A Certain Someone (pt. ii)
(for chapter one, please follow this link)
Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader (roommates)
Word count: 2.3k
Summary: You're finally fed up with your controlling boyfriend, but you feel stuck. You find your savior in the last person you would've expected: Billy Hargrove, formerly Hawkins' most notorious bad boy. He's changed...a lot.
CW: referenced child abuse, aftereffects of abusive relationship
Notes: This work is set around the year 1995; reader and Billy are about 27/28 years old
"What else should I be?/All apologies"
"I wish I was like you/Easily amused/Find my nest of salt/Everything is my fault"
You slipped into your makeshift bed on the living room couch, freshly showered and feeling a little better. Warmer. Your chest still felt tight from the anxieties the night had brought, but all the possibilities of life were starting to bloom in your imagination. You could get your own apartment. You could decorate to your heart's content and leave a nightlight on or fall asleep to music if you wanted. You could sit around and do nothing on a Saturday afternoon without guilt. Concerts, spontaneous dinners out, all the movie marathons you wanted without a single person to grumble or lecture you about your choices!
But that was its own problem: without a single person…
Never in your life had you been without company in your home. You'd never had to sit in silence with yourself for long stretches of time, and imagining that put a pit of dread in your stomach. One step at a time, you reminded yourself.
You needed a distraction from your spiraling thoughts. You needed something to latch onto.
Billy.
His soft snores were muffled by his closed bedroom door and you wondered again how you got here. The Billy you'd known would never have lifted a finger to help you unless he wanted to get in your pants. Your anxiety flared again.
What if that's exactly what he wants and you fell for it? the tiny voice in your head whispered.
If that's what his goal was, don't you think he'd be out here right now pushing for sex? You warred with yourself. There was no way he'd be patient enough to play the long con, right?
But he was patient, wasn't he? The voice had a good point. Maybe he knew you'd run if he came on too strong. Maybe he's waiting until you feel safe. After all, you both know you'd let him in eventually, wouldn't you?
Your cheeks flushed, and your jaw clenched stubbornly. You wanted to deny it, to say you weren't that type of girl. But what would be the point of lying to yourself? The way your eyes wandered over him tonight in the phone booth and how you swooned when he got closer told a different story than the one you wanted to believe. You'd give him anything he wanted for saving you from that miserable purgatory. Maybe you should've felt ashamed, but you'd emotionally checked out on Danny a long time ago. It was only now that you could admit it. You rubbed your hands over your face in agitation. All you wanted to do was sleep; instead, you were thinking about jumping into something with a man you didn't know anymore. And if you were being realistic, you knew he wouldn't need to trick you into bed and so did he. Your inner voice was wrong — maybe Billy just wasn't into you like that. Why was it so hard to accept that his intentions were pure?
It felt like you'd been staring at the popcorn ceiling forever when the rain started again, pounding the tin roof of the trailer. It vanquished the oppressive quiet so you could finally relax. There was a soft echo in your head just before sleep pulled you under:
"It ain't much, but it's mine. Yours now, too, I guess."
Bare feet slapped against hot pavement, the summer sun beating down on Hawkins. It was scorching outside, and your mother had forgotten to bring sunscreen. You were busy chasing your bratty cousin; you'd been charged with watching him at the Fourth of July Bash the town held every year. There was a deep misery in you. If you lost him (and he was trying very hard to lose you), your ass was grass.
Later, mom was apologizing to you and the doctor for her carelessness. The office was cold, clean, and bright — so different from home.
"She has second degree burns. I'll give you a prescription for medicated cream, and you should consider keeping any fabric off the blisters." Your eyes were glued to one the size of a golf ball on your shoulder. When you peered up at the doc, you saw that his eyes were hard as steel. He was mad.
A hot bath because mom believed hot water drew burns out of your skin. She'd always get confused like that; it was cold water that helped burns, you wanted to tell her, but she wouldn't listen even if you did. What did an eight-year-old know, anyway?
Unbearable fucking pain. You cried but she just said, "I'm sorry, baby, it only hurts for a little bit. I promise." Staring straight ahead as she submerged your shoulders, reciting a poem in your head to distance yourself from the agony.
Years later, no longer under her care. Your skin was too red and hot to the touch; you'd forgotten to put on sunscreen at the beach.
"You really should've been more careful." Danny's voice this time. You always showered together but when it was your turn under the spray, this time you turned the faucet to cool down the water. He grumbled because some of the cold droplets splashed his skin in little flecks.
"I'm sorry." Your hand stretched toward the faucet, turning it hot again.
You stared straight ahead, zoning out. The pain dulled; it was easy if you knew how.
Bacon and eggs…bacon and eggs???
You blinked awake, groggy and disoriented. Panic set in when you registered unfamiliar pine-paneled walls and a clock adorned with seashells hanging next to an Alice in Chains poster. This wasn't home…then it all came crashing back. You'd left. Billy fucking Hargrove had taken you in, of all people. And now he was…making breakfast?
You padded into the kitchen on bare feet. The linoleum floor was chilly and you grimaced as you realized — right, no central heating. Not like you were about to complain, though. His back was to you as he reached into a cabinet and pulled down two plates with one hand, still flipping bacon with the other. You drew your legs to your chest in your chair at the tiny Formica table to get your toes off the icy floor while you watched him, chin propped on your knees.
"Don't get used to it," he warned without turning around. His voice was still raspy and deep from sleep. "Your stomach was growling so loud I heard it over the rain." Your heart sank; you'd made too much noise already. It was probably annoying. Not again…
"I'm sorry," you mumbled.
