Blondie Wannabe: A Billy Hargrove Fanfic

Sal's Party

After Christmas, there really wasn't much left of our vacation. Steve and Max kept hitting the slopes, Dad and Neil discussed business (and how much they enjoyed beating their sons, probably), and I tried to sleep as much as humanly possible to numb the ache of my separation from Billy. I didn't leave my room for anything, ordering room service at least three times a day. For some reason, my mom knew not to bother me. I have no idea what they thought I was doing- drinking, menstruating, taking drugs, maybe all of the above- but I got a few days of space. 

Thanks to a couple of borrowed Vicodin, I don't remember the flight home, but I do remember seeing my own bed for the first time in a week. I flopped down belly first, hugging the mattress like it was an old friend, determined to spend the rest of winter break doing nothing. Sal had other ideas.

"Can I come in?" he asked, knocking on my door one morning. Technically it was two p.m, but I was still asleep, or at least pretending to be. When I didn't respond, he came in anyway, sitting at my vanity with his arms folded. "You can't stay in bed all day."

"Why not?" I asked, voice muffled by my pillow.

"For one, it's not healthy. But, more specifically, today is New Year's Eve."

"Why the hell would I want to celebrate the arbitrary date selected to commemorate the passage of time with a bunch of people I hate."

He rolled his eyes at my ennui, ripping the covers off my body. "Because you're not going to be celebrating New Year's with a bunch of people you hate; you're going to be celebrating it with me."

"How do you know I don't hate you?"

Instead of responding, he rummaged through my closet, throwing some clothes at my head. "Get dressed, brush your teeth, and meet me downstairs in twenty."

I sat up in bed to glare at his retreating figure, trying to decide if I admired the balls he had to walk in here, berate me for staying in bed all day, then know without a shred of doubt that I'd do whatever he asked of me, or if I resented him for it. Either way, he was correct, and I put on the dark jeans and black sweater he'd picked out for me, freshening up a bit as well as swiping concealer under my eyes to cover up the dark circles that pervaded despite me getting twelve-plus hours of bedrest a day for the past several days. I debated dabbing on some red lipstick, but I knew Sal preferred me bare-faced, so I forewent it. 

Before trudging downstairs to face whatever today had in store, I slipped into Mom's bathroom, placing a tab of Vicodin under my tongue, washing it down with sink water. After a moment's hesitation, I stuck the bottle in my purse, sure that I'd need a pick-me-up sometime tonight.

Upon leaving, I came face to face with Steve, who was opening the door to his room, but stopped to eye me warily. "Jesus H. Christ, what are you doing?"

"I'm not doing anything," he snipped. "What are you doing?"

"Uh, Mom has a perfume that I like, I stole a spritz."

He clearly didn't believe me, but decided he didn't care, shrugging before trudging into his bedroom, sipping a coke as he went. Clutching my pounding chest, I sprinted down the stairs, hoping I'd be numb soon, but the pills were taking longer and longer to work, the results more akin to cold medicine than anything else after weeks of abusing them. This should've given me pause, but I pushed it to the back of my mind instead. 

"Where are we going?" I asked Sal on the way to his car.

"My place."

I cocked an eyebrow. "I thought you lived here, with us."