Hinder • {Bill Skarsgård}

||Chapter Fourteen||

Ella called in sick for work before lying back down. When she awoke, the sun had nearly gone down.

In an emotional daze, she took a shower. She blow dried her hair and fixed it up; curling it in loose waves. Alone and bored, she decided to take it a step further and put on some makeup.

She took a step back, staring at herself through the mirror in delight. It had been awhile since she had taken the time to dress herself up, just for her own pleasure. Subconsciously, this was Ella's way of coaxing herself out of the house. She had never had much coping skills—she either ran from her problems, or drank them away. Tonight, she was going to drink them away.

She put on her black pencil skirt, finding an off the shoulder white blouse hiding in the back of her closet. She put on some black heels and made her way downstairs before calling a cab.

She entered the bar, feeling uncomfortable the moment she stepped inside. It had been years since she had been inside a bar—alone. She wasn't sure exactly what she was doing there, but knew she needed a drink.

She took a seat, pulling her phone out of her purse. She scrolled through the contacts, staring at Dean's number. It had been twelve hours—Ella knew his flight had only lasted for about six of those hours. She wondered what was taking him so long to call; why twelve hours had passed without a single call or text message.

"What can I get you, miss?" The bartender asked, his jet black hair pulled tightly in a bun; the sides shaved, his face bearded.

"I'll have two shots of your finest whiskey and... a draft Heineken, please." Ella shook her head, amazed she was willing to drink so much.

She needed a buzz, and quick. It seemed as though her entire life was falling apart. Everything she had grown used to, the complacency and security bubble she had created had all been flushed away in a single week. Dean's silence had spoken volumes—she wanted to call him, to plead for his forgiveness, but ultimately decided against it. Perhaps he just needed to time.

Back to back, Ella turned up the shots. She chased the burn away with the cold brew, groaning quietly in disgust with a subtle shutter. She waved over the bartender, gesturing for more shots. It was the start of a depressing night, that much was for certain.

Two hours passed—Ella had lost track of how many drinks she had consumed. She stumbled in and out of the bathroom, unable to resist the urge to urinate after only two 12oz beers. The shots of whiskey didn't help.

Ella stepped outside, looking through her phone once more to be sure Dean hadn't called or texted—nothing. She called a cab, knowing it was in her best interest to go home. The more she thought about it, the more she realized just how much she didn't want to go there.

"Take me to the Mercer, please." Ella slurred slightly, biting down on her bottom lip. She was shocked by her own decision, but knew she couldn't handle being alone. She needed to see him—she needed to tell Bill that he had lost his side of the bet. But most of all, Ella had to be in his company. She'd never admit it sober, but Ella missed Bill—last night had confirmed her worst fear; she still wasn't over him.

Ella stumbled into the Mercer hotel, keeping her eyes to the floor as she tried to inconspicuously make her way to the elevators. It worked. She rode the shaft up to the sixth floor; carelessly (drunkenly) bumping her back into the steel rail that went around the mid portion of the elevator. When the doors opened with a ding, Ella sprinted into the hall.

She struggled to walk a straight line, moving toward room twelve. She stopped in front of the door, placing her hands on her hips in defeat. No matter the amount of alcohol in her system, deep down, Ella knew coming to Bill's hotel room was a bad idea.