Billy's head turned, and the easy smile you didn't even know he'd been wearing faded. "The hell are you sorry for, huh? Being hungry?" Your face heated with embarrassment. Now you'd killed the mood. Great. Before you could stammer out another apology for being sorry in the first place — ridiculous — he set the food down on the table and dropped into the seat across from you. "Eat." Not wanting to seem ungrateful, you took a tentative bite. It was hard to fuck up bacon and eggs, but you couldn't quite trust Billy's cooking yet. Nothing about him screamed "domestic."
It was…good. He must've seen the shock on your face; he snorted and shook his head. "I'm not gonna poison you or anything. Have a little faith, won't you?" You opened your mouth to speak. "If the word 'sorry' is about to come out, save it." It snapped shut again. You glanced up at him through your lashes, guilty. He snickered. "Predictable."
"Hey!" you said, smiling despite yourself, "I'm still adjusting, alright? The last time I saw you, you were doing keg-stands and acting like the Terminator. You weren't—" you gestured at him— "like this! It's beyond freaky."
"Yeah?" he retorted. "Last time I saw you, you were giving a boring ass speech at graduation, looking like a dorky owl with those thick glasses." He made huge circles around his eyes with his fingers and you playfully flipped him the bird. "Seriously, I thought you were going to Harvard or something, and now you're…here." He gestured back at you, to his table that wobbled if you so much as looked at it wrong. "It's an adjustment for both of us, sweetheart." The laughter bubbled up from your throat before you could control it.
"Harvard?! You thought I was Ivy League material?"
"Yeah, I do, and so did those recruiters you were talking to at the College Fair." That caught you off guard; he'd been paying attention. "So why didn't you go?" There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice, just real curiosity.
"Isn't it obvious?" His furrowed brow told you he didn't think so. "I chose love over school. It seemed like a romantic notion at the time…" Your skin crawled; you felt exposed and like you were ruining the morning with your stupid, tragic life. You needed to lighten the tension. "Besides, I couldn't afford Harvard anyway. You kidding me? Harrington couldn't afford it."
"Harrington is also an idiot," Billy remarked matter-of-factly. "You're not." He paused. "Well, maybe…I mean, skipping college for Danny Larson?" He smirked and rolled his eyes. "Talk about love making you blind." You gave him a mock glare and picked your fork back up, brandishing it at him like a weapon.
"Says the guy who fucked Kelly Daniels. She looked like a clown!"
"A sexy one." He was unbothered by your teasing. You arched a brow at him.
"You got some sort of clown fetish, weirdo?"
"Nah, but you might. Danny fuckin' Larson…" he repeated, grinning smugly.
"Fair enough."
You bantered back and forth like that until he looked down at his watch and swore. "Shit, I gotta go. I'm gonna be late for work." You tried to shove down the disappointment you felt. It was Saturday; you didn't think he'd have to go anywhere.
Billy seemed to catch it in your expression. "I'm not your fancy office boy, princess. Garage doesn't close for weekends like the stock market." He polished off the rest of his food and slung his jacket over his shoulders. Before he left, he turned back to you, pausing on the steps to poke his head back in.
"Don't burn the house down while I'm gone." He winked and bounded down the steps, shutting the door behind him. The screen followed a couple of seconds later with a hollow bang.
Now what?
The first order of business was washing the dishes. He never asked you to do it, but you figured it would keep your mind busy and it'd be one way to prove you weren't the lazy slob Danny accused you of being. Billy had a small radio in the kitchen and you turned it on while you worked, humming along to The Cranberries. The local alternative station spurred you on as you went through the rooms, dusting and sweeping and folding up your blankets to make the couch inhabitable. You found some supplies under the sink and scrubbed the bathroom down, though it really didn't need much maintenance. It was surprising how neat he kept the place.
So many things about him weren't what they seemed.
Before you knew it, the trailer was nearly spotless. It was then that you realized the chores had only seemed so insurmountable before because you had someone breathing down your neck, waiting for you to slip up so he could pound your spirit into the dirt. You wanted to do it now.
The only room you hadn't explored by noon was Billy's bedroom. You knew he said this was your place, too, but it still felt like you'd be crossing a line… no matter how goddamn badly you wanted to know what it looked like. You wondered what kind of posters he had in there. What kind of blankets he slept under, if they were the scratchy wool kind or something soft like a thick, padded quilt. If he read before bed and what book you might find on his nightstand. Twenty-four hours ago, you'd have said no way he read at all, but you weren't so sure anymore.
The way he spoke to you over breakfast — the breakfast he made for you — made you feel more confused. You could chalk it up to him being a good host, but the two of you had settled into such a comfortable rhythm, like you'd been friends forever instead of practically strangers until last night. Then again, you couldn't exactly trust your own judgment; you were rusty when it came to making friends. Danny had isolated you in your time together. He always found something he didn't like about the people you loved. He bitched about them behind their backs until it was less of a hassle just to stay home. Billy was probably just being a good person. It'd be awkward to share a place with someone and act cold and distant — it was in your best interests to get along.
The more you thought about it, the more convinced you became that you were making a big deal out of nothing. For one thing, he was way out of your league, trailer or not. He could still have anyone he wanted; time only served to make him more handsome. And he still remembered you as the dorky chick with the thick glasses and a bad perm. That was depressing. You sighed and tried to push the thoughts away, but there wasn't enough busywork in the world to distract you from the enigma that was Billy Hargrove. That didn't stop you from trying, though.
Desperate, you searched the place for more to do. Once the laundry you found in the bathroom hamper was in the washing machine and the kitchen counters were gleaming, you'd killed…another half hour. You dragged your hands down your face. Goddamnit.
It was going to be a long day.
