infinite and eternal, death had a presence which lingered behind all things, even those considered to be less than natural. since having stood up to that monstrous leech as an unspoken fuck you for everything it made him do back in july and then having the full wrath of neil come down on him for his ’ irresponsible disappearance ’ in early october, however, it’d been a presence not regarded for quite a while. almost a whole ass month. now? thanks to billy’s perpetual itch, which never failed to leave him along with some other poor bastard bruised and bloody? coupled with the fact that he’d been dead set to indulge said itch with a group of shitfaced bikers? well. that had changed. and not just the notion of it. every breath he was required to take, the foundations of his being, each beating thump of his heart, were all reminders; mere couriers which aided to carry him closer to that ever impending grisly end.
h e w a s s t i l l h u m a n
an utterly mocked adaptation of one, sure, impossible to pass off as simple dream more jarring the actuality, when taking the list of enemies he made that night alone, into account.
turns out some newfound ability to rip a tire iron in half like it was paper didn’t mean fuck all when up against pocket knives and a couple of glocks.
with such a severe realization being faced, any other plans he may have arranged for after his primary down as many drinks as he could slash get into a simple brawl at the coonhound objective, became put on hold. ergo; his dick wasn’t gonna bury itself between kimberly adam’s titties any time soon. and, man. talk about a damn shame. but, the fuck could he do? once he had gone and unintentionally broke that one asshole’s jaw with just a small tap of his hand, nearly ripping an arm off the second guy….. six more people were on him in five seconds flat. each of them armed to the teeth. when the bullets began to fly and that flee or die response kicked in there was no way for things to play out other than exactly how they did: for his date to be postponed. because billy knew these types of dudes. he might have gotten away, but only in physical distance. one way or another word would get out, details of what had occurred, to be twisted and thrown upon every bar from this town to the next. the kind of information that would surely peak the interest of any lab lackey brenner had scattered about in the area. so he couldn’t just not care. he couldn’t exactly go get himself off with some bitch, either. not until he got this mess straightened out. something he had every intention of doing, quietly and quickly, in such a manner where every single person in that pansy motherfucking gang wouldn’t even be able to willingly take their last shit on this earth let alone do any talking about him to anyone. there was just the small matter of damage inflicted to his person during their previous convocation. while unable to know the exact number of wounds or accurately assess the pain to tell how bad off he actually was…… it came down to one basic truth. he couldn’t rectify anything in his current condition. and, as such, it’d be best to lay low, as low as was literally possible, for the time being.
which is why billy found himself slipping into the wheeler’s basement window.
and, okay, so the decision may have been due to the fact that his dad’s house was still a good twenty minutes away and since he was currently traveling on foot, under sleet ridden skies no less, karen’s place happened to pretty much be the only one he could actually make it to, before he went and, you know, passed the fuck out, but that was besides the point.
battered limbs strain from the involuntary quivers of his muscles as he lifts himself over the broken glass on the window sill, teeth clenching, briefly biting down, only to come apart and release a thick huff of air once he landed on the floor inside.
there was no denying that his tiny squared entrance had been the furthest thing from accommodating. normally, he would have used the first door that came into his view, but, it was as that old saying went: drastic times called for drastic measures. or some shit along those lines. especially when the temperature in this hick town plummeted deeper in to what felt like sub zero levels of low and caused him to momentarily loose feeling in his left hand, thus, in turn, completely screwed with his ability to pick locks. also there was a certain raven haired dweeb who had apparently decided to move the spot where his parents kept the spare key at outdoors. not that he could actually make a fuss about the latter. the action was, by it’s own right, justified. from what he understood mike was of a distrusting nature hell, the kid wouldn’t even allow his jacket to hang off the same spot of the seat at the diner for more than ten minutes. and with that in mind? it would just be downright unnatural for mike not to have placed the key to his house somewhere different to help ward off any unwanted visitors. a thought that managed to amuse yet caused nothing more than pain; hand raising up to clutch at his side ( its movement deliberate, to securely add much needed pressure onto his rib cage ) wince passing from one side of his face to the other; situation reinforced. this wasn’t the time to think about the inner workings of some teenage kid. not even if was a sort of entertainment to him.
but fuck if it wasn’t the time to finish off whatever vodka was left in his metal flask that he kept stashed away in his back pocket.
it had been a good minute, maybe even a minute and a half, since his decision to make himself even that much more wasted, and the sole action he was capable of doing, continued to be his poor attempts at breathing. that was all. there wasn’t even enough energy in his body to scoot himself off of the jagged glass shards ruthlessly digging into his already lesioned skin; the ones that had fallen when he had broken the window so he could tumble on in.
what shitty fucking luck, too, because damn, did he need a drink.
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