Author's Note: To whom it may Concern: To the lovely guests who like to leave reviews and who choose not to have the decency to create an account so that I might respond, here is my response for you. I will write what I want as long as I want. You are more than welcome to write whatever you'd like in your own fic. Best wishes on that endeavor. ;)
The contents of one small bottle went down almost effortlessly. The second caught a bit in his throat. His words hadn't made him feel better. The look in Summer's eyes, the complete shock, the hurt, the anger, it hadn't given him the pay off he'd wanted. None of it had. It only served to deepen the pit inside him. He wondered if there was a bottom. If there was an end to the amount of misery he could feel or if it would simply get worse and worse and worse until he just didn't exist anymore. The knock on the door startled him and he stood from the side of the bed.
He jerked the door open, his eyes widening as he saw her standing there. "What are you stupid?"
"For trying to help you when you so obviously are hell bent on self destruction, maybe." Phyllis took a long look at him. It was clear he was in deep. This was far beyond gambling. This was a full blown bender complete with self loathing and destructive tendencies. This was the Billy that could wrap his car around a tree. This was the Billy that could hurt himself and hurt others without a second thought. This was the Billy that did things first and thought later. "You've got to stop this now," she said in the strongest voice she could muster.
"I don't have to do anything," he sneered. "And this is my room. This is actually mine. Nobody else has a say as to who comes and goes here. You can get out or I'll call security and have you thrown out."
"You need security to do that?" She glared at him, her eyes flashing in anger. "If you want to throw me out, do it yourself." It struck her how foolish her words truly were. Billy wasn't himself, but somehow she had no fear of him physically. Billy might hurt himself, but she never believed he'd intentionally hurt her.
Rage welled inside him. "Don't tempt me." The words came out almost in a snarl as his eyes stared into hers. She always knew how to push his buttons. That was what had first attracted him to her. She didn't back down, not from a fight, not from Victor, not from anything. She could hold her own and usually he admired it. Right now, it was annoying as all hell.
She pushed her body further into the room. "What are you trying to do here, Billy. You want to wreck everything? Are there are few pieces of your life that might not be completely blown up? You worried you might have left a few things in tact and you came back to finish the job?"
He held up his hand to block her entry. "I told you to get out." His voice was quivering in rage now.
"And I told you that if you want me out, you're going to have to throw me out." She saw his face contort in frustration again. "What's the matter?"
"You obviously have no idea how furious I am with you or you wouldn't dream of standing in front of me and taunting me like this."
"I know exactly how furious you are, but I also know you, Billy." She stopped and looked at him, really looked at him. The man she saw in front of her wasn't one she recognized, but she knew he was in there. Somewhere under the anger, under the pain and frustration, the soft, loving eyes remained. Somewhere beneath the cold, hateful voice was the deep, gentle one that could whisper her name and nearly buckle her knees. Somewhere behind the harsh brusque touches were the tender caresses that had held her so many times. "You wouldn't hurt me. That's not who you are."
Those words used to mean something. They used to mean the world to him. The fact that she believed in him, that she believed he was innately good, that she trusted him, that she needed him, that she loved him, but now … He just wanted her gone. He couldn't look at her anymore. "You don't think I'd hurt you," he managed. "That's where you're wrong. I'll hurt anyone if you give me long enough."
"Billy," she breathed, "Don't say that. I don't believe that. You just … you're …"
"I slept with Summer." The words came out so fast. They had to because if he'd allowed himself to think, to consider them, to look into her eyes as he'd said them, he feared he might stop. Instead, it was as if time did. She said nothing, did nothing. Didn't move, didn't speak. She simply started at him.
When her voice finally returned and he saw her chest rise and fall with a shaky breath, she only managed one word. "What?"
"You heard me." He couldn't say it again. Wouldn't say it again.
"Why would you do that? You didn't do that. You're lying. You're just trying to hurt me. You couldn't …" He could see the denial, the anger, the pain … all of it flashing over her face as if were slides in a kaleidoscope.
"If you don't believe me, ask Summer. She'll tell you."
She blinked at him, still in disbelief. Finally she moved for the door.
"Phyllis."
She stopped and turned around, her eyes flickering with a final flash of hope as they met his.
"I thought you weren't leaving unless I threw you out," he said flatly.
Her face fell and he watched as she drew in a deep breath. She swallowed once and composed herself for only a moment before looking up at him. "Don't you worry. I'll be back."