Dacre Montgomery Oneshots.

You're So Good

You finished up putting on your light makeup and threw your bag over your shoulder. Rushing out of the bathroom, you hoped your father wouldn't see you. Unluckily for you, right as you grabbed the doorknob, he harshly grabbed your wrist and turned you around.

"Dad, please. I have to go. I'm going to be late," you pleaded, smelling alcohol on him. His fingers dig into your wrist. You could already feel the bruises forming. He finally let go after a few seconds of your squirming and went back to sit in his reclining chair he could always be found in. Often times he was enjoying a beer. Or two. Or ten. You awaited your fathers 'ok' for you to leave. When it didn't come, you opened your mouth to speak. He interrupted you with a, "take the makeup off. You look like a cheap whore."

"But, dad, I'm gonna be-" Yet again, he cut you off. This time, it was with him throwing a beer bottle at you with a loud yell, "I said take it off!" You put your arms in front of you as you blacked out slightly. Your blackout didn't last long as the bottle hit your arms and fell to the floor, shattering. Before he could do or say anything else, you bolted out of the door. Your feet had carried you all the way to school. The first thing you did when you arrived was head straight to your first period which you shared with many of the jocks and 'pretty girls.' Your least favorite one, though, was Billy Hargrove.

It's not his personality or the way he'd beat up anyone who looked at him even remotely in the wrong way. No. It was the way he looked at you. That was it. Most of the girls would kill to have Billy look at them, but not you.

You were different.

The bell rang and the class came flooded in. As always, Billy was the last one in. Every time he walked in, you could've sworn that the world moved in slow motion judging by the way the girls looked at him.

Everyday he sat somewhere new.

Never close to you, but close enough where he could still see your face.

Except for today, he chose to sit directly in front of you.

You scribbled your name down on your essay you'd just finished last night that was due today. Wincing at the pain in your wrist, your teeth instinctively gritted together. You sat the pencil down and sighed as Billy turned and looked at you. "Do you mind if I borrow your homework?" His voice was deep yet inviting. You sorted through your papers and handed him the sheet. "Thanks," he chimed with a smirk. A few minutes later went by until he handed the paper back. You put it back into your folder and continued scribbling notes down as the teacher spoke. Once he was back at his desk and was done instructing the class, you began to walk over to hand him your work. However, you didn't get far due to Billy's hand grasping your sensitive wrist. You hissed in pain and jerked away. "Watch it, Hargrove." He was in total shock at the way your voice had differed from its usual calm, sweet tone. Billy's mouth hung agape as you walked away. He quickly shut it as you turned back around and started towards your seat. After about thirty minutes, the bell rang and class was over. The day went on as it usually did for you.

••

The next day, Billy say in front of you yet again.

This time, he turned around to face you again. "May I borrow a pencil? If you have one, that is." "Yeah, sure. You can keep it," your voice was low and shaky as you handed him your pencil. Little to your knowledge, your sleeve had slid up and Billy saw the bruises that painted your arm. Multiple shades and shapes of black and blue painted your arm. Billy took note of it. He decided to agreed it. "Hey, hey, hey," he whispered. You stopped your movement and looked up at him through your eyelashes and he continued, knowing he'd gotten your attention, "Your arm. What happened?" Your heart raced and your face went completely pale with fear. "Nothing! I just tripped the other day when I was cleaning up my room," your voice shook yet again. "No, that's not...that's not that kind of bruise," he spoke, eyebrows cocked up. "Drop it, please, Hargrove," you pleaded with both your voice and eyes. So he did exactly that. He dropped it. For now, at least.