Blink (Billy Hargrove x OC)

#29 ...To Be Broken

▶️ Dreams by Fleetwood Mac

"Hello?" She opens the door.

She.

She who has been the topic of so much pain, confusion. She who holds the answers to many, many, questions. She who flees in the night, she who abandons. She who stands before me.

Billy's mom.

She looks healthy, blond hair cascading around her face. A confused sort of smile graces her lips, the kind that is polite but also wary of me. Her blue eyes are kind, there's something guarded about her.

Well, I am a stranger after all.

"Mrs...uh." I stammer.

Shoot, did she remarry, what's her name?

She just looks at me.

"Mrs...Hargrove?" I ask, wincing.

Her face pales.

Wrong answer.

Bzzt.

"Lucy, honey, who are you talking to?" Startled, I slow time at the sound of the voice and the sight of the man popping up behind Billy's mom.

Although I realize what's going on pretty quickly, I keep the slow on so I can study him.

He has, a surprisingly kind, albeit a little suspicious, face. Green eyes gleam like emeralds, he's tall, and lean.

How could she have remarried?

Screams one part of me.

How could she not have?

Says another part of me, a little quieter.

I resume time as the woman begins to speak again.

"That's not my name anymore." She says to me, her voice measured, words chosen as carefully as one chooses fruit at the market.

"Who are you?" The man turns to me and asks.

Slowly I hold up the picture of Billy and give it to her. She stares at it, and hands shaking, looks from the picture to me.

"My name is Seraphina." I say.

"No..." She whispers.

"I'm your son's girlfriend." I say softly.

"No..." she says a little louder. She starts crying, and buries her head in her hands.

The man, the husband, doesn't seem to know how to respond, he tries to take the picture away but she jerks it towards her and looks at it again.

"Billy?" She weeps.

"Yeah, that's him."

"How, how did he turn out? Is he like his father?"

I pause. I remember the fights, the threats against the weaker kids he'd make at school, the violence, the smell of cigarettes, the sounds of heavy metal and rebellion.

But then I remember the softness, the tenderness. The way Billy crafts his outfits like he's getting ready for a photo shoot. The way his cologne smells, woody and slightly sweet. The way he holds me at night, kisses my temple, protects me.

"No." I say confidently, my eyes tearing up. "He's caring, and he's sweet, and he's nothing like his father."

The woman leans into her husband and cries, he wraps his arms around her. Her eyes, the eyes that she shares with Billy, are still glued to the picture.