Chapter Text
The itch under Billy’s skin had him on high alert for days. His instincts had been flaring, his paranoia had been raw against his flesh, and he knew something was bound to happen, soon, very fucking soon, but he didn’t know what.
He didn’t know if he’d be the one to fucking crack and lose his shit, or if Neil would first.
His father hadn’t made a move in days, not even tried to push him in the wall as they passed each other in the hallways of the house, not even slapped him on the head while he was trying to eat as silently as it was humanely possible. Neil was playing games with him. He was fucking with him, keeping him edge. Getting him to walk on eggshells all the fucking time, until ultimately Billy would make a fucking mistake, because he always did make a mistake, and he’d crush him. The blond fucking knew how his dad’s brain worked, he knew his goddamn patterns. After years of getting yelled at, of getting beaten up for no reason, after years of understanding that it was all for the man’s personal fucked-up pleasure, Billy knew that the longer he kept the beast shackled, the harder he’d attack.
He would jump at his throat.
Neil favorite way of spooking his son into always being ready – to always be responsible and respectful – was to drop unannounced at the most random times, or to come back unexpectedly early from his and Susan’s night out. It was always a question of time.
Always a question of goddamn fucking time, and Billy knew that Neil would fucking explode for the stupidest of reasons.
His dad was paranoid like that, always making sure he was kept under his foot, always breathing down on his neck. Neil even fucking looked at the fuel level in his car, for fuck’s sakes! If Billy was grounded, Neil fucking knew how much gas he had in the begging and at the end, and he could fucking map Billy’s every fucking step in this hick town. It was suffocating. Billy’s only possession, his only safe heaven, was his Camaro.
And Neil was even controlling that.
Billy couldn’t catch a break. It was always a slap behind the head, a push against a wall, stealing of his fucking keys on the weekends and forcing him to walk like a fucking loser to where he wanted to go, always the confiscating of his music, always doing everything to scare him and control him.
Billy was never in control of his life when he was in that house.
That’s why he hated not being in control of everything else. At school, at parties, even on the goddamn basketball court. He had to be top dog. He had to be the one everyone wanted to be, wanted to fuck, wanted to hate. Billy didn’t give a shit, as long as he could feel like he had control on the situations in his life. He needed to feel in control, in power. He never had that at his house. Billy wanted to explode out of his skin all the time, fuck someone to oblivion, break things, race down a road in his car to wrap himself around a fucking streetlamp pole sometimes. It was exhausting and frustrating, and Billy felt too small for his body, his rage and terror and agony pushing-pushing-pushing until he would fucking snap.
But Billy loved life. He loved the rush of adrenaline in his blood when he was doing someone dangerous, loved the trill of rebellion. He loved life so much, and in a way, he was hoping for deliverance. He was craving the day he would finally be eighteen and he could just fucking vanish into the night the moment the clock would strike midnight. He wanted to drive into the sunrise as he left bumfuck Hawkins, India-fucking-na, and laugh freely for the first time since his mom left him as the sunset would blind him. It was all he wanted.
To be free.
To be fearless.
But that seemed too far away as his dad shoved him against his shelving unit, one of the shelves digging right in his lower back painfully.
He and Susan were late by three fucking hours, and his dad was fucking angry at him because apparently, Max’s window was open, and she wasn’t anywhere in the house.
Fucking. Piece. Of shit.
There was no point in trying to explain, but Billy stupidly did it anyway, probably wishing for his father to listen for once, to put the blame on someone else than his son. It wasn’t Billy’s fault if Max was fucking unruly and loud and such a bitch. It wasn’t Billy’s fault if the parents were three hours late. Why did Billy had to be the scapegoat for that bitch’s mistakes? Why did she even need a fucking babysitter, huh? She was thirteen! Billy used to swim in the ocean with his buddies, unsupervised, at her age!
For the love of fucking God!
