Billy Hargrove might rule the corridors of Hawkins High as the bully. Yet, behind closed doors at home, he's the victim, tormented by his own father. His mother abandoned him, so he has no defender against his abuser.
But at school, Steve Harringto...
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The clock on the wall ticks away, each second stretching out like an endless road, leading to the inevitable hour when Billy's father will return home. Today is different. Yet ... painfully the same—a grim anniversary marking six years since his mother left.
He's learned the hard way that on this day, each year, his father's volatile emotions will erupt. Billy is vacating the house to avoid his Neil's uncontrollable temper, which will inevitably manifest in physical abuse.
Tonight, like every year, Billy can't stay home.
His mind flashes back to last year's dreadful evening. The past—still present—event carves itself into his memory with unnerving detail.
Neil bursts into the house, like a dark storm cloud in human form.
'Hey Billy.' His face contorts into a grimace that tries but fails to resemble a smile.
'Hey Dad,' he says, trying to gauge his father's unpredictable mood.
Neil heads straight for the liquor cabinet, pouring a glass of whiskey that's more like a bowl. 'You remember what today is, don't you?'
Billy nods. 'Yeah, the day she left us.'
'You think she ever thinks about us? No! It's like we never existed for her!'
'But ... we still exist for each other, right?' Billy ventures, aiming for conciliation.
'You think that's enough?' Neil glowers. 'Do you have any idea how hard it's been for me?' His father lashes out before Billy can muster a response, backhanding him across the face with a force that sends him sprawling onto the floor. 'You ungrateful brat! You have no idea what it's like to be abandoned!'
Blood trickles down Billy's lip. His cheek stings and his eyes well up. Not so much from the physical pain, but from the crushing weight of emotional abandonment.
Billy vows to himself that he'll never let it happen again. He won't be home on this cursed date, each year, to escape his father's rage.
Billy has no illusions about his father's temperament miraculously changing this year. He knows he must leave before Neil finishes his work shift as a security guard at a bank.
He lingers holding a photograph of Billy and his mother, capturing a frozen moment of happiness. Her absence pervades the space, an ever-present spectre that turns the clock's ticking into a haunting lullaby of what once was.
Shining blue eyes enhance her beautiful features, and long, wavy blonde hair frames her face. She's wearing a white flowing dress with a blue and red flower. A butterfly necklace that Billy had given her on Mother's Day adorns her neck. She supported his surfing hobby and encouraged him to be kind, unlike his father who hated whenever Billy showed any hint of sensitivity.
She called Billy after she abandoned Neil. Only once. She promised she'd come back to take Billy with her ... but she never did. She just moved on with her life and forgot her son. Maybe, he too, should forget her existence.
Billy conceals his mum's picture in a car craft magazine, which he keeps on the top shelf of his wardrobe. He heaves out a breath, glances at his wristwatch, and he knows it's time. The room seems to exhale as he walks out, seeking a cruel yet necessary freedom.
Billy slips into his car and turns the key in the ignition. He does it one, twice, multiple times.
'Not now.'
The engine coughs, sputters, stutters, and gives a mournful groan. The engine appears to turn over but refuses to catch, making only a pathetic, whining sound before dying again.
He gets out of the car. Smoke gently curls up from beneath the hood, and the scent of burnt oil tickles his nose. Billy pops the hood open and steam hisses out, brushing against his face. He squints, trying to make out the source of the problem.
'Starter motor, maybe?' he muses, hoping it isn't the engine itself.
He checks the connections, nudging the wires to see if they're snug and properly connected. Following the lines, he tests the battery terminals, ensuring they're not corroded. He traces his way to the alternator, checking if the belt has snapped or loosened. There's a distinct smell of burnt rubber.
'Dammit, is it the serpentine belt? Or maybe the radiator's done for?' He inspects, searching for any obvious anomalies.
Billy's Camaro has always been more than just a car to him. It's a roaring beast that bends to his will and mirrors his spirit. Yet, tonight, in the most inconvenient moment, it's betraying him. It'll offer no refuge, no quick escape to some safe, distant spot where he can let his guard down.
He grits his teeth. His own two feet will have to carry him to some undefined sanctuary. He wonders where he will go.
It doesn't matter. Any place is better than home.
Beneath the sky awash with hues of orange and pink, changing into darker shades of blue, Billy moves away. His boots meet the cracked pavement, each step distances him from the house. Each stride is a shaky breath of fresh air in a life stifled by sorrow and fear.
Maybe he'll wander aimlessly until the morning sun peeks over the horizon, bathing the world in a light that seems increasingly elusive in his own life.
Billy becomes a lone voyager, walking away from the storm but carrying it within him. He's choosing the lesser of two agonies, knowing that some homes are built from bricks of pain.
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