Wayfarer [Bill Cipher x Reader] [REVISED]

Chapter Eleven: Up To No Good

"For the last time, I'm not interested, OK?"

Bill's loud, grating voice rang out for what felt like the thousandth time in the confines of the car as he continued to half-talk, half-shout with whoever the hell he was on the phone with. He'd been at it for at least half an hour already, and frankly, you wanted to throw your phone at him. You gritted your teeth. Could he just shut up already? You fiddled with the volume button of the radio, letting raucous pop roar forth. Like hell you were listening to another half an hour of this guy...

"'Cuz it's a temporary arrangement, okay, Ronnie? I ain't sticking around with her much longer." Bill's voice sliced across the music, clawing its way above the wail of the vocals. "Why bother?"

You clutched the steering wheel until your skin stretched painfully tight across your knuckles. Well, so much for that idea. A faint, just barely-audible reply sounded out from Bill's phone. "What? What kind of—?" He furrowed his brows. "What makes you think that, Ronnie?"

Another whisper of a reply made its presence known above the drum fill. "Hey, those were all her idea, not mine. So I got dragged a few places. What's that supposed to say about me?"

A pause. Bill's eyes flicked to you and then back to his phone. He pressed the phone closer to his ear, shifting towards the window. "Yeah, but not because of her," he said, his voice now just barely decipherable above the music. "Some of them were cool, ya know? The star thing was fun. I could do that again."

Another lull in the conversation. "Yeah, yeah," Bill replied. He rolled his eyes. "I'm positive."

A whisper of a whisper of a laugh sounded out from the other end of the line. "Yeah!" Bill yelled. "Just drop it already, will ya?"

The barest hint of a reply came through. "Don't be ridiculous," Bill replied. "That'll never happen."

Another barely audible reply. "Well, tech-ni-cal-ly... Melina isn't a zombie. She's more like... that Danny Phantom guy or whoever. A soul possessing its own corpse, ya know? She had her own thoughts and stuff and could, you know, talk in coherent sentences. And also—"

He paused. Then, he shook his head. "I'm getting off track. This ain't about Melina. It's about her. Now, listen to me, Ronnie." He pressed his phone into his face. "I. Do. Not. Want. Anything. To. Do. With. Her. I. Ain't. Apologizing. For. Jack. Squat. You can forget about it, ya hear? Forget about it!" he yelled.

He slammed the "end call" button. His face drew into a scowl as he leaned against the car window once more. He muttered something under his breath.

Your eyes flicked over to him. "The worst," you muttered to yourself. "The absolute worst." Talk about an asshole! He wouldn't even give you a damn "sorry" for all the trouble you went through, apparently. Your face screwed up. What the hell were you still doing with this guy?

No pretty face was worth this amount of trouble.

Of course, that whole thing couldn't be the end of your troubles that day, could it? A few hours later, as you drove down the highway, a few dark, shining dots appeared on the horizon. Cruising towards them, you began to make out their forms through the veil of the heat: cars, trucks, and eighteen-wheelers, all of whose forms you were rapidly approaching. What the heck? Why weren't they moving? What was going on?

You came to a halt behind one of the stopped cars. Turning towards the vehicle to your left, you rolled down the window. "Hey!" you called out. "What the heck is going on? Why aren't we moving?"

"Oh, this?" the other car's driver yelled back, gesturing at the line of vehicles. "Some guy down the road lost control and hit a couple other cars. It caused a big pile up in one of the lanes, so we gotta wait for the police or whoever to clear that up."