Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Rich Girl

Before this chapter starts, I wanted to thank everyone who reads, votes, comments, and/or adds this story to their reading lists. We've reached 6k reads, which is so incredible, and it's all because of you guys, you're the freakin best!!!

When Billy asked me to finally get that drink with him the next day, I conceded, figuring it wouldn't be fair to punish him for my interaction with Sal, especially since he didn't even know it happened. Steve and Max went back on the slopes, my mom and Susan going to the gift shop, and our fathers went to the private bar. Rich dudes went there to smoke fat cigars and drink single-malt scotch; our Dad and Neil probably wanted to talk about some mysterious business. Billy took me to the brunch nook, rather than the bar, a quaintly romantic setting.

"Can I start you two off with something to drink?" a pretty, red-haired waitress asked us.

"Two mimosas," Billy said with a wink so charming, she didn't even bother asking for ID. 

"It must be nice," I said, after she left, picking at a bread roll hungrily. "To be so good-looking people can't help but do what you want."

"Jealous?"

"Of her? No." And I meant it. I wasn't jealous when I saw him kissing that boy in his car, or when I heard he slept with Sarah. We didn't belong to each other, which is how I liked, a much-needed change from my enmeshment with Craig. "But I'm a bit jealous of you, of how easy everything comes to you, your self-confidence."

The waitress returned with two champagne flutes, and Billy took a long sip from his before speaking, face suddenly shadowy. "No offense, but you don't know what you're talking about."

"Huh?"

"You're the one who has it easy."

As much as I wanted this to be a pleasant brunch, I bristled at his assumptions, despite the fact that I'd made them to begin with. "Just because my parents have money, doesn't mean my life has been easy."

"That's exactly what all rich people say."

I took his hand, feeling the dry skin on top of his knuckles. No, not dry skin, calluses from punching something or someone. "Come on, don't be like that; you've seen my family."

He flinched away from me. "Yeah, I have."

We sat in silence while I wondered what the hell I'd done wrong. I couldn't control that I had money and he didn't, and he'd seen how my dad treated Steve; if anyone could understand my situation, it was him, but he wouldn't even meet my eyes. I couldn' bring myself to be angry at him instead sinking into shame and self-loathing. How did the conversation veer in this direction in the first place? I could've asked about what book he was reading yesterday, or what he liked about basketball, where he lived in California, but no, I had to go and fuck everything up.

"This place is lame," I said quietly. "Why don't we go upstairs and order a little room service."

Billy's mouth curled into a smirk at the request, but the expression didn't reach his eyes, which remained cold as frozen lakes. He finished off the rest of his mimosa and grabbed my hand, leading me to the elevator. To my surprise, he didn't try to kiss me or even touch me. I would've playfully swatted his hand away, told him to wait till we were in private, but that fact that he didn't touch any part of me except my wrist, which he gripped tightly, put a knot in my stomach.

I unlocked my door, grabbing the collar of his shirt to kiss him, but he held me at arm's length. "What's wrong?" I asked.

"Don't speak." He undressed me with quick, practiced hands and removed his belt. "Get in the closet."

"Excuse me?"

"Do what I say!"

I startled at his sudden rise in volume but did as he said, parting the hangers to stand in my wardrobe, which was just high enough off the ground for me to be at eye-level with Billy. He tied my hands to the clothing rod with his belt, then stepped back to admire his work smugly.

"What is this-" 

A sharp slap across the face killed the words in my mouth, my heart literally skipping a beat out of pure shock. I looked at him in confusion, left eye watering reflexively.

"Did that hurt, whore?" He slapped me on the other cheek, and I cried out.

When he reached down to touch me between my legs, I choked out, "Augstanna."

Billy hesitated for one terrifying moment, hands twitching, before he stepped back, releasing my wrists from their restraints. My knees buckled and I fell to the floor, tears spilling down my red, stinging cheeks.

"What's wrong?" he asked flatly. "Too much pain?"

"No- I mean yes- but it's not that." I reached for my bathrobe, which I discarded on the floor this morning, and pulled it around my body tightly, suddenly ashamed of my own nakedness and vulnerability, before standing up, avoiding Billy's eyes. "This isn't fun when you're angry at me. It doesn't work if you actually want to hurt me."

He didn't respond for a while, looking out my frosted window, the mid-morning light making his tan skin look iridescent. "You can leave whenever you want."

"Um, this is my room," I said, irked at his tone.

"No, I mean Hawkins and your family, your piece of shit father. You can leave whenever you want- go wherever you want- and you don't because you're a coward; your fancy college is your goddamn safeword for Christ's sake, as though it's this horrible burden! I'm trapped here. You have no idea what that feels like."

I wanted to say something, ask for clarity, apologize, but I knew if I tried to speak, I'd start sobbing, and then he'd think I wanted pity, that I was playing the victim. The silence went on for a few moments too long, almost like he desperately wanted me to respond, but eventually, he gave up, sliding his belt through his jean loops before leaving. He didn't scoff or huff, didn't stalk away or slam the door closed, didn't mutter anything under his breath on the way out. In fact, he closed the door so gently, I had to turn around to make sure he was actually gone.