a weak smile as the bright lights of the house come into view and we step back up onto the walkway and continue walking towards the back porch. I realize, with a bitter smile, that I’m not cold anymore in Bill’s grasp, that I feel completely safe and comfortable.

Bill is silent as he leads me up the three steps and onto the porch, heading for the swing instead of the back door, like I’d expected him to go. He motions for me to sit down next to him and I do before his arm goes around my shoulders and he pulls me into him. For the longest couple of moments, we swing in the still winter night and the only constant is the faint squeaking of the hinges on our swing. Our breath slips out from between our lips in ghostly white clouds and it’s comforting.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” He whispers, his feet planted firmly on the floor and rocking us back and forth smoothly. “You’ve not been yourself all day.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper halfheartedly, but I stop myself from going on any further. I’m tired of the charade I’ve been putting on for the past couple of days. It’s draining and exhausting and I can’t do it anymore.

He notices my hesitation and stops swinging, taking his arm back and turning so he can see me properly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’ve just been thinking,” I answer, not meeting his gaze. I’d much rather stare down at the snow that’s drifted in on the patio. Because I can’t bear to see the disappointment in his eyes when he realizes what’s been running through my mind nonstop ever since our visit with his parents.

“About?”

“About us, about the babies, about everything.” I say slowly, biting down on my lower lip and rubbing at my numb face in a vain attempt to bring some feeling back. “It’s just—it’s a lot, isn’t it? For us to take on, I mean. We’re both so young and raising a baby—much less two—is so much work. It’s hard and-and who says that we’ll be able to do it?”

Bill is quiet, staring down at the floor with his hands clasped tightly in front of him. His hair is tumbling forward, falling over his shoulders and hiding his face from me. In this moment, I can’t help but think for the millionth time that he is beyond gorgeous. Even when he’s having what he likes to call his lazy days. “What are you saying?”

It’s the moment of truth and now that I’m staring at it pointblank, all of the careful, logical reasons I’d written out in my head disappear completely. I can only see his wide brown eyes and recognize the hurt and confusion clouding them over.

“I’m saying…what if everyone’s right?” I shake my head, willing myself to not start crying. I was so sick of the tears and the emotions; I just want to be myself again. It’s not too much to be asking for. “Cara and your mom—they both keep saying that we’re crazy for wanting to do this. And they’re right. We’re so young and we both have no experience with babies and our careers are so hectic and time-consuming. Who says we’ll have time to spend with the twins? I don’t want to be one of those absentee mothers. I want to be there for my kids and-and if that means that I have to admit that we’re not ready now—“

“You want to give our twins up,” Bill finishes, sounding bewildered and bitter. He’s staring at me like he has no idea who I am anymore and my heart breaks inside. I hate the look that he’s giving me right now because it’s all my fault. It’s always my fault. “You don’t want them.”

“No, no,” I begin, my eyes stinging with that familiar feeling that let me know that I'm about to cry yet again. “I’m just trying to be rational about this—“

“By giving them up to some complete stranger. That’s completely rational,” Bill spits out, standing up and clutching at his hair frustratedly. “How do we know that they’ll be taken care of properly, Lily? These are our children,” He motions towards my stomach. “We can learn to take care of them. Mum knows—“

“Your mother doesn’t any anything to do with me,” I announce loudly in order to be heard over his rambling. My voice echoes in the yard eerily and I shake my head, inhaling deeply as I start to speak again at a normal volume. “Face it, Bill. The only people who are on our side are Tom and Rydan. That’s four people against everyone else, against the rest of the world.”

“Georg and Gustav,” Bill begins weakly, looking back at the house like his bandmates would be able to hear him. “They are supporting us. Andreas is excited.”

“They think we’re insane. It doesn’t take a genius to see how weirded out they are by this,” I put a hand on my stomach. “Bill, if in a couple of years, we’re still together and we want kids, we can try again. We can have more children—“

“But I don’t want any other kids. I want the ones we have now,” He snaps, his hands curled up into tight fists as he paces the porch like a caged animal. His voice is trembling and cracking and I realize that he’s on the verge of tears and my heart breaks. “I can’t believe you’re just willing to give them up so easily.”

“I am trying to give them the life that I know they deserve,” I say hotly, the first set of tears slipping down my cheeks and burning my skin. “Don’t you dare say that this is easy for me, Bill. Because it’s not. I’m giving up—“

“Then why are you doing it?” He asks desperately, turning so he can see me. He holds his hands out imploringly and I want nothing more than to rush into his embrace and feel safe again. “Why are you just handing them away?”

“Because I can’t be a mother,” I shout, flinging my hands up into the air. The words are rushing out faster than I can piece them together and censor. “I know nothing about children, Bill. I get nervous being around kids. I’m not nurturing, I’m not maternal and I-I… I don’t think I’m willing to sacrifice my career for them.” As soon as the last bit leaves my mouth, I clamp my lips together, slapping my hand over my mouth and staring over at Bill with wide, terrified eyes. I can’t believe I let that slip out—I’ve been hiding it deep within the recesses of my subconscious for the past couple of weeks. I hadn’t even dared to admit it to myself.

Bill blanches like I’ve personally reached out and struck him. He stares at me for the longest moment of my life before he turns on his heel and walks down the three steps and into the yard. He’s walking down the garden path that I know leads around the house to the garage.

