Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Bruises

On Monday, sitting on the bleachers watching the stupid fucking boys' team practice, I wished my brother and I were sitll talking so I could tell him that Billy and I had slept together so he could beat him up and forbid me from going over his house to pose for him today. After agreeing to do the extra legwork with Billy as his portrait model, my father had been kind enough to suggest we not waste any time and told me I should drive to the Hargrove's after practice on the very first fucking day of the school week.

On top of that, Mr. Wilcox, the teacher in charge of recruiting people to help with the Snowball Dance, practically accosted me in the hallway to make sure I was still game to volunteer. I said yes, of course, I'd be happy to babysit some 12-year-olds on a Friday evening.

Even though they were just running drills and not scrimmaging, Billy was still shirtless. I wondered if he was doing it for my benefit, or if his natural state was bare-chestedness. He probably wandered around his house in boxers, eating ice cream straight from the carton with a spoon. Maybe he'd close the door to his room while he painted me to keep out his family, locking in the oppressive heater, and he'd peel off his shirt just to keep cool, pompously not asking if I was okay with it. I would roll my eyes, but secretly check out his abs while he wasn't looking...

"Heads up!"

But I wasn't quick enough, and the ball hit me square in the face. And it fucking hurt.

"Oh shit!" Tommy and a few of his friends started laughing as I pressed my hand to my nose, not just to alleviate the pain, but to cover the tears that spilled out of my eyes involuntarily. I could feel the blood rushing to the front of my face and prayed nothing was broken.

Through my fingers, I saw Tommy move to clap Billy on the back, but he shoved him off. "You're such an asshole." He then proceeded to push past the rest of his teammates and climbed up to the third row of the bleachers, stopping just in front of me. I wondered if my eyes had been fucked up by the basketball. "Are you okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine." But my shaky voice gave away how much pain I was in.

"C'mon," he said, sounding a little annoyed, but also concerned. 

Even though it was sort of embarrassing, I desperately wanted to get out of the gym before I started openly crying, so I let him drag me by the elbow into the girls' bathroom, which was thankfully empty.

"Let me see it," he said, moving my hand away.

"Is it horrible? Am I deformed?"

He rolled his eyes. "Don't be daft, it's barely a bruise."

"A bruise!" I shrieked, turning to look in the mirror. There were some purple and red splotches on my nose and on the cheeks under my eyes, and it was starting to swell. "Is it broken?"

"No, it'd be bleeding if it was." He checked my eyes, pulling the lids open one at a time. "Trust me; I've been punched in the face a lot."

That elicited a snort from me, which caused a new shock of pain to course through my face. "Should we really be in the ladies' room?" I asked, pinching the bridge of my nose gently, blinking out a few tears.

"Yeah, this is where they keep the first-aid kit." That seemed a little odd, why wouldn't they keep one in both locker rooms? "Also, I didn't want the other guys coming in and being assholes."

"That's very considerate of you."

He cracked the instant ice pack and then pressed it to my face. "I hate this fucking school, and I hate this fucking town. Only in Bumfuck, Indiana would the cool crowd be so goddamn retarded and insufferable." My face screwed itself with confusion, causing pain to shoot through the muscles of my face and new tears pooled in the inner corners of my eyes. "What's wrong? Is this thing too cold?"

"A little bit." While he wrapped it in paper towels, I swung my legs back and forth (I was perched on the sink), contemplating my next words. "Have you tried hanging out with other people?"

"Like who? Your brother, King Steve?" he asked mirthlessly.

"No, I was more thinking of anyone who's... not Tommy." When Billy didn't respond, I continued, "You like art, why don't you try talking to the artsy crowd?"

"Like the freak? I'll pass, don't think I'm the kind of nude model he prefers."

"Fine, be an asshole, I was just trying to help you."

Sighing, he shoved the first-aid back where he found it. "I don't need your advice, I always hate everyone I'm around, so I might as well be with people who have fun." That was genuinely depressing, and he apparently felt it too, because he put his hands on my waist, lifting me off the sink and setting me down gently, surprising me with his strength. "Let's go, kid. I'm done with this fucking practice, and we have a painting session to get to."

So, this is the first chapter of Part 3, super exciting, please let me know what you think and vote if you like!!