Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Whiplash

Y'all, we're up to thirty friggin chapters already, I honestly can't believe it's gotten as long as it has. Super grateful to everyone that's still reading! 

My head throbbed with my dangerously quick pulse. If there is a God, he is a vicious demon and must hate me in every way to deliver such a punishment. The solitary gift I'd been granted was that Steve was allowed to sit opposite his 'friend' and I was across from his red-haired sister, who was the only middle-schooler I'd ever met who enjoyed asparagus. She rarely looked up from her meal and never spoke, so I kept my eyes trained on her and avoided conversation, but couldn't keep myself from listening on.

"When I found out that your boy and mine were teammates, I almost couldn't believe it," my father said to Neil while sipping an expensive Cabernet. 

"Very lucky that they were already friends," Mr. Hargrove agreed.

I would've smiled if I wasn't paralyzed with terror. This was the kind of father I could tolerate; not an abusive, violent monster, but just an arrogant man who knew so little about his own kids it bordered on comical.

"Actually I'm very familiar with both your children." This was the first time I'd heard Billy's voice say more than a 'pleasure to meet you' this whole night, and it stirred something viciously primal in me. "I'm a student in Deborah's art class, and we're actually partners since there are an odd number of students."

"Wow," my father said with a bleached smile.

"Yeah, she really helped me out of a bind." 

I glanced over at him because I'd look like a catatonic lunatic if I didn't. I tried to smile, but really I just managed to get the left corner of my mouth to twitch slightly.

"What a small world we live in," my mother noted.

"A small town actually." I stood up, putting the napkin that had been on my life beside the linguini and asparagus second-course dish that I'd left virtually untouched. "Pardon me, I just need to use the restroom."

Once I got out of the dining room, I yanked off my heels and dropped them on the floor, rubbing my sore toes. Then I jogged up the stairs, my bare feet producing almost no noise on the hardwood steps. I tiptoed to my parents' bathroom, avoiding the creaky spot in the hallway. I read the label on the Vicodin bottle out of sheer pretense. It said to take two tablets every six hours, which it had been since my first dose, just about, but I honestly couldn't give less of a shit. I'd rather spend the night in the ICU getting my stomach pumped than the rest of dinner with the Hargroves in my right mind. 

After I'd swallowed the Vicodin, I stood there, staring at half my face in the right side of the mirrored medicine cabinet. My lipstick was still perfect because I hadn't consumed a morsel of anything, not even water, but there was a greenness to my complexion, my foundation breaking up in my t-zone where nervous sweats had gotten the best of my makeup. And my eyes- they were the eyes of a stranger.

In a moment of impulsiveness, I took a Percocet, just one, hoping it would amplify the benefits the other pills. Then, before I could just take the plunge and overdose, I hurried out of the bathroom as though it were haunted. I took the stairs down to the first floor with the hair on my arms standing on end.

I sat on the bottom step to put my heels back on, and almost jumped out of my skin when another figure approached me.

"Jesus H. Christ, Billy, what the hell is wrong with you?" I exclaimed clutching my chest. "You gave me a fright."