A/N: Hey, everyone! Hope you're all doing well. This is a chapter that I wrote out a good five times because there were so many avenues to go down. But, finally, I got there. Let me know your thoughts and hope you enjoy reading :)
~Sierra~
Two babysitters, two kids, one pizza. It sounded like the beginning of a pathetic joke. But, Lucas and Dustin were ravenous. Within the space of a few minutes, they'd inhaled a whole margarita pizza to themselves, leaving Steve and I to munch on some lightly salted chips. We threw each other an eye roll as the two kids devoured the last of the crusts before letting out a satisfied groan and falling back into their fortress of pillows.
"Animals" Steve jokingly reprimanded "the lot of you"
Dustin's middle finger thrust itself above his now bulging stomach, dropping back down onto it with the same theatrical energy. Steve and I couldn't help but snicker at him. I swear, Dustin would have made a great theater kid. Finishing off the chips, we crumpled the packets up and Steve put mine in the garbage can for me. Now we had at least some fuel, babysitter mode was officially activated.
"Alright, time to get some sleep, guys" I declared and began bundling up all the blankets we had gathered earlier from upstairs. Lucas and Dustin whined, fighting against their exhaustion in case there would be something to miss. Honestly, I hoped there would be nothing else to miss tonight. I was so done with drama. "Nope, no arguments. You guys need rest"
"Fine!" Lucas and Dustin conceded in unison. Both of them flopped their heads on the pillows, making themselves as comfortable as one could be on a wooden floor.
"Oh, they actually listen to you?" Steve sarcastically asked, fluffing up a pillow. "What's your secret to that? I could really use it"
"Don't tell him, Sierra!" Dustin shot up from his fetal position, grinning widely. "It's much more entertaining when he gets all worked up"
"You're a real sadist. You know that, Henderson?" Steve tutted and gave Dustin the biggest eye roll he could. Dustin fell back, cackling, as Steve hurled the pillow at him. "Get some sleep, alright?"
Finally, Dustin shrugged his shoulders, snuggling up with the wool, cream crochet blankets with a content purr. A golden glow flooded the room, embers crackling in the stone fireplace. If we didn't know what was lurking outside, it would have felt like a regular, cozy winter's night. But, we did, and so the comfort was lost. I turned off the main light, leaving only the radiance from the flames as they danced.
"Hey, Sierra?" I was about to go out to the pool when Lucas' sleepy voice rose from underneath his fortress of blankets. Turning around, I saw his head peek out. "Welcome to the Party" We smiled warmly at one another, a bond forging. "We have a few rules, you know Number One already"
"Yup," I chuckled, lowering my head to hide my blush. Being invited into their Party to the outside world may have appeared like some childish gesture, but to Lucas and Dustin it meant everything. "Never take another's walkie talkie"
"That's not the most important rule though" Lucas said, uncovering his head a little more. Sincerity glimmered in his eyes. "The most important rule is we keep each other safe"
"So, if your dad decides to be an asshole again, know we have your back" Dustin chimed in, honesty shining from his voice. I'd never vocalized that it was my dad who caused the bruises forming around my nose. Not in front of them, at least. Perhaps they had overheard the short conversation Steve and I had whilst they were upstairs cleaning up. It was literally a case of Steve wanting to confirm it was my Dad who hit me. With a sharp yes, we abandoned the conversation entirely. Either way, it was out there now. There was nothing I could do.
"We all have each other's backs," Lucas confirmed, warmly smiling up at me. "Hargrove's included in that now"
"Thanks, guys" I softly said, the break in my voice clear as day. "Sleep well"
With no other words to be said, I quietly closed the door behind me and crept out, shutting it behind me, to the pool where I met Steve whose last bit of animation had finally exited him. The bite of a winter's night immediately got to me, a shiver running down my spine. Hugging Billy's leather jacket around my waist, I made a futile attempt to warm myself and watched the steam rise from the pool. It all felt eerily reminiscent. My eyes wavered over the steam, wondering just when it would dissipate. Where would it eventually go once it had evaporated? To the moon, around the world? Had Barb merely evaporated that fateful night? Crouching down by the side of the pool, I inspected the hypnotic ripples, getting lost in this reverie.
"What's on your mind, Nightingale?" Steve asked, joining me.