“Bill,” I stand up and start after him. “Bill, you don’t have a jacket.”

He disappears around the corner and I’m left alone on the edge of the patio. It’s only then that I realize truly how cold the early December evening has become and a brutal tremor races throughout my body.

I can’t stay out in the cold any longer. I’ll never catch up with his long strides and he can be climbing into a car and pulling out of the drive before I even get to the garage myself.

I’m crying as I walk across the patio and step back into the house. Thankfully the kitchen is empty and I lean up against the door, trying to regain my composure so I can walk through the living room and go upstairs without anyone questioning my bloodshot eyes. My hands are trembling as I wipe away at my tears.

“Lily?”

Immediately I curse the familiar voice. Slowly, I open my eyes to see Tom looking concerned, a bowl of popcorn in his hands. “Hey,” I grin weakly, my voice rough and ugly. “How’s the party?”

“Are you okay?” He ignores my question completely, putting the bowl down on the counter and making a move towards me but I put my hand up, so he comes to a rather abrupt halt and just watches me closely. “Where’s Bill?”

“He left,” I answer, blinking harshly against the tears that have gathered in my eyes again suddenly. “We got into a fight and he-he just left.”

Tom turns and moves towards the garage, knowing that Bill could get access to someone’s car and he shouldn’t be behind the wheel right now. Not with how upset he is with me.

I rush through the kitchen and across the living room before I hurry up the stairs, ignoring the concerned calls from the people watching a film in the living room. Bill’s door closes shut behind me and I lock the door before I sink down to the floor and rest my head on my knees.

Happy birthday to me.

-x-

The clock on the nightstand reads 0:48 and I sigh, falling back against the pillows. Bill still hasn’t come upstairs. I have no idea if Tom was able to go outside and get him or if he even made the attempt to climb into a car and drive away. I haven’t been back downstairs since about eleven o’clock, when I fled the party in tears.

There had been a brief time when Louisa and Natalie tried to get me to open the door to talk to them, but I’d barricaded myself in the bathroom and cried stormy tears that left my throat raw. Eventually even they left and I managed to crawl into bed and begin my long wait for Bill’s return.

We need to talk.

But the numbers crept steadily higher on the clock and when I heard the downstairs grandfather clock chime midnight, I started to entertain the idea that Bill wasn’t going to come back to me tonight. I’d made him so angry and I was being selfish in thinking that he’d forgive me so easily and come back to me.

This is our first fight and it was over something massive and life-changing. Normal couples have their first fight over something stupid and pointless, not over something as monumental as deciding the future of their unborn twins. But then again, I guess Bill and I never really have been ‘normal’. I mean, he’s a world-famous rockstar and I’m just a no-name model from New York City.

Maybe our relationship isn’t going to work out after all. Maybe we’re too different, our schedules too hectic to work together and our future goals too drastically in the opposite directions for us to ever work together.

Maybe Bill and I need to break up.

To my surprise, the thought of leaving Bill behind forever is horrifying. It wraps icy cold fingers around my heart and clenches painfully, a soft gasp slipping out of my mouth as I try to imagine a life without Bill in it.

I would go back to New York and pick up where I left in my career. I’d work up until I got too big and then I’d take the time off to have the babies and then send them away with adoptive parents. And then I would resume right where I left off. I’d continue acting and modeling like I was just any other normal twenty-year-old, like I didn’t have two children somewhere in the world that I would never know.

I sit up and roll up my shirt so I can see the slight bump between my hips. I’m startled as I gaze down at the swollen skin. It’s gotten bigger since the last time I examined myself in the mirror. My hands are shaking as I run my fingertips across the bump gently.

I’m imagining the two lives inside of me at the moment. Two little boys floating around together, bonding already, just like their father and his brother. Would I really be able to give all of this up?

I have to be able to give all this away. I have to be able to just walk away. I can’t provide for these babies like they need. I don’t know anything about kids, about being a mother, about balancing parenting and my job.

The tiny voice in the back of my head pipes up that I can learn. Millions of other girls have learned to juggle being a full-time parent and a career. If they can do it, so can I.

Can I sacrifice all of this for them though? I’ve worked so hard to get to where I am in life. It’s perfectly alright if Bill pauses his career, he has a contract with his record label. And he has a much bigger fan base than I do. They’re willing to wait for him to be ready to record again.

But I don’t have that. I have to go out and actively pursue work. I can’t just expect it to fall into my lap. And morphing the one thing that gets me work—my body—is career suicide. I can name so many girls who took time off to start families and their career just never came back from their hiatus.

Not to mention the fact that my reputation is pretty tarnished after the Alex fiasco. It was going to be difficult to work beyond that and I’m already having doubts about being successful again.

There’s a rustling noise out in the hallway, just beyond the door and I yank my shirt down just as the door swings open and my eyes focus in on Bill standing in the doorway.

He looks miserable—pale and trembling and as he draws closer, I realize that his eyes are bloodshot. He doesn’t sink down onto the bed like I want him to; instead, he stands at the foot of the bed and stares down at me.

“We need to talk,” He announces in a hoarse voice.

I nod and cross my arms over my chest lamely. “Okay.”