Billy didn’t allow himself more than a sharp intake of air, a grunt, not whine. Neil would just thrive on his pain. The boy kept his fear hidden in his heart, his pulse speeding up as his father’s warning glare pined him on the spot, his blood turning to ice in his veins. He did his best to keep his breathing even, but it trembled when Neil’s jaw clenched threateningly. They stared at each other, doing this fucking contest for the millionth time, like Billy wasn’t going to be defeated for the millionth time.
Of course, Neil fucking lost it because of Max. He couldn’t just lose it for anything else, lately. It was always about his perfect stepdaughter, about this child he didn’t consider a fucking disappointment, an insult to his name. Max was his precious golden child, and Billy was his faggot son.
“What did we talk about?” He asked low, keeping up with this façade of composure and calm just before he struck his son in the face, Susan groaning like she had been the one to be at the receiving end the punch. Neil forced Billy to look at him again, pushing his head to press against a shelf, fingers painfully digging in his jaw. His cheek stinged. “What did we... talk about?”
He allowed his son to lower his chin so that he could answer, those words scarred into his flesh, burned in his brain:
“Respect and responsibility.” His voice sounded like it was passing through a crackling phoneline to his own ears, Billy’s throat hurting as he forced the words out.
“That is right.” Neil nodded slowly, so close to Billy he could feel the pressure of his anger on his shoulders. “Now, apologize to Susan.”
Billy didn’t fucking want to apologize to that spineless bitch. He didn’t want to obey, didn’t want to be the powerless victim of his dad’s temper again and again and again. He wanted to push his dad off him and tear down the walls of this fucking house. He wanted to trash and scream and cry, but he couldn’t, and he was starting to feel the storm of his emotions gathering into tears in his eyes. Billy felt like a rain of knives was pouring down on him, he was disgusted by himself for his cowardice, for this terror gripping his gut. Neil had his claws on him, and the boy was helpless. He couldn’t save himself, and Susan wouldn’t save him, and nobody would be able to do anything to heal this wound both his parents had left on his soul.
His mom had left him, his dad hated him.
Billy didn’t deserve love, and he had learned early to never expect it from anyone. That was why he didn’t allow himself to give his to anyone either. That as why he knew he’d end up exactly like his fucking father, and he didn’t want that. He didn’t want to become like Neil, but he couldn’t escape it. Billy couldn’t escape himself.
“I’m sorry Susan.” He said, his heart sinking one more time in his chest.
“It’s okay, Neil, really-“
“No, it’s not okay. Nothing about his behaviour is okay.” Neil interrupted his wife, keeping his eyes on Billy like a predator would on its prey. “But he’s gonna make up for it.” It wasn’t a question, or a demand. It was an order. “He’s gonna call whatever whore he’s seeing tonight and cancel their date.” Susan lowered her eyes at the crude language, Billy’s entire being revolting at the injustice, knowing he couldn’t do anything but obey. “And then, he’s gonna go find his sister.” Billy pointedly did not react. Move and you’re dead. “Like the good, kind, respecting brother that he is. Isn’t that right, Billy?”
No. NO.
Billy was barely holding on, eyes glassy with unshed tears, trembling with rage. He was breathing, but he felt like something was choking him. He had no control, no control at all. It was devastating. He felt like he had been kicked in the stomach over and over again. Neil’s words were as painful as his fists. His dad’s orders were as agonizing as his punches.
“ISN’T THAT RIGHT?” The man, who wasn’t even taller than his son, suddenly towered over him, his tenebrous fury shaking the child to his core.
“Yes sir.” He breathed weakly, fighting himself to keep his eyes leveled with his dad’s.
He flinched when Neil took a step closer to him, leaning in like Billy’s answer hadn’t thundered in the deadly silent room.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t hear you.”
Breathe. Breathe-breathe- don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.
“Yes.” He repeated sorely. “Sir.”
Neil stared at him, searching for arrogance, for fear. His dad was looking for this terror he knew he was installing in his child’s soul.
“Find Max.” He ordered, the finality of his voice like a stab in the young man’s heart.