"I don't know" I murmured. Returning to my knowing gaze, I breathed out. Vapor emanated from my mouth, mingling with the steam. Was it joining Barb? Something was mystically preventing me from sliding my shoes off and dipping my toes into the lukewarm waters. I couldn't put my finger on it. Whilst I longed for even the smallest comforts, for some odd reason this was one I couldn't partake in. "A lot, I guess"
"Anything you want to talk about?" Steve gestured to my nose, the shadows of a wince on his features.
"Usual shit. He came in drunk, pissed off about the cheerleading thing" I snorted, standing up. I wanted to be away from the pool. Following the cracks in between the tiled floor, I paced around, seemingly with no aim. "I knew it was coming at some point. I just didn't expect it to be tonight"
"Why does he care?"
Talk about the question of the hour. Why does my father care when all he does is show so little of it? Why does something so minute as leaving the cheerleader team affront him, yet knowing I am his son's primary caregiver doesn't? This wasn't the first time I had deliberated such questions. God, if I really wanted to torture myself, I could ponder the non-existent answers for a lifetime. It would get me nowhere. Zack still had to have a good upbringing and I still had to have some semblance of sanity left to do the job he couldn't. For a question deserving so much thought, I simply shrugged.
"Because 'people get you places'" I said in a derisive tone. An open ridicule of my drunken asshole of a father. "He cares about face, Steve. Nothing else"
"Need to unload a little?" he asked. Steve was usually helpful in this regard. The poor guy had heard me rant about my dad way too much in the last year. "I don't want you to feel like you're voiceless, Nightingale"
"I have a voice, Steve" I replied, perhaps a little too harshly. Easing off, I murmured an apology and conceded to the fact that he was completely harmless. There were no double edged swords with Steve, no hidden messages to decode. Just a guy wanting to help. "Maybe I don't use it as much as I should"
"Hey, you used it today with Bryony. That counts for something" Steve whispered reassuringly.
Not when your voice can backfire and create a whirlwind of problems. The Hargrove's and the Harrington's of this universe could attest with their blatant displays of chivalry and acts of protection as much as they wanted, it was never going to change the destructive relationship. I could run for miles and truly believe I had achieved some form of freedom, but I would still be on a leash. He would have Zack and he cunningly knew it would never fail to tow me back in line. I used my voice earlier. I would rather be like her than the piece of shit you are. It was worth the blood spilled. Knowing I had clawed my way into the core of his self-made carnage.
Everything was about control.
He couldn't control her leaving, now he couldn't control me leaving the cheerleaders. He couldn't control how his image as the happily married man with an obedient wife was tarnished, and now he couldn't control how the child of the same woman was going against the script written for her.
Part of it was empowering, but the other half was sobering. He relied so much on control he had lost it. How did it feel to lose yourself in the madness that was trying to be perfect? I could only imagine how lonely it must have felt, how infuriating. It would never excuse how this manifested in bruises, blood and two children who would have a lifetime of therapy bills to pay. Overall, it was just a sad narrative. One day, when I could reflect on all of this, I wanted to believe I had destroyed the sad narrative, allowing a new one to flourish.
"I suppose, Harrington" I said, finally deciding to stop following the cracks. Instead, I sat down on a sun lounger and went back to watching the steam. "Did it happen here?"
Silently, with the knowledge of exactly what I was referring to seeping into his mind, Steve solemnly nodded.
"Yeah" he replied, hushed and contemplative "yeah it did"
"How are you dealing with everything?" I asked. Processing death was one thing, but processing how it was an otherworldly demonic creature that caused death in the first place was something entirely different, or so I imagined.
"You know, I'm not sure" Steve sighed, resting in the adjacent sun-lounger. Resting his hands behind his head, he joined me in watching the mesmerizing steam. "Like, I didn't really know Barb. To be honest, I didn't really have much interest in her. I was worried that she'd disappeared. At the time, it was more because it would mean my parents would have found out I had a party. It was a real shitty way to react. But I think it's because I was panicking. It was such a big thing to happen. I mean, fuck, this is Hawkin's, for crying out loud! The most drama we'd had in this town was the drug bust on old man Parson's farm. But for someone to go missing, and then to find out everything else," He let out a sharp exhale, scrunching his face momentarily "it was beyond panic. I just wanted Nancy to be okay. But, I've come to realize I can't make everything okay, no matter how much I want to"
"Steve, you try" I gently said, rolling onto my side to face him. After a moment had elapsed, he finally rolled over to face me. "And that counts. I know it's not realistic for you to make everything better, but you really try and that says so much about the kind of person you are"
"Jesus, Nightingale, who's the mom here, you or me?" Steve chuckled, trying to stifle the lump growing in his throat.
