13. Five-thousand

I wake up the next morning with a dull headache, the telltale sign of last night’s drinks still lingering in my system. The bed feels unfamiliar, and it takes me a second to realize why—this isn’t my room.

Brenda must have crashed in mine. Somehow, I ended up here, in my old room.

The air carries a faint, familiar scent—Bill.

Maybe it’s just my mind playing tricks on me, clinging to memories that refuse to fade. Or maybe because we recently had sex in this bed, I don't know.

I press my face into the pillow, inhaling deeply. No, it’s not just in my head. He’s still here, in some way.

Shaking off the thought, I push myself out of bed. My hair a mess, and my eyes are still half-closed as I shuffle downstairs, drawn by the sounds of movement in the kitchen.

"Morning," I mumble, my voice rough.

Brenda glances up from the counter, already looking way too put together for this hour. "Morning. You look like you could use some caffeine."

Before I can respond, she presses a hot mug of coffee into my hands. I take it gratefully, letting the warmth seep into my fingers. "Thank you."

"The garage called," she says casually, stirring her own drink. "Hope you don’t mind that I answered your phone."

I blink, taking a sip. "Did they say what was wrong with my car? Or how much it’s gonna cost me?"

Brenda leans against the counter, tapping her nails against her mug. "Something about the Catalytic Converter" she says. "And a Transmission? Honestly, I didn’t catch all of it, but they fixed it. Won’t be cheap, though."

"Great." I say, walking back into the living room and plopping down onto the couch.

"Can you drive me?"

Brenda follows me, nodding as she sips her coffee. "Sure."



We step into the garage, making our way toward the service desk, where a young man with a friendly smile greets us.

"What can I do for you?" he asks, wiping his hands on a rag.

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting with nerves. "I'm here to pick up my car," I say, dreading the number he's about to throw at me. "The car is under Evi Noëns."

He nods and turns to the computer, typing something in. After a moment, he glances up.

"Looks like the total comes to… 5,000€."

My heart plummets. My breath catches in my throat as I stare at him, hoping I misheard. "Five-thousand?" I repeat, my voice higher than it usually is.

He nods. "Yes."

Panic crashes over me like a wave. My hands start to shake as I reach for my phone, knowing full well my bank account doesn’t have anywhere near that much. My mind races for a solution—maybe I can put it on a credit card? Set up a payment plan? Sell a kidney?

"I—I don't have that kind of money right now," I admit, my voice trembling. "Is there any way I can—"

The man holds up a hand, cutting me off with a small smile. "No worries. It's already been paid for."

I freeze. "What?"

He turns the screen slightly toward me, tapping at something. "Looks like someone covered the cost earlier today."

My stomach flips. "Who?"

He glances at the screen again before answering. “A Mister Kaulitz.”

My stomach drops—Kaulitz.

I blink, my heart stutters in my chest as I force myself to speak. “Mister Kaulitz?” My voice wavers. “As in… Bill Kaulitz?”

The guy shrugs. "It just says Kaulitz. Payment was made a few hours ago.” He gestures toward the lot outside. “Your car’s all set. You can pick it up whenever you’re ready.”

But I’m not ready. Not even close.

I barely notice when Brenda steps closer. “Bill?” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear.

I nod stiffly, my mind racing. “I don’t think Tom would pay for my car, so…”

A storm of emotions churns inside me—confusion, frustration, and something I don’t want to admit feels dangerously close to hope. Why would Bill do this?

Without another word, I snatch my keys off the counter, gripping them so tightly they press into my palm. My chest feels tight as I spin on my heel and head for the door, desperate for fresh air.

Brenda follows close behind, her voice louder now. “Bill paid for your car?” She shakes her head in disbelief. “Evi, that’s 5,000€!"

“Yes, I know!” I snap, turning to face her. My pulse thrumming in my ears. “I didn’t ask him to do that.”

Brenda crosses her arms, watching me closely. “So… what does that mean?”

I swallow hard, my stomach twisting. “I don’t know,” I admit.

"See you at my place?" I ask, unlocking my car and sliding into the driver’s seat.

Brenda nods, "Yeah," she says, heading toward her own car. "Drive safe."

I nod absently, start the engine, and pull out of the lot. The familiar hum of the car does little to settle the storm brewing inside me.

My hands tighten around the wheel as I replay everything in my head. What do I do now? Do I text Bill? Call him? Or do I just… pretend this never happened?



I spend the entire drive home stuck in my own head, thoughts of Bill swirling like a storm I can’t outrun. Every possible scenario plays out in my mind—confronting him, ignoring it, sending a simple thank you and leaving it at that.

By the time I pull into my driveway, I’ve made no decision at all.

I kill the engine, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before exhaling sharply and stepping out. I head inside, dropping my keys onto the kitchen counter.

Brenda isn’t here yet, which gives me a few moments of silence. I pour myself a glass of water and lean against the counter, my fingers tapping restlessly against the glass.

With a frustrated groan, I grab my phone and scroll to Bill’s contact. My thumb hovers over his name.

Just text him. Say thank you. Keep it simple.

Instead, I hit ‘Call’.

It rings. Once. Twice.

I almost hang up. But then—

“Evi?”

I freeze. His voice is groggy, like I woke him up.

I swallow hard. “Bill..”

There’s a pause, then a soft chuckle. “Didn’t expect you to call.”

I close my eyes, forcing myself to stay calm. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t planning to. But then I picked up my car and found out it was magically paid for.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I exhale sharply. “Why?”

There’s a brief rustling on his end, as if he’s shifting in his seat.

“Because your car was broken, and you needed it fixed.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “You don’t just drop 5,000€ on someone because they needed it fixed.”

Another pause. Then, softer—“I wanted to.”

My grip tightens on my phone. “That’s not a reason.”

“Maybe not.” His voice is quiet now, almost careful. “But it’s the truth.”

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. There’s too much left unsaid, too much history between us for this to be just about a car.

I don’t know what to say.

After a moment, Bill sighs again, this time almost amused. “You’re overthinking, Evi.”

I scoff. "Maybe you’re underthinking.”

He laughs softly. “Maybe.”

I press my lips together.
Finally, I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “I don’t know what you want from me, Bill.”

His response is immediate, but quiet. “I don’t want anything.”

I almost believe him. Almost.

There’s a pause, a hesitation. “Just… take care of yourself, okay?”

Before I can process his words, before I can say anything, the line goes dead.


I stare at my phone for a long moment, my thoughts tangled in a mess of confusion and frustration.

My pulse is still racing, my body still tense, like my mind is bracing for an impact that never comes. He hung up. Just like that. No further explanation. No demand for anything in return. Just a quiet, lingering presence that unsettles me more than if he had asked for something.

I toss my phone onto the counter and press my palms against the cool surface, exhaling slowly.

A knock at the door snaps me out of my daze.

Brenda.

I open the door, and she steps inside, her eyes scanning my face instantly. “You called him.” It’s not a question.

I sigh, shutting the door behind her. “Yeah.”

She raises an eyebrow, dropping her bag onto the couch. “And?”