The Devils Bargain | stuilly | billyxstu | stuxbilly

Chapter 14

The awaited day had arrived. After enduring three seemingly endless days, Billy came out of his room to join the group for the party. Although he wished he could claim to have spent that time meticulously planning, the truth was that, for at least two of those days, he had found himself asleep more than anything else.

Acknowledging that, is a bitter pill to swallow and that he's been sleeping more during the day than at night. He feels like a girl who's just been broken up with. Looking at his phone and wondering if Stu will call, but he hasn't. He imagines that if Stu calls, he'll decline it as some spiteful way to say fuck you to the universe, but he hasn't had his chance. Stu had made no attempt to contact him, and he knew it was his fault; this was the grave he dug, and he was going to sleep in it.

His mood has slowly but surely deteriorated, falling into a constant fit of spiteful rage and hate.

He knows exactly why his mood has been so bad. Stu, once again, infected him with a horrible existence. Billy's dreams had grown increasingly violent, but not the thrilling kind of violence that could entertain a horror enthusiast or serial killer. No, these dreams plunged him into that nightmarish scenario that left him waking up in a cold sweat, heaving for air.

The same haunting dream repeated itself over and over again, a relentless loop that refused to release him. Each recurrence tightened the grip of dread around his subconscious, leaving him to grapple with the residual terror upon awakening. The details of the dream blurred together, creating a chaotic and unsettling mosaic of images and emotions that haunted his waking hours, and it was driving him insane.

The murder part of the dream was messing with him, but he'd like to believe it was the easiest to move on from. He's used to watching horror movies, and Stu dying at the end was the most consistent, unchanging part. Billy had watched himself stab Stu enough times for him to be numb to it, but it still left him hollow once he woke up.

The first part of the dream, on the other hand, was proving to be quite troublesome for him. That part was the most flexible, never quite staying the same. He wishes he could forget, pretend, and move on. But denial is impossible when your mind is constantly bringing it back up, forcing him to stare right into something he refused with every atom of his being to admit and embrace.

Billy suspected that being very pent-up was another factor in his increasingly poor mood, with the number of mornings he'd woken up with morning wood just growing tiresome and all-around miserable.

No amount of quiet time was spent in the dark imagining anything but Stu was helping. At first, it'd work. He'd imagine himself kissing some girl; the face was always blurry in his mind, and just as it got hot and heavy and he'd lose himself in his lust, that girl would shift and change into the very person he was trying to forget. Stu was haunting him, and he'd angrily jerk himself off because he was too far gone to do anything else, and he'd be left, no better than he was before.

If this were the 1800s, he'd assume Stu was a demon and had cast some fucked-up lust curse on him.

Unfortunately, he knew better. Everything relating to that dream had dug itself deep into his very bones, leaving him wanting, and Billy didn't want . He isn't some whore who begs to get railed, and he sure as hell wasn't going to beg for Stuart Macher .

His mom had also grown increasingly annoying, coming in every so often to try and get him out. He doesn't understand why he seems to get so angry with her now. He just grew restless in her presence, and that needed to change sooner rather than later.

Billy has always had a temper; he was an angry dude, and he is happy with that personality trait, even if at times it was to his own detriment. But this was different, he seems to always be in a pool of anger, blowing up on anything that moves.

He's restless and frustrated, and he's so done with it all.

He steps down the stairs, the sun is already going down. When it got so late into the day, he didn't know. Time seems so irrelevant when you sit in a room with no light and in your own head.

Nancy's expression brightened upon seeing her son finally up and out of bed. Though she'd noticed the dark circles under his eyes, she hated seeing him in such a broken state. Nevertheless, she held onto the hope that he would overcome whatever he was going through. There were always tough moments, but she believed he would get past them.

"It's good to see you finally out of that room, Billy." His mom spoke, and Mickey was already here, wearing some cheap Halloween costume and eating a piece of toast from a plate.

Billy ignored his mom's comment, moving over to the table and throwing the folder onto the wooden surface, pulling out the blueprint and party poster for the university, mainly just stuff relating to his plan, and turning to Mickey with his now-permanent frown. "Everyone is going to be there, right?"

Mickey grinned a sinister glint in his eyes, chewing the toast a few times before swallowing. "You know it. They'll all be there."

"They've made some pact to stick together, so I'll be right there to make sure everyone plays their part."