His dad stepped away, leaving his dark, suffocating presence hovering over Billy, and the blond broke down when the door of his room was closed.
Perfect. Fucking perfect.
That fucking bitch. That fucking bitch. Fucking Maxine.
That fucking bitch had disappeared – again – and right under his fucking nose. She knew, she fucking knew what would happen to Billy if she did something like this. She knew he’d be the one punished for her mistakes, for her disobedience, for her fucking attitude and disrespect. Max knew, and she had fucking ignored it.
Fucking- FUCK!
Billy was going to kill her. If Neil didn’t kill him first, Billy swore he’d peel her skin off her fucking bones.
She was fucking dead. D. E. A. D.
Dead.
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Finding the bitch was easier said then done.
Billy had close to zero idea where she could be, and it’s not like he was going to roam around town without at least a little lead on her whereabouts.
He figured he’d start with that boy’s house, since Max seemed to be friends with him. Or not. Billy really couldn’t give less of a shit. Max would face his wrath either way.
Shitbird.
He was going to kill her.
That was what he kept remind himself as he slammed the door od his car close, glaring at the front door of the Sinclairs home. There was no car in the driveway, but Billy could see through the living room blind that someone was watching TV.
He would have expected to meet Mr. or Mrs. Sinclair, would have been all charming and respectful like the ‘good, kind brother’ that he wasn’t, but the door swung open to reveal a gremlin in pyjamas and a frankly irritated expression on her face.
Obviously, this was Sinclair’s little sister, and judging by the look in her eyes, she was less than happy. Billy stared at her, unprepared. He hadn’t expected a child to answer the door so uncaringly.
“Huh, hi.”
“Who are you?”
Fucking rude, first of all. She shouldn’t be sounding so goddamn annoyed.
“I’m Billy. Hargrove.
Baby Sinclair made a face, clearly unimpressed – and sure, this wasn’t Billy’s most eloquent greeting, but h was a little taken aback here so give him some slack – by the blond, who was so much taller than her she should be looking at him with her neck cracked back, simply staring from under her knitted brows.
“You look like a criminal.”
Billy bit the inside of his cheek as the little girl judged him, seemly unafraid. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or scowl at her. What was she even doing answering the door like this, huh? What if Billy really had been a criminal? What then? She wouldn’t be able to do much to stop him with those small arms of hers. But she looked vicious, maybe she bit. Still, why was she answering him right now? Weren’t there any adults in this fucking house?
“I wouldn’t have knock if I was a criminal.” He stated the obvious, impassible, choosing to shive his shimmering anger – lingering emotion of his little ‘talk’ with his dad – buzzing at his fingertips.
He had this urge to punch a wall pulsing in his veins, and he didn’t want to play this little game he seemed trapped in with this kid, but he’d force himself to calm the fuck down to get the information he needed. The faster he’d get what he wanted, the faster he could fuck off.
Her eyes narrowed, clearly inconvenienced by his logic. “...I guess.” She reluctantly agreed. “Doesn’t change the fact that you look like one.”
Argh, she was such a little shit. Billy didn’t have time for this.
“Where are you parents?” He wanted to leave right now, so things needed to speed up a little.
“Out.” She replied curtly, giving him a judging glare from her full three feet tall, six-year-old height, maintaining eye-contact with his flat stare.
Terrifying. Billy was trembling in his boots.
“And they left you alone? Aren’t you like, seven?” He asked, eyes wide with judgment.
Was everyone in small towns so fucking trusting of each other enough to leave their children alone in a house with no supervision whatsoever?
“No, you blond freak. My parents didn’t leave me alone. And I’m nine, asshole, not seven. And it’s completely unfair because Lucas is twelve and he gets to do what he wants all the time.” She complained like a whiny little baby, making a face. “My babysitter fell asleep on the couch. She’s an incompetent. Never wants to play dolls with me or let me watch cartoons after dinner. And she says no ice cream after six. Like it changes something. She’s so stupid.”
