Fallout || Stranger Things [2]

one || boxes and belittlement

It should have been me.

That one simple, agonizing thought plagued Billy Hargrove on a daily basis. It was always there, whether or not he was paying attention to it.

And he was always paying attention to it.

August was coming to a close, and there had been no dissipation of pain that Tatum's death had caused.

Most days, the fact of her absence from the world was overbearing and brutal, every sweet moment snatched away, along with her future.

Some days it felt like she was still there.

It was as if Billy would turn a corner and she would be there waiting for him. Constantly he looked, searching for her face in Hawkins. The grocery store, downtown, by his car.

But she was never there.

Tatum Rivers died late on July 4th, her body swept up by EMTs who declared her DOA. No pulse. There was barely any blood left in her body; most of it was on the mall floor, a building which had since been demolished.

She was gone, and it was a fact that Billy fought with every day since.

For some, there was a little good that came out of the tragedy; Nina and Ben returned to their parents with hope of life and freedom, the Byers were finally going to get a new start, and several teen relationships were spared. Billy truly had contacted his mother, and she was on her way to Hawkins to see him.

But despite the good from the nightmare, it was relative. All who were involved shared the same sentiment.

It wasn't worth it.

Billy should have been at the Byers house to help them pack up the well-loved home for their move to New York, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He had dropped Max and Lucas off, but claimed he needed to pack up his own belongings.

To be fair, he most certainly needed to pack. His room was littered with boxes, but they were all empty, and he had to leave for IU in less than a day.

College. Something he had never imagined happening, right up there with the only girl he ever loved dying.

Especially when it should have been me.

Billy scowled to himself as he sat in the center of his bedroom, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. A finger tapped the tune to a Motley Crüe song, his new radio pumping out metal in an attempt to drown out his agony.

He had broken his last one about a month before, smashing it to pieces before AC/DC could finish the first line of You Shook Me All Night Long.

     It was the small things that hurt the most.

His father beat the shit out of him for it, but it hardly compared to the torture he put himself through on a daily basis.

Not even close.

He scrounged his pocket for a lighter, grumbling until he produced a battered Bic. He stared into the flame for a long, silent moment, only then remembering why he had it out in the first place. He hastily lit his cigarette, taking a deep inhale before turning his attention to a large pile of clothes that had been rooted out of his closet days before.

How was he supposed to go to IU without her?

Tatum had been so excited to start college. She wore her Indiana sweater every day until the temperature rose above eighty degrees. If she could have lifeguarded with it on, she would have. She would tell anyone who asked about her college plans, her classes already lined out for the path to success.