Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Sins of the Father

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"Can I come in?"

My head snapped up from The Color Purple at the sound of Sal's voice behind my door. I'd spent the past twenty-minutes staring at one page, giggling intermittently at nothing, the Quaaludes throbbing through my bloodstream. I hadn't finished a book in weeks.

"Um, sure."

Sal entered slowly, closing the door behind him. He took even longer turning around, his celery green eyes glued to the floor. "We need to talk."

I swallowed thickly, sitting up straighter in bed, pulling my blanket over my lap, suddenly chilly. "Okay- shoot."

"Our fight has really been weighing on my mind."

"Mine, too," I lied. In reality, I'd been occupied with three distinct worries, and none of them concerned him.

First and foremost, I stressed about Max's wellbeing. Regardless of where I was, the thought of her alone in that house with Billy and Neil would strike my mind, set my teeth on edge. In the past week, she'd called me three times, and each time I heard her voice on the other line, my heart jumped into my throat. What it Billy hurt her again? What if she tried to hurt herself?

Paradoxically, warm feelings for Billy also occupied plenty of my mental space, especially at night. Every time I imagined him binding my wrists, biting my inner thighs, wrapped his broad hands around my throat, I worried there was something wrong with me. If I liked pain and domination sexually, and so did he, maybe I was destined to become an abusive piece of shit as well.

And then, in the moments just before sleep overtook me or right when I woke up, sometimes during a particularly long, hot shower, I experienced an existential agitation. I dropped out of college, lost my job, and my closest friend was a thirteen-year-old. I always thought I'd escaped my family, elevate myself above the trappings of this close-minded town, but I ended up as nothing more than a pill-popping sexual predator.

Sal's hand sliding on top of mine, snapped me out of my thoughts. Our eyes finally met, and my pulse quickened in my chest. Even though our relationship never lived up to how I imagined it as a high-schooler, he still put butterflies in my stomach.

"I don't want to throw away everything we have because of a disagreement," he whispered.

"We don't have to." I turned my hand over to give his a squeeze. "We can still be in each other's lives as friends."

His brows pinched together. "Wait... what?"

"You've known me since I was in middle school- you live in my house- we aren't ever going to be strangers to each other, and I don't want us to." My chest ached painfully, and I wished I could pause this moment and down two Percocet. "But we can't date again."

"Why not?" he whined, coughing to cover his juvenile tone. "Don't you love me?"

"Stop that, Sal, it's manipulative."

"No, it's not; you need someone to stop you from making the wrong decision sometimes."

I removed my hand from his, folding my arms. "You sound like my dad."

He sneered, standing up. "Your dad isn't the dick you make him out to be; he wants what's best for you and Steve."

Oh, is that why he beats up on Steve and put me down my entire childhood?