Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Mornings Suck

Let's pretend she's blonde in this gif because it was too perfect.

I awoke with a pounding in my head like someone had placed a blaring boom box next to my ear for several hours straight. I stood up, cracking my back as I went. The night came back to me like a school of fish into a cave, the sights and sounds and smells each a little guppy. The bitter, bubbling vodka sodas, the lights on the dance floor, the way they'd transformed Mullet Boy's hair... mullet boy! Him and me in that disgusting bathroom, his blue eyes, his hands, Sal's disapproving glare as he drove me home.

My closet had all the clothes I'd left behind when I went to school. I'd mostly spent my months before dropping out in sweats or leggings and baggy band t-shirts, all my cute dresses, skirts, and blouses still in there. No dust had collected; guess Mom told our cleaning lady, Martha, to keep my room sterile for my arrival.

Though a comfy outfit was tempting, I remembered Sal was staying over since he'd driven my car back here. I didn't want to seem like I was trying too hard, so I settled on fitted jeans and a white tank top. Mullet Boy's jeans had fit so perfectly last night, I remembered. I checked myself out in the mirror. Craig would always tell me how pretty I was, and, after a while, I began to believe him. Looking in the mirror that morning, I couldn't quite remember what he'd seen in me, what I'd seen in myself. I turned around to look at my butt and frowned; I was pretty sure Mullet Boy had a better ass than me.

After putting swiping some mascara on my blonde, almost invisible lashes and a bit of pink lipstick that wasn't too shiny or sparkly, I headed downstairs. Sal once told me I looked better without any makeup, fingers crossed he still held that opinion.

"Morning sleeping beauty," my mom said from where she was standing in the kitchen, blonde hair in a French twist. She was nibbling on a croissant wearing a yellow, tea-length dress with a white Peter Pan collar, and low heels.

"You going somewhere today, Mom?" I asked in response to her elaborate outfit.

"Yes, a few friends from your father's work invited us over for tea," she said, touching her up-do gently, making sure no pins were sticking out.

"Dad's work," Steve said from his seat at the breakfast bar where he was eating Rice Krispies in a bowl of chocolate milk, looking smarmy. "As opposed to your work?"

Mother did her tight smile that was the housewives' preferred method of flipping the bird. Sal was at the opposite end of the table, picking at some bacon, his hair pushed back from his face with leftover shower water, not unlike Steve's. I sat next to him and stole a piece of bacon away.

"Hey, get your own, thief," he said, but he was smiling, a twinkle in his that made my stomach flutter.

"You slept in quite late, Deborah," my mom said, setting a bowl of Krispies in chocolate milk in front of me, the same as my brother's. This might sound stupid, but it's such a childish thing to serve a woman old enough to buy liquor and vote. Why couldn't she have given me a more adult meal?

"What time is it?" I checked the clock over the sink. 11:42. I'd slept in later.

"How are you feeling?" Sal asked me, keeping his voice low, but in the silent kitchen, I knew everyone could hear.

"I'm fine, just tired is all."

He finished the last piece of bacon and picked up his plate, standing up. "Well, you look good." And then he set it in the sink and rinsed it off.

Mom went in the direction of Dad's study, heels clicking, and Steve knocked back his chocolate milk like it was one big shot and went around to put the bowl in the sink. "So Sal, are you working tonight, do you want to go to the gym or something?"

I gave my brother thumbs up and knowing wink over Sal's shoulder, which he ignored, though a saw a small twitch in his jaw. I hadn't realized how bad his bro-crush had gotten.

Sal leaned back on the counted legs crossed at the ankle and arms folded over his chest. "Dude, your sister just got back from college. Don't you think you should spend some time with her?"

"Yeah Steve, why don't you take me to the gym?"

"Oh, so you can show off your leopard-print leotard?"

"Oops, I gave mine away, I guess I'll just have to borrow yours."

He flipped me off and Sal chuckled, rubbing his chin. "You guys act like mortal enemies; like Superman and Lex Luthor."

"I'm Superman," Steve said immediately, as though it mattered immensely to him.

I shrugged, dumping my soggy cereal in the trash. "Anything to get in that leotard, huh?"

Steve huffed and walked away like a little crybaby. I pushed myself up onto the counter and crossed my legs, adjusted my tank top so it wasn't too low in the neckline. Sal came to stand in front of me, playing with a loose strand on a small rip on the jeans, twisting it around his finger until the tip turned a bit purple.

"You and Steve used to get along so well. It made me jealous since I'm an only child and everything. What happened?"

"He's honestly kind of a tool. Like, the kind of guy I avoided in high school."

"Right, because you have the best taste in guys."

I raised an eyebrow curiously at him. At first, I thought he was talking about my single high school boyfriend, Derek, but he wasn't a bad guy. He was straight edge, smart, didn't play sports. And we weren't even that serious. Mostly we just went to drive-in movies and roller jam. Then I thought he somehow knew about Craig, who'd only come for one Christmas dinner that Sal also attended, but they didn't even really talk and Craig was super polite. He was always polite.

And then I realized he was talking about Mullet Boy. I rolled my eyes and got a glass of water. Is that who he thought I liked? Bad boys in tight jeans who picked up girls at bars? Before last night, I'd never gone for a guy like that, in that way, in my entire life. But what could I tell him? I like smart, kind gentlemen who baked for fun and listen to obscure music and artsy movies?

"Last night was a one time thing."

"Sure, sure."

I drank my water, tipping my head back to drain the glass. When I put it in the sink, I saw him glance away and scratch the back of his head.

"You want to know what I did in college?"

"Hang out with your million, trillion boyfriends and drink between 4 and 7 vodka sodas a day?" he asked straight-faced.

"No, god," I said, rolling my eyes. "I studied. I went to class, I drank a can of Crush a day because it doesn't have caffeine. I almost never left the dorm after nine pm." I started to walk away, but then turned back around, jaw tight. "And I only had one boyfriend, thank you very much."

When I turned to leave again, I realized I was headed to the door, not my room. I slowed a bit, getting my coat, hoping Sal would try to stop me since I didn't even know where to go, or where my keys were. But he didn't. He just stood there like an asshole, and then I was out the door.