⠀⠀44. DEAR HEATHER

286 14 0
                                        

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

❛ DEAR HEATHER ❜

╸it's not you behind those eyes.

╸it's not you behind those eyes

Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.

             THE RED DOOR. Slowly creaking open with an eerie groan.

With delicate footsteps, the three girls stepped into the hallway, their damp hair clinging to their foreheads as they took in the immaculate decor—walls adorned with pristine family portraits.

This was Heather's house. The place where Eleven's visions had led them.

"Are you sure you don't want me to come with you?" Steve had asked when he dropped her off that afternoon, after Rory had told him what happened that morning in the locker room with the younger girls—and about what was coming next. But Rory didn't want to drag Steve into more trouble, especially with Billy. Despite their truce, they barely spoke—an unspoken effort to avoid further clashes. Their exchanges were nothing more than distant, polite greetings.

And with Billy acting strange—and likely about to be confronted that night—it wasn't a good idea for Harrington to be there. He'd only escalate things.

Aurora had never been to Heather's house before, so she was just as surprised as the others.

Soft string music filled the air, setting an elegant atmosphere, and then—

Laughter. Genuine, hearty laughter.

The three girls turned their heads towards the source of the sound, water dripping from their cloaks.

Uninvited, they stepped into the dining room, where, beneath a grand golden chandelier, Mr. and Mrs. Holloway sat at the table, indulging in a lavish, expertly prepared dinner, their glasses filled with expensive wine.

And sitting with them—Billy Hargrove.

As Rory took in the confused yet questioning expressions of the Holloways, it hit her—barging in like this had been invasive.

"Uh, we didn't mean to intrude, we're sorry... We knocked, but no one answered." Rory bit her lip, letting her gaze shift between the different faces.

Mr. Holloway turned to Billy. "I'm sorry, but who are these girls dripping all over my living room?"

He looked displeased, but strangely, not too upset. Something about this gathering felt off—eerily familiar, yet wrong.

Rory and Max swallowed hard. El, on the other hand, stared intensely at Billy—who, in return, simply chewed his food with an air of boredom. Boredom mixed with mild disapproval.

Billy chuckled, leaning back in his chair as he set his fork down. "I'm sorry," he began, his voice smooth, velvety.

"Is he drunk?" Max whispered into Rory's ear.

𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐁𝐎𝐘. ˢᵗᵉᵛᵉ ʰᵃʳʳⁱⁿᵍᵗᵒⁿWhere stories live. Discover now