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alina and billy
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. ✧ ・゜. +・o ✧
"What," taunted Neil. "Afraid you're gonna get hurt, is that it?"
"No," choked out Billy. He sounded like he was on the verge of tears, which made the strangeness of seeing him as a kid even stranger for Alina. Right now, instead of the abusive, racist asshole Alina knew and despised, Billy Hargrove was a meek, shy kid who loved surfing and his mom. Again, that question thudded through Alina's mind. What went wrong?
Alina wanted to close her eyes and ears, wanted to walk away yet again, because this was worse than the Mind Flayer and the flayed Billy Hargrove. This was a reminder of all the shit she'd gone through. This was a reminder of what she'd been trying to get over ever since she was nine years old.
But now she was reliving it again. Her mother's piercing tones whenever Alina did something remotely wrong, whenever she tripped and skinned her knee, got mud on her dress, whenever she spoke out of turn or during dinner parties or played in the sandbox with boys her age. Whenever she played soccer instead of piano and faked sick in an attempt to get out of laundry duty, whenever she fought back from the racist insults of her classmates and caused a call to be sent home.
It was almost agony for Alina to get closer to Neil, even though tears were spilling down her face now. El was squeezing her hand so tight it was nearly cutting off the circulation, but she was barely even paying attention to the pain. The pain of Neil Hargrove's' words and the memories that came with were enough.
"Well, what then?" Neil cried now. "What? What did I raise, a pussy for a son?"
More of Linda's words trickled back into Alina's ears. What did I raise, a boy for a daughter?
No, Linda, she thought back. You just raised a human.
"Leave me alone!" Billy cried, jerking his arm out of Neil's tight hold. The baseball glove he was holding fell to the ground as he tore away from his father.