What the fuck was his life? Where the hell did he go wrong? He was discussing babysitter skills with that twerp like they were best friends. Fucking shit.
“Yeah, she sounds stupid.” He agreed, royally uninterested. “Look, I’m looking for my stepsister, Max? Redhead, small, bit of a bitch? You know who I’m talking about?”
“That new girl?”
“Yeah, tHAt nEw giRL.” He repeated sarcastically.
God he had no patience for this tonight.
“She’s really cool, with her skateboard.” Baby Sinclair chose to fucking annoy him to death then, clearly not understanding that Billy was going to fucking lose his cool if she kept trying to distract him with her small talk.
That skateboard was broken, thanks to Billy. She had deserved it.
Or that was what he liked to remind himself when the guilt would creep in.
“I think she’s even cooler than My Little Pony, but at the same time, nothing can be cooler than Applejack. But Max is a bit like Applejack, she even has orange hair, like Applejack. I guess that’s why I think she’s cool.”
Formidable.
“So, she’s here?”
“Does it look like she’s here?” Bitch. “How did you even lose her in Hawkins? The place’s so small, you really are dumb if you managed to lose her here.”
Billy’s eyes narrowed fiercely. That little... She was just asking for him to snap, wasn’t she? The little monster. Billy could appreciate the recklessness, the sheer bossy energy she had. She was almost cool. Almost. If she wasn’t so fucking irritating. If Billy wasn’t so already on edge with Neil breathing down on his neck and Max running off like there wouldn’t be any consequences.
“Look, you little shit, I only asked you if you know where she is.”
“Look, you mullet freak, I don’t know where your sister is, okay? I don’t care.” She grumbled, imitating him just because, and then rolling her eyes like she was suddenly remembering some piece of information that would liberate the Californian from this fucking nightmare. “I know she hangs out with my stupid brother and the losers he’s friends with, but I haven’t seen her today. Anyway, they’re probably all at Mike’s, or at Will’s, to play their dumb, nerd boardgame.” She scoffed, probably thinking they were all ridiculous, like she was above being as fucking nerdy as them. ‘My Little Pony’? Yeah, nerdy.
“You mean Zombie Boy’s house?”
It was messed-up for an entire town to bully a child like this, call him names, but Billy just wanted to make sure he wasn’t mistakenly going to knock at someone’s front door who wasn’t the ‘Will’ she was talking about.
“It’s Will.” She was going to bite him; he could feel it.
“When you say Mike, you’re talking about Wheeler’s little brother?” He chose to ignore her answer.
“Duh.” She rolled her eyes like the fucking condescending little shit she clearly was. Billy had to admit he didn’t hate her attitude, even though she was wasting his fucking time and testing his patience. “What other Mike could I be talking about? You know another Mike in this town? I don’t think so.”
Yep, she was an arrogant smartass. Billy had no fear for her well-being in the future given that she was respecting absolutely no one when it came to obvious questions and even more obvious answers. She was going to be an absolute savage. Billy prayed for whoever would be the victim of her wrath once she’d be taller than his knee.
“Great. Thanks.” He said, not bothering to be civil as he whipped around and climbed back in his Camaro, his baby purring when he put the key in the contact, his lights illuminating a suspicious-looking Baby Sinclair just before she slammed the door of her house close.
The blond scoffed, rolling his eyes and shifted gears before driving away.
Next stop: the Wheelers’.
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Billy was starting to wonder if everyone in this fucking town wasn’t some sort of science project gone wrong or something. First with that little shit Sinclair attacking him verbally, and now with... this.
Honestly, the young Californian would have expected anything but to come face to face with a grown ass woman in her bathrobe to answer the insistent and annoying ringing of the bell he had going on for a minute there. She was probably Wheeler’s mom, judging by the mature-looking... everything, but Billy had an image to keep up with and his irritation disappeared the moment the door opened, leaving nothing but charming swagger on his features. Of course, he didn’t miss the way Mrs. Wheeler’s expression changed when she saw him, nor could he ignore the way she glanced at his unclothed chest, something lighting up in her eyes.
