Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Junkies

Billy stayed with me overnight, and it felt like playing house. I pretended we did this all the time, that some days I got sick of having to share my bed with him. What would it be like, growing old together, seeing his face in the kitchen, the bathroom, coming through the front door with an armful of groceries? 

I convinced myself I was only playing out these fantasies for fun, to pass the time while I built up the courage to go back home, but the idea of running away with Billy seemed more and more appealing. He's right- his father wouldn't miss him, and my family wouldn't miss me, not really. I couldn't protect Steve, and Mom couldn't protect either of us. As much as I hoped my brother could get out of that house, I knew better than to try and force him to do anything.

Of course, my elopement with Billy would almost certainly fall apart within weeks. He was a narcissist with raging anger issues, and while his age and upbringing could explain that, it didn't change the fact that my value to him fluctuated with his ever-changing moods. Did I really want to be stuck in some motel or a shitty apartment with him while he aggressively lifted weights and chain-smoked till he couldn't breathe?

"I have to go now," Billy whispered in the wee hours of the morning. "I shouldn't miss too much school."

"It's fine; I should be getting back home too."

He tucked a chunk of my hair behind my ear, kissing me softly. "Be careful, Blondie."

Oh god, I did, I wanted to run away with him. He might be young and stupid and impetuous, but he eagerly fucked me the night before even after I got my period- without a condom. He knew my family, knew my worst impulses, and he loved me anyway. Derek and Craig fell for my mask, but Billy fell for me.

Thankfully, Sarah was in school when I checked out, so I handed my keys over to a girl in her late twenties. Out in the parking lot, I spotted Donald- Sal's friend- and remembered he was Sarah's sister. 

"Debbie?" he said, brows pinching together curiously. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, just visiting."

Not waiting to see how he processed that awful excuse and praying he hadn't seen Billy leaving two hours prior, I climbed into my car, struggling not to hyperventilate as I drove around the corner and pulled over, swallowing three Percocets with a half-frozen water bottle. Cracking the window, I lit up a cigarette before popping in one of Craig's old cassette tapes, hoping memories of my former boyfriend would cleanse Billy from my brain.

Unfortunately, Cod'ine by Buffy Saint-Marie came through my speakers. Tears sprung to my eyes, my adrenaline plummeting from the painkillers, mouth twitching around my cig as her crooning lyrics physically choked me. When I first fell in love with this song, I hadn't touched drugs, only indulging in the occasional vodka soda or pinot noir. It used to be a beautiful, tragic dream, but now it felt torturously real. 

I spent several minutes in our cul de sac, sobbing, the blasting heat drying my tears to my cheeks, leaving my face feeling uncomfortably tight. Once I finally caught my breath, a final gasp escaping my lips, I lit a second cigarette- or maybe it was a third- and my mind drifted away from Buffy's song. If I ran away with Billy, what would happen to Max?

More than any of my other qualms with leaving Hawkins with Billy (and there were a lot of them), Max's predicament gave me pause. As far as I knew, Neil didn't abuse his stepdaughter the way he abused his son, but my father didn't hurt Steve until I went away to college. Once Dad lost me as an emotional punching bag, he moved onto his other child, and his behavior amplified. I couldn't let the same thing happen to Max. But maybe getting Billy out of his stepsister's life is the best thing I could do for her.

Climbing out of my car, I dropped my cigarette on the concrete, stubbing it out with my shoe, noticing for the first time that my car was the only one in our driveway. Thank god; I didn't feel like seeing my family anyway.

Inside, I dropped my coat on the floor, rubbing my upper arms through my thin sweater, eager to be in the warmth again.

"You've returned, I see."

I shrieked, startled to find Sal sitting at the kitchen island. "What are you doing here?"

"Uh, I live here, at least for now."

"But there aren't any cars in the- wait, what do you mean, for now?"

He snickered derisively, draining a glass of clear liquid, swirling a half-melted ice cube around, the clinking sound filling the silent room. "Yeah, I can't exactly stick around in the same as house as you after we-" Shaking his head, he stood up, undoing the cap of a green bottle: Tanqueray.

"You're drinking again?"

"Oh, like you give a shit." Sal took a long sip, coughing once. "If you cared about me, you'd try to make things work."

"No, it's because I care about you that I know we need space. And that has fuck all to do with you breaking your sobriety."

"That's rich coming from you." Before I could respond, he grabbed my purse, reaching inside and ripping out my bag of pills. "Yeah, maybe I'm self-medicating with a little gin after you ripped my heart out of my chest, but at least I'm not a junkie. You're disgusting and pathetic; I hardly know you."

I snatched my things back, lower lip trembling. "If you hate me so much, why do you even want to date me?"

After a pregnant pause, he dropped his glass, tears streaming down his cheeks as the glass pieces scattered across the kitchen floor. He fell to his knees, seemingly oblivious to the shards beneath his knees, grabbing me around the waist.

"I'm so sorry, Debbie, I didn't mean it. Please forgive me."

"Sal, you're drunk, you're drunk, and you're hurting yourself."

"Forgive me!"

"Okay, okay, I forgive you." I tried to pry his hands off me, but they didn't budge. "I know you didn't mean what you said."

"Not just that." He buried his face in my stomach, and I thought I might vomit, not just from the Percocets either. I didn't want him this close, his touch repulsed me, and we were alone in this house together. "I didn't stand up to Norman; I didn't defend you. That's why you don't love me." 

I sighed, pulling on his hair, attempting to dislodge him, but his grip was like iron. "I forgive you, okay, now let me go, I need to change a tampon."

He released me with a huff, slumping back on the floor, giving me a clear view of his bloody knees. Ugh, Sal, you fucking moron, you knelt in glass. Jogging upstairs, I peed, changed my tampon, then grabbed some rubbing alcohol, tweezers, and a clean hand towel before returning to the kitchen. 

"How much did you drink, huh?" I cleaned up the glass on the floor as best as I could before pouring the alcohol over his knees- making Sal hiss- so that I could see the shards more clearly. "Threw away years of sobriety because we got in a fight."

"Don't be mean to me," he moaned. "You're so mean."

"I'm not mean; you're terrifying me. I don't want you to drink yourself to death."

Sal gritted his teeth as I removed shard after shard- there were about twelve in total lodged in the skin stretch over his kneecap- before dabbing away the remaining blood and rubbing alcohol. "If you take me back, I promise I'll stop drinking. We can still be together; it's not too late."

"It's way too late, Sal."

"So you lied then? You don't really care about me."

"I spent the last ten minutes picking glass out of your knees, of course I care about you, but I'm not going to rearrange my whole life to accommodate you. If you start drinking again, it's your choice, not mine." I stalked off to the bottom of the stairs, before coming to a stop, my trembling hand on the banister, tears pricking my eyes. I turned around, watching as Sal hauled himself to his feet, catching my gaze. "But I really hope you won't."