Jailbird || Stranger Things

twenty-eight ➵ the past catches up to us

Billy Hargrove was a creature of habit. During his middle school years, his habit became a specific girl from the east coast.

It was because of this girl that he carefully picked out a red shirt, and rummaged in his boxes until he found his old cologne. And it was because of this girl that he was trying to make himself presentable on a Saturday night.

"Billy?"

The steady knocks on the door made him have to hold back a roll of his eyes. "Yeah I'm a little bit busy in here Susan!"

"Open the door! Right now!" came the rough voice of Neil, and Billy was suddenly filled with contempt. It was because of Neil that he had to go and see this girl and apologise in the first place.

"What's wrong?" Billy asked as he opened the door to find his father and step-mother.

"We can't find Maxine," Susan replied, voice soft and on the edge of scared.

"And her window's open," Neil added, the accusation drifting off him in droves. Billy realised what he was insinuating, having to hold back at sigh at the realisation that Max had gotten him in shit. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," the boy admitted, shuffling on his feet as he tried to hide his nerves. He already knew how this would pan out, and he couldn't turn up to see Teresa like this.

"You don't know?" Neil scoffed, still tame, but starting to lose his fake calm.

"Look, I'm sure she just, I don't now, went to the arcade or something," Billy shrugged, moving back into his room to grab a jacket. "I'm sure she's fine."

"You were supposed to watch her," Neil replied, and Billy's veins turned cold at the change in tone. He knew his father well enough to know what was coming.

"I know, Dad, I was," he sighed, "It's just you guys were three hours late, and, well, I have a date."

He wished.

Billy turned, shrugging on his jacket and pulling up the sleeves, looking at his father, "I'm sorry, okay?"

"So that's why you've been staring at yourself in the mirror like some faggot instead of watching your sister?" Neil concluded, arms crossed, anger bubbling under the surface.

"I have been looking after her all week, Dad. Okay? So if she wants to run off, then that's her problem, all right?" Billy's raise of his voice triggered Neil's anger further, the man raising his eyebrows in annoyance. "She's thirteen years old. She shouldn't need a full time babysitter. And she's not my sister!"

The last sentence seemed to be the one that released the father's anger. As Billy reached to turn off the music, Neil's arm suddenly pushed his son up to the shelves built into the wall.

Amid heavy breathing of anger, annoyance, and contempt, Billy stared down his father, knowing that keeping eye contact may at least help him. He wasn't about to give in again, not after last time.

"What did we talk about?" Neil asked, voice calm, slow, as if it was a completely normal conversation, and he wasn't physically holding onto his son's jacket to keep him wedged against the wall. As if he wasn't threatening his own son.

When Billy didn't reply, however, that changed.

His open palm met Billy's cheek, the boy letting out a groan he wasn't able to hold back. Neil held his son's face and made him turn back to him.

"What did we... talk about?"

"Respect and responsibility," Billy replied, the words bringing a rotten taste into his mouth.