The way she looked back up at his eyes was carnal and a shiver of disgust rolled down his spine, skin prickling under the attention he was receiving from a classmate’s fucking mom.
“Oh. Hi.” He said, smiling broadly, lowering his gaze to her chest for a moment, playing the game, putting his hands in his jacket pockets to hide the way his fists curled, knuckles white.
“Hi.” She answered, at loss, her hormones probably fucking with her mind because she kept looking at his body shamelessly, barely trying to hide her intrigued, perverse interest.
“I, uh, didn’t realize Nancy had a sister.” He dropped his voice down an octave, words coated in honey-sweet flattery, making sure he kept his tone suave as Mrs. Wheeler chuckled, speechless, and Billy stared at her like he was trying to flirt because apparently it was working with that one, deciding to play dumb. “What’s so funny?” He asked, smooth and sure of himself in his skills to sway that mom right into his little game.
“I’m Nancy’s mother.” Of fucking course she was, Billy could see it. Fucking cow, she was so goddamn easy to manipulate.
“No.” He replied, faking disbelieving.
“Yes.” She chuckled, highly flattered and probably imagining things already. He could see it shimmering in her eyes.
The interest. Jesus fucking Christ, it was almost close to arousal. Billy shoved down a shiver of disgust, exclaiming quietly his not-real-at-all amazement. “Mrs. Wheeler.”
“Um, I’m sorry.” She stammered, suddenly remembering she was basically flirting with a sixteen-year-old boy. Who happened to know his daughter because he was unfortunately stuck with the priss-bitch in all his classes. “And you are?”
“Billy. Billy Hargrove.” He introduced himself, the light of her confused embarrassment vanishing as he took her hand in his, skin crawling at the contact.
“You must be here for Nancy.”
Fuck no he wasn’t. He would never be caught dead looking for fucking Nancy Wheeler.
“Nancy?” He laughed lightly. “No, no, no. Not my type.” Really not. His type was taller and more muscular, with puffy hair and dark hazel eyes hiding a fire behind a cold façade. His type also happened to have a cock between the legs. His type was a preppy-looking rich jock who was called Steve Harrington, but nobody needed to know that. “Uh... No, actually, I am looking for my little sister Max. Goes by Maxine.”
Mrs. Wheeler looked beyond confused again, and Billy was wondering if she even knew what was happening in her children’s lives. By the way Max had been acting lately, her ‘friends’ seemed to have pissed her off, and he would have expected the mother to at least be aware of the new girl who had befriended ‘Lucas and the losers he’s friends with’.
“She’s been missing all day, and uh, to be honest with you, I’ve been worried sick, you know, so...” He lied through his teeth like a snake, keeping up with this picture of the perfect, kind older brother who just wanted to make sure his little sister wasn’t dying in some ditch in this fucking boring town.
The cow he was speaking with seemed so moved by his concern, so weak for his little show, it was almost too fuckin easy. So Billy figured he could tempt her a little, because why not? She was already almost trying to eat him up with her eyes, maybe he could give her something to think about when she’d feel a little lonely. Or when her husband wouldn’t be able to satisfy her.
Billy could hear him snore in the house.
“I thought she was at Lucas’, but his sister said your house is the...” A boyish smile crept on the corner of his lips, staring intensely into her eyes. “...The designated hangout, so, you know... Here I am.” He leaned in, tilting his head a little cockily, wetting the inside of his bottom lip, pushing for indecency.
Mrs. Wheeler melted, eyes fixated on his tongue, licking her won lips like she was suddenly feeling hot all over, and Billy’s skin was prickling like needles were being stabbed in his flesh. She had a little bit of trouble to speak, breathless, and Billy wanted to roll his eyes at her. Were Hawkins’ husbands so fucking boring and bad in bed that the mothers here had to lust after teenagers? Or was it just a Mrs. Wheeler’s thing? Billy had received enough hungry looks from those moms to know it was a wide-spread disease in this hick town. And it wasn’t like the husbands weren’t doing the same thing with girls like Chrissy Cunningham with her cheerleader uniform.