"Well, you're pretty much a single mom of four, Harrington, I've only got the one" I joked and rolled my eyes at how stupid we were being. A stillness fell over us, the noise of the night becoming more of a gentle buzz now in comparison to its thunderous roars. "We should have been kinder to Barb"
"You're doing it again, Nightingale" Steve chided, throwing me a serious look. I furrowed my brow at him, wondering what explanation lay beneath this remark. "You overthink. Would we be saying this if Barb was still alive, if she never went missing?"
He was right. Despite making plans with Barb, the only bad thing we had done towards her was not take her into consideration as much when it came to plans. We just never hung out. It wasn't because we disliked her, but in high school our paths just didn't cross as much. Would I be wracked with guilt had she not disappeared? I would have loved to go out with her on that Saturday so we could sit around and talk about books. Fate would never let us meet to talk about The Queen's Gambit, nor would it let us see if we were compatible. We may have only met once and then continued with the courteous 'Hey, how are you?' routine in the corridor. We may have become great friends, read countless books together and gotten to know each other beyond the titles of 'the bookworm' and 'the cheerleader'. An actual relationship could have been forged or it could have failed. That was why I felt guilty. Because she wasn't even given a damn chance. At least before tonight there was a glimmer of hope. The beast who lurked in the Upside Down had blown out the hope. Barb never had a chance to do anything now.
"Sorry, it's the only way I can deal with it" Steve sighed and returned onto his back. "I regret not telling Tommy and Carol where to shove it whenever they made fun of her. Would've regretted it even if she were alive. But at least if she were alive, I would've at least been able to say sorry to her face instead of to thin air"
Before I could say anything in response, Steve shook his head, officially dismissing the topic. He could only talk for so long until he would begin to feel the burn. Even if I were to pursue any conversation further, we heard the sliding doors open, cutting off any chance to talk more. To my relief, Billy had come back. Admittedly, there was a part of me that didn't know whether he would. Tonight was one catastrophe after another. Someone could only take so much of this. For Billy, I wasn't sure how much he could take when he saw my dad land the first punch. Surprisingly, he had not only stuck around, but he had become fully invested.
"Not exactly sun-bathing weather" he chuckled and came over, grinning at me. I returned the grin, moving over for him to sit next to me on the sun lounger. As he grew closer, I wasn't sure if the mirth was genuine or an act. Bloodshot eyes were the first sign that something had broken Billy. "Any pina colada going?" Yet, he beat on.
"You don't strike me as a pina colada guy, Hargrove," Steve laughed, rising from his seat.
"Anything with a buzz will do me just fine, Harrington" Billy replied, smirking. It wasn't an act. He wasn't one-dimensional, just like the rest of us. He could be sad and still have the boldness intact.
"Coffee it is. Want one, Nightingale?"
"I won't turn it down!" I sighed and fell back into the sun lounger, hands behind by head like I was on goddamn vacation in The Bahamas. But, no, I was here in Hawkins, Indiana in the middle of a cold night with demodogs on the loose.
"How'd you take your coffee, Hargrove?" Steve asked.
"Splash of milk, no sugar" Billy replied.
"Sweet enough?" I giggled, poking his thigh with my foot.
"You got it, Nightingale" Billy chuckled and gave me a wink. He grabbed my feet, placing them on his lap.
"Right, well, I'll be back in a moment with coffee" Steve awkwardly shuffled in his spot, but relented as a small smile surfaced on his lips.
He headed to the annex at the end of the garden, his own place of solace. In the corner of my eye, I saw Billy intently stare as Steve disappeared into the brick building, switching on the light. They were the same heavy-lidded eyes from the sparse moments I had caught him alone. I couldn't tell if they were ones of indifference or if there was a purpose behind them. He was an enigma. It felt like the mask was still on, the curtains not having received their final call. An audience of one hadn't left the auditorium yet. Yet Billy Hargrove would put on his best performance. As Steve left, the show came to an end.
