Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Nightmares

Hey, have any of y'all seen the YouTubers 'Pretty Much It' s commentary tracks for Stranger Things? They did all three seasons and I was cracking up watching them. They shared a lot of my criticisms too, but they did it in a hilarious way. And, best of all, they loooove Billy so much! I feel like everyone trashes him just because he's a villainous character without acknowledging the complexities of his backstory and how good Dacre's performance is, but these guys totally get it. I'll put the video for their reaction to the first season in case you want to check it out!!!

The phone ringing startled me out of my slumber, my limbs flailing against my will, causing me to tumble off the couch and smack my head on the coffee table. White-hot pain bloomed above my eyebrow, spreading through my skull, so excruciating I nearly threw up. Involuntary sobs escaped my mouth, my throat raw from sugary foods sitting in my mouth all night, trembling as I waited for the agony to pass.

But it didn't, the shrill, piercing tone of the telephone making the pain grow and grow with every ring. Finally, I pushed myself onto my knees, my vision growing and shrinking like an image in a funhouse mirror as my brain tried to recover from the trauma. Using the couch to haul myself off the floor, I slowly crept around to the phone, my skull throbbing with each step.

"Who is it?" I barked, not caring who was on the other line.

"Blondie?"

Somehow, my headache doubled in intensity, my vision going blurry in my right eye. "What the fuck do you want?"

"You need to bring Max home right now; Susan wants to take her for a haircut."

"Um, okay, but I shouldn't bring her to your house myself because she's supposed to be at her friend's for a sleepover." I touched my brow, my finger coming back wet with dark red blood, making my stomach roll over like an obedient dog. "Meet me at the Unicorn Cafe; I'll bring Max with me. No one will be there this early in the morning."

"Alright, see you in twenty."

I hung up the phone, my knees buckling as a mouthful of sprite gurgled up past my soft palate, but I hastily swallowed it down. Limping over to the kitchen, I poured myself some orange juice, draining half the glass before topping it off again. With a start, I realized there was a half-full pan of chocolate chip cookies. Did Mom or Steve make these while I slept? No, it wasn't even nine yet on a Sunday. I must've gotten up in the middle of the night, baked a pan of cookies, ate half, then went back to sleep. Thank God I remembered to turn off the oven before passing out again.

Back in my room, Max was still asleep, her red hair splayed across my pillow. I tiptoed into the bathroom, closing the door and locking it, taking a moment to absorb the cold blackness of the early winter morning before flicking on the light. 

In the mirror, illuminated by stark, fluorescent bulbs, my wound looked especially gruesome, the blood matted into my hair and eyebrows, painting my entire forehead red. I splashed water on my face, rust-colored droplet dripping down my nose and cheeks, before soaking a washcloth in rubbing alcohol and cleaning the gash. Thankfully, it was no longer bleeding, so I just had to slap a square band-air over the cut and lay my blond locks carefully over it.

Even though I knew we only had a few minutes to get ready and drive to the Unicorn Cafe, I was reluctant to wake Max up, not wanting to disturb her. The idea of sending her home with Billy, to live under the same roof as Neil Hargrove, with a mother who clearly didn't know how to protect her daughter, made me sick.