Fucking hell, Billy hated this town.
Mrs. Wheeler let him in, offering him home-baked cookies as she wrote down the instructions to get to the Byers, the last fucking house – hopefully – he’d have to drive to to find that fucking little shitbird. The woman’s robe had slipped at some point and Billy couldn’t more than disinterest in her cleavage as he took the paper from her hand with a slick snatch on his fingers.
“When you see Mike, tell him to come home already, okay?” Oh now she was worried about her kid, huh? Billy wanted to get the fuck out of here. Now.
“You’re a real lifesaver, you know that?” He smiled, snapping a cookie between his teeth and feeling like he was about to do the same, urging to shake that look in her eyes away from him.
God just fucking get me out of here.
“Anytime.”
Oh he was sure she’d be more than fucking delighted to do this little fucked-up charade again. Anything to distract herself from that bland-looking ass husband she had sleeping on the lazy-boy there.
“I’ll see you later.” He promised – as if – with a final penetrative look in her eyes, feeling her eyes tracking him like a predator as he walked out of her house.
The rain of shivers that irrupted on his skin when he closed the door behind him shook him to the bone, crushing the cookie between his fingers and spitting the rest of it on the ground before he went back into the safety of his car.
The itch under his skin remained, this violence brewing in his blood lingered, and even with his foot heavy on the gas pedal, he couldn’t scratch this irritating fury nested in his heart. The thorns of his pain dug in his lungs, he felt breathless because of his rage. He couldn’t help but feel he was slipping, blinded by this overwhelming storm of fear and anger.
Billy had near to zero control in his life. He’d lose his shit soon; he could just feel it.
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The dump Billy parked himself in front of was stuck between trash and a gloomy, dark wood. It wasn’t surprising since the entire town was surrounded by fucking woods, but his lights were stabbing through a faint fog, and that gave him the creeps. This entire place was giving him the heebie-jeebies. Billy’s eyes couldn’t see beyond the light, and for some reason the somber atmosphere hanging over the world’s asshole – literally. This house, it was literally in the world’s asshole. This was the most backwater-looking place he had ever seen in his life – was setting his instincts on edge.
The blond’s attention was caught by movement on the Byers’ porch. Lean, tall legs, hands on oh so good-looking hips, a little frown on a perfect face and fluffy chestnut hair completing the signature look of a familiar-looking pretty boy.
“Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?”
The violence shimmering under Billy’s skin was pushing to be let out, and now seeing Pretty Boy Steve Harrington standing in front of him like a frowning mother was doing things to him. Maybe it was the light in those brown eyes, that guarded wariness laying deep in his gaze. Harrington was playing nonchalant annoyance in seeing the Californian disrupting his evening, as his reply – full of bored indifference – showed Billy. Harrington’s less than excited tone of voice had Billy going fucking feral, his attitude – this ‘King Steve’ persona of cold inconvenience – like oil on the already furious fire of the blond’s emotions, like an electric shot lighting his nerves on fire. Billy couldn’t believe he’d see him tonight.
Which prompted the question: what the fuck was Harrington doing here?
Not only was this place absolutely a fucking wreck, a goddamn dump, but it was also not Harrington’s residence. Billy was pretty sure Harrington lived halfway across town, in one of those insanely gigantic mansions of Loch Nora’s perfect little neighborhood. Billy’s anger was bubbling like magma in his ribcage, his sight starting to tunnel down to what was in front of him, and what was in front of him was Harrington, blocking his path to the house, in which his fucking demoness of a little sis- of a stepsister was hiding. The blond nostrils flared, shaking his leg a little while he took a drag of his cigarette to chase his irritation, the violence, away.
It wasn’t working.
