For the second time that night, Steve felt like he was helplessly watching from the sidelines as Billy and Darla conversed.
Billy's eyes never left Steve. Now that he was fully alert they untrustingly bore into him like he was a ghost in a scary movie; as if he blinked or looked away, even for a second, Steve would vanish and pop up just in time to strike.
"Would you just trust me on this?" Darla hissed in his ear. "You need to work this shit out."
"No. We need to fight this shit out."
"And what's that going to prove?"
Billy's tongue slipped out through his smirk, wriggling wildly, and Steve couldn't tell if Billy was aware of it or of it was some sort of tick.
"If he's really hot shit like everyone thinks he is, then he has nothing to worry about."
Steve couldn't handle it anymore. He was poised still as a statue, refusing to squirm under Billy's watch but his blood was boiling and he wouldn't let himself continue to be gawked at like a piece of meat.
"I'm not scared of you," he spat. "You might intimidate some people with that chin-up, chest-out, macho crap but I see right through you."
Billy was on his feet in a second. He shook his arms out of his denim jacket, puffing his chest out to reveal the tanned muscles beneath his mostly-undone red shirt. Steve met him in the middle of the room. He was careful to plant his feet this time before placing his hands on his hips.
"Is that so?" Billy taunted. "Tell me then, King Stevie. What do you think you're seeing?"
"I don't think you want to know, man."
"No, please. Enlighten me with your great wisdom."
Steve cleared his throat. His heart pounded in his chest like he could already feel the man punching him in the throat so hard he swallowed his own molars but he couldn't back down just yet. They hadn't even started.
"Fine, you want to know what I see when I look at you? I see a sad, frightened little boy. You move to a new town, a small town where everyone knows everyone—"
"—With some exceptions," Darla muttered darkly from the couch. She folded her arms while her gaze darted back and forth between the boys quickly.
Steve continued as though he hadn't heard her. "You know there's no room for secrets here. You had a split second to define yourself and you chose the mysterious bad-boy rebel without a cause, thinking you'd terrify your way to the top when everyone around you was quick to smack you right back down. They filled you in on all the rumors about me, talked me up and then you realized since there was already one alpha at Hawkins High, the only way for you to stay at the top was to dethrone me. Am I right so far?"
Billy chuckled but the smile didn't reach his eyes.
Steve inched forwards. "So you practiced. Started lifting more, mingled through the upperclassmen, tried to discreetly learn more about me. You became obsessed. You couldn't just walk up to me in the halls and wail on me with no reason, oh no… because you know the kids at school are my friends and they'd be far quicker to defend me than you no matter how long you can do a keg stand for, or how well you play ball. You had to wait for the right moment. And that's the only reason why you're not whipping me right now."
Billy wasn't chuckling anymore. His mouth was frozen open mid-laugh but there was no sound, no breath. His eyes had narrowed into menacing slits. As Steve approached him, his voice dropped to a whisper.
"You need witnesses; a crowd of people who can attest that I provoked you. You won't jump me now because there's no one here to tell your side of the story."
Darla scoffed. "What the hell am I? A sack of potatoes?"
Again, she went ignored.
Steve continued, "Because what you don't want the other kids at school to think… what you don't want me to think, or Darla, or even yourself… is that you're really just tired of being scared all the time. Scared of the new town… scared of not being able to maintain this image you're so desperately clinging to… and if you ask me, you're so scared of yourself that the thought of anyone knowing you really are under all this bravado… that might be a fate worse than death for you."
"Wow." Billy's voice was low and gravelly. His grin had slipped down his face and the tip of his tongue was propped between the rows of his teeth. He stepped forward without dropping his chin until the boys stood nose-to-nose, barely three inches apart. "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you, Steve?"
The corners of Steve's lips twitched upwards. "You didn't call me King."
"Yeah," Billy's grin reappeared in full force. "Because that's a title which, like most things in your life… you don't deserve."
He planted a hand on Steve's shoulder while the other one ploughed into his stomach in less than a second. He doubled over, fighting for air, but Billy wasn't about to take it easy on him just yet. He delivered a second blow to the gut and when Steve lost his balance, he popped him in the jaw and sent the boy flying.
Billy laughed, loud and proud. "That's the difference between you and me, Stevie boy! I don't talk trash, I just burn it."
Steve coughed and sputtered for air but he refused to stay down. As Billy came towards him again he kicked his legs out with all the energy he had and brought the blonde down to his level. He was quick to react and crawled on top of him, managing one solid punch to the nose that brought a trickling stream of blood from the right nostril before Billy throttled him off of him with his hips.