"You get much sleep, Princess?" he asked, taking off my shoes and placing them gently on the floor. My eyebrows raised as he quickly straightened the shoes up so they were in a neat line. The mystery just grew deeper and deeper with him. I shook my head, tilting it as I examined him further. Feeling the spotlight return to him, he let out a slight laugh and smirked at me. "Something piqued your interest?"
"You" I asserted and reciprocated the lopsided smile. I wanted to know how quickly the facade could come back, how quickly it could fade. When faced with unearthly questions about creatures from a world beyond ours, I still wanted to know what made Billy Hargrove tick. Tonight wasn't the night. Nevertheless, I enjoyed letting the question waver on the tip of my tongue. "How's Max?"
"Pretty tired. She's on the couch, hopefully sleeping" he replied, beginning to massage the arches of my feet. There was a lot of tension in them, carried from running to the abandoned bus in pursuit of my life. Even before then, I had managed to sustain an injury from a failed cheerleader stunt. Despite practicing it multiple times, I had surrendered to brain fog and gotten distracted after a dramatic night at home. However, I hadn't practiced running away from inhuman monsters before so the injury could be excused. As I let out a pained grunt, Billy stopped and snapped his head up. "Want me to stop?"
"No, no," I murmured, shaking my head "It's an old cheerleading injury. If I overdo it, it likes to remind me it's still there"
"Know that feeling" Billy said in a low, faraway voice. As he began to drift away, I saw elements of who Billy strived to hide from everything. A person who had long ago become acquainted with suffering, but went to desperate lengths to make it become a stranger. Even if it meant acting like it was never there. "I did the same with football back in California. Didn't even really want to do it, but it was another way of getting out of the house. Football practice on a Thursday evening, party at the captain's straight afterwards. Go back to school on Friday, another party. Rinse and repeat" He glanced at the annex, ensuring the coast was clear still. "One game, some guy ran me over and next thing you know, I've got a knee injury and the guy has a broken nose. Took me a while to recover from it, but every now and then it likes to play up. Fucking hate it"
"Did you go back to the football team?" I inquired.
"Like I said, the guy got a broken nose" Billy paused, assessing my stoic reaction. I knew what he was thinking just by the way his eyes were borderline boring into my soul. He wanted to know what assumptions I would make. After enough time had elapsed for him to complete this test, Billy smiled. Apparently, I had passed. "The coach thought it was me tackling him. Thought I'd done everything on purpose. So I got kicked off" He shrugged, a blatant display of apathy. Yet his fingers still fumbled. "Still got to go to the Thursday parties though"
"Did you not think of joining the one here?" I leaned forward, resting my chin in between my thumb and index finger.
"No," He shook his head, dirty blonde curls moving with the gentle movement. "I'm not sure what I want to do here, to be honest" With a vacant expression, Billy stared down at his shuffling feet. However, as his uncertain gaze lifted to meet mine, it brightened. "I'm cool just being around you though"
Warmly, I smiled back at him. As we looked at our twinkling eyes, the iciness of the night disappeared. Instead, it felt like a snug blanket had been wrapped around my shoulders, protecting me from the cold. Not even the sound of the annex door closing snapped us out of this spell. Our gaze was momentarily broken as I rose to receive my cup of steaming coffee, but soon enough, Billy had positioned himself on the sun lounger and was tangling his fingers with mine to pull me down. Steve failed in his attempt to hide the smile as he passed Billy's coffee over. With a nod of thanks, Billy took a generous sip. I blew on mine, savoring the warmth expanding on the tip of my nose.
"How you feeling, Hargrove?" Steve asked, sitting down opposite us and blowing on the coffee. Even this small act interested me. Both Steve and I were patient, but Billy dove straight in there. Not one to wait, or perhaps to feel something beyond the cold we had become accustomed to. Shit, Steve was right. I really was an overthinking mess.
"Well, I'm not dead so that's something" Billy curtly replied before taking another swig of the coffee.
"Fair answer" Steve nodded, chuckling a little. He allowed a little sip of coffee to enter his mouth, judging whether it was cool enough now to take a full mouthful.