Billy nodded, pulling out and sitting on the chair across from Mickey, ignoring the plate of food his mom had made for them both. "Good. Your job here is very simple. I plan to get in close for a kill, you need to make sure none of them get any ideas."

"I can take a one-on-one, but I can't have the entire group suddenly fighting back."

"It's fairly simple really, I don't expect you'll run into much trouble with it, and it'll also help keep your cover. We don't need them suspecting you have anything to do with this."

Mickey chewed down on his toast, nodding along as he grabbed his camera, but he kept it turned off. Billy had threatened quite harshly to break it if he continued to stick it in his face, and Mickey wasn't stupid enough to test that threat, so he kept the camera away from him now.

Making him just a little bit more bearable.

"What's my job, dear?"

Billy turned to his mom, passing over the phone. He never gave it back to Stu; not that it was a purposeful idea to take Stu's phone, but he just forgot about it with everything happening. Either way, it was their Ghostface phone now; the police most likely have an eye on the number, so it was best Stu wasn't using it for personal calls anyway.

It's not like he stole his only phone. The motel has a phone in every room.

"You'll be our voice. Be vague with it, you probably won't be able to keep track of me, and I don't need you getting them running before I get my chance."

"Stop worrying so much, my boy. Everything will go as you planned."

Billy still kept the sentiment that he didn't want his mom getting into fights anymore. Not even to keep her safe, but because she just wasn't a killer. Sure, she's taken lives, but she doesn't live and breathe it. She wouldn't be able to plunge a knife into someone who, in all terms, is just there to die. Not in a way that would satisfy him.

Not unless they insulted him. All her murder spirit comes out when someone says anything negative about him. He had seen it; the switch flipped after some big guy crashed into him on the streets and began getting in his face about watching where he was going.

When he saw his mom suddenly all murder rage and going up against a guy who was double her size with no fear in her eyes, it was certainly a sight to behold, but it was so situational that he found it'd just be better to send someone in who doesn't need some external drive.

Someone like him.

"Now that we have that all sorted out, I want to get in there before the party starts. Scope out the space a little. It's being run by a club, so they might have entry clearance to keep out—well, people like us."

"Especially after our little stunt a few days ago." Mickey hummed, standing up as he knocked his arm into Billy's shoulder, an unwanted friendly gesture. "Sounds good. I'll just go and call the guys. We are meeting at Sidney's dorm. Ill make sure to call you when we are on our way."

Mickey patted Billy's shoulder and back, and Billy just glared at him, keeping his temper down for the sake of tonight.

Mickey skipped out of the room, pulling out his phone, and Billy could hear his voice rattling on as he left the house.

Billy turned to his folder. Packing away everything and not noticing his mom coming around him, sitting down on the chair next to him.

She put her hand over the folder, breaking him out of his blank thoughts. "What is going on with you, Billy?"

"I'm not blind, you've been angry, and I can see something is troubling you, dear."

Billy turned his head. His immediate reaction was to glare and make his walls tougher, but he found his defences faltered against his mother's genuinely worried gaze. Usually, he'd get more angry when someone tried to care about him. He always saw it as an attack, rather than someone wanting to help.

But his mom's warm gaze always seemed to beat that, digging straight into his core. Not that he became some soft bitch when his mom got through to him, but he just found himself too tired to be openly snappy with her.

"It's nothing. I'm just dealing with stuff."

Her hand slid over to grip tight around his hand, and her eyebrows furrowed tighter. "I've heard your nightmares. When did they start?"

Billy felt his lungs restrict, boiling acid climbing up his throat. Unable to hold her gaze, he turned back to the folder, shamefully glaring at the innocent paper peeking through the blue plastic folder. "I said it was nothing."

"Just get off my back, would you?" Billy bit down on his bottom lip, his mother's comforting hold now feeling like cuffs on his hands, keeping him stuck in place.

"Is this about what we talked about? With Stu?"

Billy suddenly pulled his hands away, pushing the chair back as he stood up. He was so sick of his mom bringing Stu up. Why does everything have to be about him? She was right, but it's not like he could talk about his problems with her. He knows running will just answer the question for him, but he can't stay in that room anymore.

His mind swirled with a chaotic mix of emotions and violent, rage-filled thoughts, making it impossible to keep seated in the room for that conversation. If she were anyone else, she would have already taken the brunt of a broken nose and a bruised eye; that's how easy it was to trigger him now. Billy had no patience for his mom's prying inquiries, so he stormed out of the room, leaving his folder forgotten on the table.