It wasn’t working because Harrington – the pretty, so fucking pretty-looking boy Billy was going insane for already – was fucking lying to him, lying and hiding Max from him, covering for her like a goddamn idiot because that bitch and her friends – and look at that, wasn’t that that boy he just saw? – were at the window and perfectly visible. Poor Harrington. He probably asked them to stay away from the window, but unfortunately for him, kids were fucking monsters and they didn’t listen to anyone, especially when their safety was on the line. And Billy’s mood was turning dangerously dark, horribly close to snap.
He was going to lash out.
He felt a little bad for Harrington. The guy looked so earnest in trying to protect Max from Billy’s anger. Sadly, Billy’s anger was blinding his ability to think like a fucking human being – it turned him into a monster, like his dad – and Harrington was on the ground before he had the time to explain why Max was in a stranger’s house with Steve Harrington and three other boys. And no adult in sight. No adult and a high school senior known to be the local heartbreaker in this town. Billy didn’t think Harrington was a creep, but his behaviour was not helping his case, so he didn’t feel all that bad – lie – when he kicked him in the chest, cutting the air from his lungs, and left him to wheeze in pain on the dirty ground in front of the Byers’ house.
Max’s face when he kicked the door open and slammed it close behind him was worth a hundred slaps in the face, her terror clear in her eyes, her shame and apology on her features begging him to calm down. Billy didn’t give a shit about her guilt. She had ruined his night, he was going to ruin her fucking life.
It probably wasn’t necessary to mention that Billy was a little bit fucking pretty much pissed.
Taking out his anger on kids was not the way. It was not how Billy should have handled it. But he barely could hold himself together right now. The menacing shadow of his father was hanging above him, threatening to swallow him whole and corrupt him forever, and Billy shoved that boy against the shelving unit in the corner of the room, the thrill of violence that rolled down his shoulders making his sick. He was disgusted by himself, but his fury and his fear were blinding him from everything else.
“You’re so dead, Sinclair!” He screamed, shouted over the rush of blood in his hears, over his own mind telling him to ‘STOP, BILLY STOP!’ “You’re dead.”
Fury was replaced by excitement when Harrington came back to the rescue, punching him away from Sinclair and finally planting his fucking feet for once. Billy couldn’t help but laugh, dark adrenaline shooting up his veins. He laughed like he had been told the most hilarious fucking joke in this fucked-up world, laughed because the sting of the pain was real and he could barely feel it, laughed because he was exactly like his dad and it was killing him inside.
Billy was losing control.
“Looks like you’ve got some fire in you after all, huh?” He grinned like a maniac at the brunet. He could feel the blood tickling form his nose. Harrington had a mean punch, huh. Surprising. “I’ve been waiting to see this King Steve everybody’s been telling me so much about.” He stepped in the other guy’s space, almost going chest to chest with him, meeting Harrington’s glare with one of his own.
Harrington lifted his hand to his chest, and when he touched his skin... Fucking hell, Billy’s fucking soul trembled. Heat spread from that single point where pale fingers pushed him back, the blond’s heart sinking to the bottom of his stomach like a fucking rock when he saw the rejection in those doe eyes.
“Get out.”
Billy’s sanity snapped. Honestly, it was inevitable. He was constantly being tested, constantly being pushed past his limit, and you would have thought he’d get used to it by now. Everything always hurt, and his own powerlessness to grab a hold on his own life was exhausting, infuriating. It made him dangerous, it made him paranoid, it made him angry.
And that anger was putting everybody around him on edge. They were all walking on eggshells. Billy himself was walking on thin fucking ice.
And now the ice was cracking, the echoes of his shattered reason like the rumbles of thunder in this desolated field of icy emptiness that was burning in his heart.
Billy knew he had to stay calm. He knew he needed to keep his cool, to think rationally, to not get his anger fuck up everything. He knew he had to keep control of himself, of his rage. He had to keep control. He had to keep a leash on himself. He had to.
But here was the thing:
Billy never had control.