We all sat there, drinking coffee. Billy had pretty much finished by the time I had even started. Dim light from the living room where the kids had kept their lamps on made us at least a little visible to one another. Considering the general mood of tonight, it was probably for the best. Even through our collective exhaustion, there was an uneasy aura shrouding us. It went beyond monsters and the failures of parents. The root seemed to be who we were. A close-call with death had us all shook up and second guessing ourselves. Existential doubt, I believed it was called.
"Where's your parents, Harrington?" Billy was the first one to break the silence. He had set his empty coffee cup - a badly painted yellow mug with the words, 'I love you, Mom' scribbled on in black paint and two stick people representing Steve and his mom - on the floor and resumed his heavy lidded stare.
"Good question" Steve chuckled, but I could hear the sadness behind the laughter. Despite normal similarities, there was a reason Steve and I were such good friends.
"You don't know where they are?" Billy asked.
Steve, who had initially been reluctant to meet Billy's gaze, now lifted his eyes and locked on. Something was seeping in for Steve. Whatever it was, it softened him. The sharpness in his eyes abated and he was able to loosen up, relaxing further into the chair. Even then, there was still something biting at him at the very suggestion Steve didn't know where his parents were. That was because it wasn't just some assumption. It was a fact.
"They don't really tend to stick around. Dad's a financier, usually spends his time in Chicago, and my mom, erm…" I knew why he had paused. What was once the uneasy aura turned into something more pensive. Whether Steve recognized it as such, whether it would help him open up, was another issue. "She thinks I'm old enough to look after myself, so she's started living her life, as she likes to call it. Like, I know I'm old enough to look after myself. But I'm also old enough to know when something reeks of shit" Steve let out another laugh, abrupt and self-deprecating. Make a joke out of it so it doesn't hurt. "She thinks I don't know she's having an affair, but I do. Dad comes home on weekends, so she comes back then. Hell, I think even he knows she's screwing some other guy. Mom goes over there most nights. Some nights she'll stay, but I usually find her in the morning asleep on the couch with mascara down her face"
Billy squeezed my hand. Unlike earlier, this wasn't a squeeze telling me everything would be okay. We couldn't impact our parents' choices. There was no way. We could scream all we wanted about their unwise decisions, the havoc left behind. But it wouldn't change anything. It had still happened. They had still made a choice whilst knowing we were here. In Steve's case, Billy and I were still here, listening. The ball was in his court. He could either heed what the atmosphere was telling him - be the one who is helped for a change - or ignore it.
"Sorry, we've been through enough tonight. You guys don't need my sob story"
Sometimes when I'm bored, I'll read through a thesaurus and try to apply words to people, situations. In the heat of a moment, a word could pop up and latch on, and I would think about it for days. For Steve, his was hamartia. A fatal flaw, the downfall of a tragic hero. The fact how Steve endeavored so much to be the hero in itself was his fatal flaw. He was another version of us - a kid let down by his parents, a person at odds with their personality because of it.
"Who's sobbing, Harrington?" Billy replied. It came out softly, far from the sarcasm he wanted to spice it up with. "We have screwed up parents. Even if they think they're doing the best thing for us, they still know how to mess us up somehow" Bitterness tinged Billy's words and I felt how rigid he became. "So, just go ahead and get it fucking out there"
The surprise as it sank it on mine and Steve's faces must have been clear to Billy. Both of our eyebrows elevated, blinking a few times before all eyes were on him again. I knew Billy listened to me, but he acted differently with others from what I had seen. Billy didn't want to ignore the issues at hand, but was actively encouraging Steve, albeit in a blunt way, to get it out there. Disregarding the significance of his own actions, Billy rummaged in his pocket to find a damaged cigarette box and pulled one out alongside his lighter. Finally noticing that both Steve and I were looking at him, he threw us both a bemused look.
"I'd say we don't have all night, but we're not exactly leaving here any time soon" Billy muttered and took a drag of his cigarette. My eyes were still marveling at him. Surely he had to have realized the progress, despite being said in his own candid way, he had made? "Sorry, did you want one?"
"I'm good" I laughed and shook my head. "I just think it's nice we can all speak openly about shit like this"
"Thanks for the offer, Hargrove" Steve said and smiled at Billy. Billy merely nodded in acknowledgement. "It's shit it has to happen in the first place though"
"I would drink to that, but I've run out of coffee" Billy grumbled and fidgeted around a little until he'd adjusted himself comfortably, slipping his eyes to a close.
"Was that a hint, Hargrove?" Steve laughed.
