A/N: I forgot to mention that this entire thing is co-written by PJO1234 [[as is like the rest of everything I ever write ever]] and then dxganronpa is my main test-reader whom I have read everything to make sure it's allllll good

Now. Let's see if I can't make y'all wanna stab Billy in the face and give Bekah a hug

[[it's been a month since the end of the last chapter]]

Xx

Martin F. Tupper once said, 'the pain of the mind is worse than the pain of the body' and he was so, so very right. Body pain goes away, the breaks heal and the bruises fade over time. But the pain of the mind... that stays with you for years on end.

Just look at me.

We'd rendezvoused at Billy's apartment, tonight, not being able to make it back to mine, and as much as I tried, I couldn't stop the nagging at the back of my mind. This... this lie that I've allowed myself to fall into for the past year and a half was actually starting to get to me and I couldn't quite figure out why.

I was sitting upright, my feet on the floor on this side of the bed as I shuffled to get dressed, sliding my thigh-highs on, then my pants. Until something dripped onto my bare thighs, I didn't even realize I'd been crying in the first place. I huffed and stood to tug my pants up the rest of the way; maybe if I hurried, I could quietly slip out of here before Billy got out of the shower.

Though, much to my dismay, he came back out as I was sliding on my shirt, pulling the bottom down over my stomach. I didn't feel like looking at him, so I continued staring out the window at the nighttime city. It looked like glitter scattered over a black blanket, shot through with white, winding ribbons.

And, sadly enough, I could feel Billy staring at me, and when I spared a fleeting glance at his reflection in the window, he looked severely concerned -- and, well, severely handsome. His hair was wet, so it wasn't slicked back, instead parting in the middle, some falling in his eyes again. Shirtless, yes, with loose sweatpants on.

Loose.

I looked back at the city, and felt him step up behind me, "Hey..." he sounded hesitant, "Hun?"

I flinched when his hands ghosted over my waist; I couldn't help it. He shouldn't want to touch me outside of bed, shouldn't feel obligated to act anything but professional and detached around me, otherwise.

I made the mistake of turning around to face him, and had to take a small step backwards away from him. Almost involuntary, it seemed, he reached up to cup my face, to hold me still and make me look him in the eye, "Have you been crying?"

I reached a hand up to swipe at my eyes and forced a smile, "Nope," a breathy laugh left my lips and I tried to shake free from his hands, though to no avail; one hand was gently holding my head, still.

Sadly, I allowed it, and leaned into his touch with a small sigh, "What's wrong?"

I peeked open my eyes, "Nothing is wrong," I always prided myself as a good liar. I did it frequently enough.

Billy's eyebrows furrowed, "You're lying. Tell me what's wrong, I know something's been goin' on in that pretty lil' head of yours for a while now."

Apparently my lying needed work, to build up against Billy's dark, all-knowing eyes.

I sighed, again. He did have really pretty eyes... they were reflecting the city lights, now, and I couldn't help but stare. He always did have an uncanny knack for seeing right through me.

The hand that wasn't cupping the back of my head tapped on my shoulder a little, "Come back to me, hun."

I blinked, clearing my vision so I could stare over his shoulder at the wall behind him. How did one bring up the topic of feelings in a situation like this? I can't just come out and say, 'Hey, about two months after we started this whole thing I kind've caught some feelings and couldn't tell you.'

Then again, it was my fault for thinking I could stick with something like this, the same 'one-night stand' partner on repeat, over and over and over again. No feelings, just sex, whenever one needed it, wanted it. We were pliable, always in the mood, always available. We worked all too well.

And, really, it was my fault for letting it continue on. I should've stopped the entire endeavor as soon as I broke the rule, but instead, I let it happen, let it continue, allowed myself to live in a lie. A part of my brain wanted to believe that Billy cared just a fraction more for me than he was originally supposed to. The way he spoke, sometimes, felt the need to hold me -- as he was doing now, Goddammit.... Especially how Billy always seemed to be 'thinking of me' when walking past a lingerie shop.

Though, we both knew that was for his benefit more than mine.

Billy had stopped down, now, looking me directly in the eye, still looking concerned, "Rebekah? Did you hear me?"

I flashed a quick, small smile his way, sniffling slightly, "Uh, no, sorry. What'd you say?"

He'd stood back up, now, but his gaze never faltered from mine, "I think we should take a break."

Bingo.

You hear that? That's my heart seizing up a bit, a fist squeezing it just a little too tight, making it a little too heavy. I let out a pathetic little squeak, "Oh... okay..."

Swiftly, I slid from his hold, headed towards the door to grab my jacket off the floor. If I keep my head down, he can't see me cry.

Though he could hear my sniffling, I'm sure.

If I'd've just broken it off last year, I could have saved myself at least a little heartbreak, "Bekah-"

I lifted my head, still not looking at him, "Hmm? No hard feelings. You want a break, totally fine, Russo. We're in no form of commitment with each other, other than sex, remember? Nothing more, nothing less," I wrapped a hand in the hem of my shirt and took it to wipe furiously at my eyes, though I was somehow managing to keep my voice steady, "Talk to you later."

He, however, followed me out of the bedroom as I followed his trail of clothing back to his front door, "Bekah-"

I let out a dry laugh, "Billy, I get it, you don't need to justify yourself."

He's just sick of me.

I've been being weird outside the bed, lately.

He's catching on.

"Talk to you later," I repeated, casting a quick glance back at him as I stepped into the hall, shutting the door behind me.

That was a bad idea.

He looked as broken as I felt.

Why I will never know. He didn't want to sleep with someone, anymore, who wanted more than just sex. I understood completely. It didn't ease my pain, ease my laboured breathing, or stop the sobs, but I understood and would -- hopefully, anyway -- be at peace with his decision.

Xx

And so ends my PhantomPanther ship :/

Anyone sad for Bekah?

Anyone?

No one?

Damn...

Feeback is appreciated but by no means necessary!