bébé quel est ton groupe sanguin?

Road Trip

Billy left on a Tuesday afternoon. It felt impulsive but it wasn't, he'd found himself packing in increments, slowly but surely filling his car with nearly everything he owned. He'd barely noticed how his glove box was filled to the brim with tapes, how the trunk was piling up with clothes and shoes, how there was no room in the backseat for anything other than books and trinkets that he'd collected over the years. He hadn't paid attention to how the room that he'd called his own for the past year, was ever so gradually emptying itself over the past month or so.

Billy had been living his life on autopilot since his possession. A couple months of recovery time wasn't enough for him to return to any form of normalcy. He couldn't comprehend how the whole town, it seemed, had begun moving on or how everyone there that night had been ignoring what had happened. Billy just couldn't forget, but man, did he want to. He wished that he could be like the others, that he could laugh, that he could look on the bright side of things. That he could just be grateful that he had survived. It didn't seem possible. He couldn't forget or ignore the way it felt to have no control of his own body. He lay awake every night, wanting to tear off his skin. He couldn't forget what it felt like to die. He remembered everything, and sometimes he wished, oh how he wished, that he had just died so that he didn't have to remember, so that he could forget, so that the only living he had to do was to live on in the memories of those who had known him.

He thinks the worst part of all is that he doesn't recognise himself. He isn't the same person anymore. At some point he'd lost himself and that's what he hates the most. For all his flaws, Billy had liked himself. He wasn't insecure within himself. He trusted himself. He could look in the mirror and be proud of the reflection looking back at him. He was confident. No matter the trials and tribulations, he knew who he was and he was fucking pleased with it. What Billy wanted more than anything was to feel that way again.

Billy had thrown himself in his Camaro, his baby. His car had been like a bruised apple after the incident at the mall. The entire driver's side was busted and bent and scraped and scratched. One thing Billy could look back positively on throughout this whole situation was that the thing possessing him hadn't spent any of his cash and so he was able to get his beautiful baby repaired. He hadn't been charged with what he should've been, that much was clear. Billy could just tell that the mechanic would have rather scrapped his car altogether than tackle any kind of repairs, but Billy was officially a well known character among the citizens of Hawkins and collective pity evidently runs deep. Therefore, his car had been repaired at a grossly cheap price, but he wouldn't complain, he didn't. He had taken the offering and ran with it. Frankly, it was the least this town had to offer him.

Driving through the streets of Hawkins was an experience that Billy looked forward to never putting himself through again. It looked as boring as it had the first time he'd explored but now he knew different. There was something rotten in this town, only now he could feel it. He could feel it grating in his bones. Billy had thought he'd hated this town before, but now he felt ridiculous. It was impossible to put into words the way in which he absolutely loathed with every breath to still be there. Billy had never wanted to leave more. He had to leave, to go, to split. He couldn't catch a good breath, he felt winded everyday, like the tentacles of the monster were lodged in his chest forever. Like they had never left.

He just wanted to leave.

Billy drives, for the last time, past the places that hold the most memories for him. He drives past the school he attended, Hawkins High. He thinks back to his arrival and smiles grimly to himself. He remembers how he rode into the parking lot, music blaring obnoxiously, stepping out with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and sunglasses on. He remembers being impactful. Thinking back to that time, Billy remembers how he could make a scene without even trying, because he wasn't. He just had that air about him, one that made people stop and stare, that made people either flock to him or flee from him. He remembers meeting Tommy and Carol, how they had flocked to him, how they had taken him into their small group, giving him the down low, the what's what and who's who. He remembers seeing Steve, after hearing about his fall from grace and wondering why he was ranked so highly in the first place. He remembers the way he had gone out of his way to antagonize Steve, poking and prodding him to find out what would make him snap and reveal what had been so special about him and finding that he came up short. Billy remembers, most of all, the night that he had smashed Steve's face in when he was high on adrenaline, rage and injustice. He drives away.