"Perhaps" Billy responded, just as straightforward as before. He gave out a short burst of laughter, eyes remaining closed, as Steve got up. "Quit your mother-henning, Harrington, and sit your ass back down"
"At least we can rely on you for honesty, man" Steve chuckled and sat back down, spreading his legs out on the lounge.
"Well, I know about shitty parents. Got an old man who likes to throw punches and a mom in God knows where"
Steve threw me a concerned look. Equally, I was stunned. Not because I hadn't suspected Billy endured something similar to what I had, but because he had admitted to it in this careless fashion, as if it was yesterday's news. But I knew Billy hadn't considered this a spur-of-the-moment move purely from the way his hand clamped down on mine.
"Shit, I…" Steve stumbled on his words, unsure whether to resort to sympathetic apologies or to render himself speechless. "I'm here if you need to talk, man"
"Maybe I do need that coffee after all" Billy simply replied. Wordlessly, Steve got up, retrieved the I Love You, Mom mug and disappeared into the annex.
I peered over my shoulder at Billy. He had his eyes closed, one hand squeezing mine and another behind his head. Half anxious, half calm about the bomb he'd dropped. An enigma. It was like he didn't care about the truth coming out anymore. Carefree yet terrified all in a singular second.
"Hey," I whispered, sitting upright in between his legs. "I'm proud of you" Billy's eyes snapped open. An opening to the world he so desperately veiled. Deep in those blue eyes was a sadness stored away for only him to see. Now, the gates were creaking open. "It takes a lot for someone to talk"
Billy pulled me closer, fingers running through my curls.
"Well, it takes a certain person to get you to talk," he said. "I owe you, Nightingale"
"No, you don't" I whispered, resting my chin on his shoulder to peer up at him. He appeared so at peace, unruffled by the troubles of the night. "You owe yourself, Billy"
"I'm not an angel, Nightingale. I don't owe myself shit" Billy huffed.
We listened to the kettle in the annex as it sang its high-pitched song, the clattering of mugs and then, the loud, shuddering sigh signaling Steve had broken. Immediately, Billy and I got up and strode over to the building, flinging open the door to reveal Steve, buckled over the flimsily built sink, face scarlet from the suppressed sadness he had been keeping inside of him.
"Steve," I started and advanced towards him. He took a step back, shaking his head in a defiant 'I'm fine' typical of guys to do when they don't want to reveal what they perceive as weakness. "Man, it's okay to be upset"
"It's just been a long few days. Nearly being killed by demodogs wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. Just," Steve inhaled sharply, hands placed on hips in a display that he could maintain his emotions or at least try to "you know, Nancy was right. It's all bullshit, man"
"Steve - "
"No, he's right" Billy breathed and took a step forward. Slowly, he extended his arm and slapped it on Steve's shoulder. "It's all bullshit. Your folks are bullshit, Nightingale's are bullshit, mine are just fucking bullshit"
It took a lot of energy not to interject. Fuelling this narrative of bullshit wasn't constructive. But, I wanted to see what route Billy was going down. His fingers gripped the 'I Love You, Mom' mug, nostrils subtly flared and a flash of anger in his eyes.
"There's nothing we can do to prevent the bullshit, man. So, instead," Billy grabbed one of the baseball bats Steve kept in here for when we'd play a game at family barbecues. Where was he going with this? Critically, I furrowed my eyebrows. I should stop this. But I wasn't going to. The words didn't seem to fall out of my mouth. "We make do with what we have"
"Billy, I don't get how this is going to help" I sighed. Nevertheless, Billy passed me a baseball bat.
"Take this for example" Billy held up the mug and we followed him as we went outside. Steve and I shared a confused look as we clutched onto baseball bats. "You made this for your mom right?"
"When I was like, six. Why?" Steve said, uncertain of where this was going to go.
"You did it because you love her" Billy replied. "Says it right on the front, so I don't have to ask"
"Where is this going, Hargrove?" Steve finally asked. Perhaps we would get a straightforward answer instead of riddles.
"When you look at this, how do you feel?" Billy questioned. "I know how I would feel. Knowing she had chosen some other guy over me, going over to his house instead of seeing how my day was, not noticing how much damage had been done so she could live out her dream"
"Billy, maybe we should call it a night" My words had no impact, they fell on ignorant ears. Steve's face looked like it was about to explode.