Steve rolled to the side and kept going, trying to put as much distance between them before he could stop.
Billy was practically giddy as he got to his feet. "Powerful, huh?" he mused, giving himself two light punches on either side of his hip bone. "You really caught some air, there."
"You too," Steve nodded and kicked him in the abdomen. Billy fell backwards into one of the armchairs, which slid back from the momentum.
Steve braced himself and got into "fighting stance" while Billy leapt to his feet but suddenly the brunette was between them both with her hands calmly outstretched.
"Okay, we're going to stop this before you two break everything I own. Gentle reminder that you both took a beating tonight, some of which was doled out by twelve-year-olds, so you're not going to resolve anything this way."
Billy glowered at her. "Stay out of this, Darla."
Steve frowned at her as well. "For the record, those kids are scrappy as hell."
Darla rolls her eyes. "Jesus. Sit your asses down, both of you."
Neither made a move.
"NOW!"
She made shooing motions with her hands and started lightly swatting at the boys until they gave in and shuffled to the kitchen. There was a small, wooden square table that was barely big enough for four acting as a dining room table. It sat wedged in the corner of the kitchen area but Darla pulled it out to the center of the room and removed stacks of old newspapers, magazines, and clothing until the surface was cleared. The boys sat down opposite each other under the single dangling lightbulb. They each crossed their arms stubbornly while the woman turned her back and started rummaging around through the cupboards.
Billy narrowed his eyes and cracked his knuckles threateningly.
Steve responded with a condescending eye-roll and ran a hand through his perfectly coifed hair.
"Alright, here's the game." Darla slammed two bottles of vodka on the table; one full and sealed, the other half-emptied. "I know better than to ask you to talk about your feelings, but fighting is only going to make this worse between you two, and this way at least there's a chance no one will remember tonight if it doesn't go as planned."
She retrieved three shot-glasses and set one down in front of each party member while she took her own seat.
Billy reached for the opened bottle and began pouring the shots like this was an everyday occurrence while Steve tried to not cringe. He barely drank at parties anymore and even when he did, he normally stuck to beer. The few times he had attempted something stronger were either removed from his memory or didn't exactly paint a pretty picture.
Unfortunately, the blonde dude across from him seemed to pick up on his apprehension.
"Scared, Harrington?"
Steve swallowed hard and set his jaw. "You wish."
Billy snickered quietly to himself while he slid the glasses, topped to the brim, in front of each member at the table. "You're not going to make us play one of your dumb sleepover games are you, Dar? Because truthfully I don't think Steve's a particularly daring individual."
Darla shot him a glare. "No. Actually, we're going to play one of your dumb sleepover games." Her hand disappeared beneath the table and when it resurfaced there was an aged deck of cards cradled in her hands. "Five-card poker."
The men nodded; the relief between them palpable.
She tossed the deck to Steve and instructed him to deal.
"What's the buy in?" Billy was reaching for his wallet but Darla snatched it and tossed it to the other end of the room. "What the hell!"
"Your money's no good in this game."
Billy groaned. "Oh, cut the crap. No one plays poker just for fun."
"Well we're not playing just for fun. We're playing for shots."
"For once, I agree with Big Blondie," Steve muttered as he shuffled the cards and started to deal out their hands. "I think cash is the way to go."
"Too bad," Darla huffed. "You guys already want to kill each other, I'm not adding financial instability into that mess. We'll play for drinks to start and if the need arises, there are tons of other things we can bet that don't involve your singles."
"Oh, really?" Billy wriggled his eyebrows over the table and picked up his shot glass. He held it high over the center of the table and slammed his fist in a non-threatening manner. "Whaddya say, Stevie? Up for a gamble?"
Darla gathered her hair in her hands and wrapped the dark, tangled locks in a loose bun behind her head. Once she was ready to get down to business she lifted her glass over the bottle and clinked it against Billy's.
Steve inhaled slowly and weighed his options. They couldn't force him to stay here, could they? He would have a hell of a time trying to find his way back to town in the woods at this hour, but what would they do to stop him? Throw rocks at him or tie him to the radiator? Neither seemed very likely.
He knew he should walk away now. While he had the chance. If this were a scary movie, this is when the audience would be shaking their heads and stuffing their faces full of salty popcorn and turning to their friends saying something like what a maroon.
Still, he dropped what remained of the deck in the center of the table and clinked glasses with the others.
"Let's do it."
They dropped their shots on the table in unison and tilted their heads back, setting fire to the back of their throats. The night had officially commenced.