Hinder • {Bill Skarsgård}

||Chapter Eighteen||

From the moment Bill's eyes opened, he was holding himself in contempt; a worthless fool who had made a mockery of himself. He had scorned Ella for running away from every bump in the road—from every obstacle she faced. Yet, when she refused to run from the problem this time, he had forced her out.

He sat up on the edge of the bed, groaning with puffed cheeks. He wished he could say the confrontation had been because of his inebriated state, but that would be a lie. Bill certainly had alcohol coursing through his veins; even the veins connecting to the second head he seemed to think the most with whenever he was near her.

He had kissed her.

Ella had told him that she was in love with him and he had kissed her. He had grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her into his hotel room and kissed her.

He thought better of it after it happened; the moment Ella moaned against his mouth, he realized he had fucked up. Bill had tried to warn her—he told her he was going to say or do something stupid. In this case, he had done both.

He dreaded picking up his car, he didn't want to face Ella, not after all the insensitive remarks and contradicting statements he had made to her. Something about Bill's conversation with Diane had struck a nerve—Ella had such a loving, understanding family. He didn't understand why she hadn't told them about their marriage when she had told them everything else.

After his routine cup of black coffee and a quick shower, Bill left the hotel suite. He was already requesting to be picked up by an Uber when he stepped on something in the floor just outside his door. He looked down, moving his foot out of the way to see what it was.

It was his car keys.

Bill bent down with a groan, picking up the set of keys, realizing that it was in fact, the keys to his car. He didn't have to go outside to know his car was going to be setting in lot. Ella had called a cab. As stubborn as she was, it wouldn't surprise him if she had walked home. The gesture of leaving his keys outside his door spoke volumes—Ella did not want to see Bill, not anytime soon.

_________

Ella lied on the couch, her hair a tangled mess with tracks of mascara down her face. She lounged in only a pair of panties and a spaghetti strap tank top, swiping through old photos on her phone.

She started drinking as soon as she came home and had only stopped when passing out at the crack of dawn. She awoke three hours later, just find herself picking up the bottle again. She didn't want to deal with another hangover, so the best solution was to simply not stop drinking.

She stared at a picture of Dean through her phone—smiling weakly at that silly face he was making. They had been to a restaurant off the shore during the summer; he had ordered the fresh lobster. He held the whole lobster to his face, acting as though it was trying to eat him. It was silly—ridiculous even. Ella had taken the picture without Dean's knowledge. It was a simpler time, it was the moment she realized she could grow to eventually love him.

The doorbell rang, pulling Ella out of her trance. She stood from the sofa, stumbling to set the glass of whiskey on the coffee table before staggering to the door. She had a pretty good idea of who was on the other side.

When she whipped the door back, she was shocked by the sight of who it was really standing on her porch.

Shay stood with folded arms, her maxi dress billowing in the faint summer breeze. With a cocked brow she stared back at Ella with wide eyes and a disapproving scowl.

"I thought you were in Santa Monica." Ella struggled to speak; it was as if her tongue was twice it's typical weight.

"You're drunk? It's not even noon!" Shay didn't wait for Ella to invite her in as she stepped past her with ease. The small brush against her had caused Ella to teeter back into the doorframe. She tried to roll her eyes at Shay's action, only to have them simply loll back.