"Getting a new life, leaving you behind" Billy's eyes were wide, almost hypnotic. He was replaying the past. "Dad doesn't care, just wants to keep up the image. Nice house, family photos in your best clothes. And all the while, they just continue to play this game and sleep soundly at night"
"Billy, please" I pleaded. Echoes of my mom and dad fighting ricocheted in my mind, feeling the blood trickling down my nose, hearing him praise me before the violence began.
"Because, Harrington, it's all just… bullshit"
Steve lunged forwards as the mug flew in the middle of the air. One strike was all it took. The mug shattered, shards of ceramics falling to the ground. Steve, having exerted all his energy, leaned over his legs, breathing hard. Tears flooded my eyes, spilling out.
It was all bullshit.
Dad, Mom, the neighbors who heard the rumors yet never acted on anything. They were all bullshit.
What could you even do with bullshit? In this case, it was broken. It could be replaced. But what could replace it?
As I peered up, tears cascading down my face, I saw Billy standing, just gazing down at the broken pieces. He had answered my own question without even realizing it. You destroy bullshit. But what do you do after the obliteration? You can either glue it back together, break it again and repeat the cycle, or you can discard it and move on. Or was the mug who we really were? Broken, separate pieces of different sizes but ultimately could be put back together? What was the aim of this?
"How'd you feel, Harrington?" Billy asked.
"Relieved" Steve said, his voice going just beyond a hush. "I needed to get that out" He paused, standing back up and giving the pieces of the cup a slight kick. "Do you do this often?"
"I'm a bit of a fucking mess, Harrington. I'm trying to tame it in though" Billy responded and lit himself another cigarette. "No one gets hurt this way. It's just a mug"
"But you knew what this mug meant" Steve breathed.
"Well, you have two choices. Put it back together and hope it doesn't break again, or move on from it" Billy mumbled.
"It's not that simple though, is it?" Surprised, they both turned around to face me. Billy immediately came over and brushed away the tears. "It's bullshit, but it's not so simple"
"I know it's not that simple" Billy whispered, cradling my head in his hands as he wiped away the never-ending torrent of tears. "But it's life"
"Sierra, it was just a way of letting off some steam" Steve tried to explain. It was useless. It was all useless.
"Which is great, Steve. Really great" I tried to smile slightly. I was happy he had found something to alleviate the stress. But, why did I have such a problem with showing my own anger? Anger begets anger. Yet, was I the most angry out of all of us because I never showed it? "Shit, do you know the amount of times I've just wanted to leave my dad to choke on his own vomit because that's easier than telling someone what happens in my house? But you know what, I don't do it because somehow, I still care about what happens to the bastard" I moved away from Billy. Fresh, hot tears stung my glistening skin. Every bit of anger I had ever felt scorched my veins. I had tried to act like I never had any, like I was above any of it. As if I was the hot shit because I never showed how I felt on the inside and stubbornly carried on. But it never got rid of the feeling after the final punch, the last slap, finalized by the door slamming or ridicule. "And I seriously don't know why"
Billy walked away, back into the annex. Steve attempted to touch my shoulder, but I stepped backwards. Before I could even process the myriad of emotions running through me, Billy came back out, producing another mug.
"It's not a crime to be angry at someone who's fucked you over, Sierra" Billy declared, holding the mug up high. "We've all been fucked over and need to get it out somehow"
Now, I saw his point. It was all about balance. I could lash out at a mug and no one was hurt in the process. Emotional release would be attained and I could return to it whenever I felt the anger bubble before forcing it to subside. I imagined the mug was my dad. Rage contorting his face, the disguise of the good ol' family man being thrown aside. The amount of times I wanted to be the one to get the first punch in must have succeeded the hundreds by now. Truth was, I was furious. Furious at how I had been dealt these cards, at how no one so much as blinked when they saw I was the only person picking Zack up from school. I wondered how those stereotypical suburban moms would react if one day they were to ask and I opened up. Would they help or do the typical, uncertain stutter before finding a distraction? I was incandescent with a rage that had been forced to lie dormant. It had to lay dormant for Zack, for myself. All I had seen from my father was anger and I aspired to swallow mine down, push it further and further so it wouldn't see the light of day. Because I knew it had the potential to be destructive. How with every taunt or hit, a little part of his anger was absorbed. I had no idea where to keep it, so I imprisoned it. Somewhere along the way, it wanted to be liberated.
