Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Vicodin

The next morning, I called in sick. Maybe it was lazy to not show up on a Friday when I had the whole weekend to mope around doing nothing, but I had a migraine and couldn't stand the idea of seeing Billy again this afternoon. I slept until eleven, or at least just laid there staring at my mint green ceiling (it was the only non-pink color my mom approved) while my head throbbed. Eventually, I had to get up. I was physically incapable of lying down beyond noon, even at my most depressed; I started getting itchy.

I didn't bother brushing my teeth or changing out of my pajamas, just wandered down the hall, looking at the overpriced house plants and junky oil paintings that reflected my parents' level of artistic taste. 

After a few minutes, I found myself in the master bathroom. I didn't quite know what I was doing there until I opened the medicine cabinet and saw them. The idea of anyone I knew seeing me now brought a smile to my face. Good girl from an upper echelon family with a 3.8 GPA stealing her mother's prescription pills. But did anyone believe my mom needed Codeine, oxy, and Percocets for her back?

I took two 2.5 tablets of Vicodin like the label said. They wouldn't take effect for a few minutes, but just swallowing them with sink water took the edge off. 

"Deborah, are you here?!"

My mom's voice came shooting up the stairs and careening into the bathroom, nearly knocking me off my feet. I practically sprinted down the hall, as if putting a dozen feet of space between me and the pill bottle would lessen my guiltiness. "Yeah, I just woke up."

"Well come down, we need to talk to you."

'We' implied two people, which most certainly meant her and my father. With a leaden chest, I made my way down the steps and across the living room to my father's office, where I'd deduced they were. The room reeked of the sickening combination of my father's Opium cologne, my mother's Jovan Musk, and the Clorox bleach that was used to scrub down the place to placate my father's OCD tendencies. It didn't help that he refused to open his one window or leave the door open while he worked.

"Hello Deb, it's very late to be just waking up, are you not feeling well?" Mom asked.

"Yeah, I had a migraine, so I called in sick."

"Well, don't make a habit of it," Dad said from behind his desk, his reading glasses perched right on the tip of his nose, which had gotten larger as he aged. 

"Is there a reason you called me down?" I asked.

"Yes, of course," he said, standing up. "My company is merging with another one locally. It's going to make a lot of people very happy and very rich, and the boss wanted me to entertain their liaison." He made his way around to me and put his hands on my shoulders. "Can you help me do that, Princess?"

I managed a smile because the Vicodin was finally kicking in and a warm dizziness spread through my body. The stench of chemicals was almost comforting. "Of course Daddy."

The meds lasted all the way through to the scheduled five o'clock dinner, and I didn't bother taking any more of them. I could schmooze up some business dude without prescription painkillers any day. Plus, my headache had all but vanished.

"You look very nice," my mother said, standing in just outside the entrance to my room while I stared at myself in the mirror.

"Do you really think so?" I asked. 

"Yes, of course. Put your hair up though, the outfit calls for it."

I was wearing a red dress with a full skirt and a black lace bodice, a matching ruby shade on my lips. At first I hesitated to put my blonde locks in a bun, worry that it, along with the black heels, would make the look too formal, but, as usual, she was spot on.

After rolling on some off-brand perfume, I carefully made my way downstairs; I hadn't worn these shoes in a hot minute, and the last thing I needed was to twist my ankle.

"Dinner smells lovely, Mom," I said, drifting towards the kitchen.

"Oh thank you my dear, but I had Alma come and cook for us. I am planning on lying and saying it was me. And serve, of course." She was wearing a navy dress with a matching single-button jacket, her blonde hair in loose waves. "Once upon a time, I could cook a four-course meal for eight, but not anymore, I'm afraid."

That made me do a double take. "Eight? I thought it was just you, dad, me, and this liaison-guy."

"Well, Steve's coming, of course, once he gets home from basketball practice, and we'll be entertaining the man's family, it's not as though he's a bachelor." The very idea made her laugh. 

Before I could ask anything else, Steve barged in, looking sweaty and relatively upbeat. "Hey, you two look nice." I couldn't tell if he'd forgotten he was mad at me, if he was pretending to be pleasant for Mom's sake, or if my dress truly moved him so profoundly that he just had to pay me a compliment.

"Honey, will you please get showered and changed; your friend is going to be here soon." A hint of nervousness had slipped into her voice.

"Wait, this guy's son is Steve's friend?" I asked incredulously as my brother ran up the stairs. "Do I know him?"

"No, I think he's new this year."

My migraine was back, and the floor felt uneven, slippery under my heels. We didn't get new kids in Hawkins, not ever. Except we'd gotten at least one while I was gone. But there was no way, no fucking way, that fate would bring us together against all odds for a second time.

The ringing of the doorbell split through the air like an ax in wood, making my skull throb.

"Would you answer that Deb, it's probably them, and you have a prettier greeting face."

This was the time when I was supposed to say that she was so beautiful, that she only got better looking with age, but I couldn't think, couldn't process what was going on. I just opened the door on a family posing like they were ready to take their portrait, but something was just a little off, a bitter note in an otherwise delicious pinot grigio.

"Hello, you must be Norman's daughter," an older man with a thin mustache said, smile so fully his upper lip disappeared. "I'm Neil Hargrove; this is my wife, Susan, my daughter, Max, and my son, Billy."

My eyes drifted between the four of them, so nauseous at the sight of them about to enter my home, my upper lip became slick with sweat. But if I vomited in front of all of them, that would make my father look bad, so I just smiled and gestured for them to come in. "Welcome to our home."

Okay, so I was planning on making this chapter the whole dinner, and I started writing it as such, but then it became clear that it would become not just overly long, but over-stuffed with content. I don't mind writing long chapters, but I don't enjoy cramming in everything plus the kitchen sink just because I'm excited about my story. I'll have the next section up soon, it's going to be very juicy ;) thanks for your patience and I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!!