"I remember the first time he hit me" I said, voice strangulated by tears yet articulate as any politician's speech. "I was about 10. My mom and I were baking cookies together. It was around midday, yet he still came in drunk. They had an argument over it, and I could see he was about to slap her, so I stood in between them. Mom gasped, but he," I let out a sardonic laugh and wiped away the tears "no, he just said to me, "You were an accident in the first place" and staggered upstairs. You know, I wonder if he meant because I wasn't planned, he had an excuse. If I was planned, perhaps none of this would have happened, perhaps I wouldn't have stood in between them because there would have been no reason to"
"You can't blame yourself, Sierra" Steve whispered.
I looked up and saw both of them staring at me, engrossed by this story. Now I was talking, I found I didn't want to shut up. Dad wasn't here to keep me quiet this time. There was no social pressure to tape my mouth. It was just Steve and Billy, and they were all ears.
"He didn't hit me for a while after that. He didn't have to though. Mom was there to take his anger. Fuck, sometimes I just want to know what the hell he's angry at. Is he angry because he had a kid when he was fresh out of high school and his parents told him to get his act together, so he couldn't be who he wanted to be?" These were all questions I'd asked myself before. For some odd reason, this time, the answers gleamed in front of me. The answers all pointed to the affirmative, but there was something added to the end. He'd never once been held accountable for his actions. Money, bribes and image all prevented justice being served. "Mom left last year, and I think… I think, he's keeping her away from me"
You're just like your mother.
As in, I was strong enough in my convictions to know what I wanted? Only difference was, I didn't want to run away anymore. I wanted to look reality in the eye and tell it to go fuck itself. Is that why Mom knocked on my grandparents door that day? Did she want to look her abuser in the eye and tell him to go fuck himself?
"You're up, Nightingale" Billy declared and held the mug, his knuckles bright white from his strong grip. It was only then I noticed his hands were trembling.
I didn't have to keep all the anger stored up. No one had to be hurt. I was allowed to be angry. I didn't have to be perfect. Instead, I could just break something.
As the cup smashed against the impact of the bat, I watched as the fragments fell to the ground. Numb, I bent down and picked up a piece, surveying it. It wasn't the grand ascension to awareness I had anticipated. Equilibrium was restored and I no longer felt angry. What I could say was there was a certain clarity to everything now, as if I could see everything in higher definition. Even as Billy sat down on the ground next to me, fingers caressing my stained cheek, I saw him in another light. He had matured, years beyond the Keg King we had known only mere days ago.
"How do you feel?" he whispered.
"I don't know, it's strange" I shook my head and laced my fingers with his. "I know I needed to get something out there, but I'm not sure how I feel" Numb yet everything was bright. It was an odd sensation. "How do you feel, Steve?"
"Okay, I think. Like you, I think I needed to get something off my chest" he replied, joining Billy and I on the ground.
"What about you?" I said to Billy. Lowering his eyes, a lopsided smile formed on his lips. It wasn't the usual smirk. No, this was much more tender than that.
"I've been letting off steam all my life. Just not in the right way" Billy said in a low voice. "I guess, I just wanted to find a balance"
Billy stood up and extended his hand out to me. Accepting it, he hauled me up and wrapped his arms around me in a soothing embrace. The experiment was over and we had found that anger didn't have to build up and up until it exploded in a devastating boom. We could be three people who had been hurt and who felt angry at being let down by the very people who were meant to protect us. I had been wrong before, Billy did have a point with this. But even Billy, the mastermind behind this conclusion, didn't want to delve in too deep.
"Anyway, Harrington, where's my coffee?" He had seen both of us unleash our anger, but he hadn't fully joined. Something was holding him back.
"Shit, yeah" Steve cleared his throat. "No sugar, right?"
"Sweet enough, Harrington" Billy replied in a monotone voice. As Steve wandered back over to the annex, Billy and I started walking back to the sun loungers. "But, seriously, are you okay after that?"
"Yeah, I think I am" I replied. "Why didn't you join in?"
"Because, Nightingale" Billy lit himself a cigarette, the cloud of ashen smoke fusing with the steam as he released it "Chaos scares the shit out of me"