Risky Business ｡ Stranger Things

16 : The Last Picture Show

Billy gave a quick and curt nod. "My step-mother had a copy." Her heart paused at his words suddenly.

"Step-mother?" she mimicked. Billy just shrugged, his body growing tense and defensive. "Oh. I didn't realise—" That you came from a broken family. "Does your sister—"

"Max isn't my sister," his voice was dark and dangerous. The contours of his face had grown hard and cold. 

But Prue was curious, curious like a cat. "She's your step-sister, though. It didn't look like you two get along much..."

"What, are we playing twenty questions? Because if you're into games, I can think of a couple that are much more fun," Billy said, his eyes suggesting something wicked. He was clearly trying to distract Prue, get her away from tough and personal questions.

"I'm just trying to make conversation. So, excuse me for being friendly and polite!" she rebutted, her own defensives kicking in. 

"Baby, I'm not here because you're friendly or polite. You're a storm of a girl. Filled with rain, lightning, thunder and small amounts of calmness," Billy said, leaning forward on his elbows, drawing her gaze and trapping her with his eyes. "Also nothing about us is friendly or polite."

"There is no us," she bit back as her eyes narrowed. "And quit comparing me to a storm! You don't know me!" her voice was thunderous with a rage only Billy could provoke from of her.

"Maybe not, but you're hiding under facades for the sake of your parents and your friends. Even for that boyfriend of yours. But you're breaking out and your cracks are starting to show, baby." his voice was low and deep, his eyes seeing blood and bone-deep. She felt like squirming under his violently strong and hot gaze, but she kept her spine straight with irritation.

Prue scoffed. "You're insinuating that the night of Halloween was me trying to breaking out of these facades you think I have? That fucking you was somehow freeing? That's bloody ridiculous!"

"You were being impulsive, acting on instinct," he suggested, like that proved his point, proved that he knew her and was aware of things and actions about her that she wasn't.

"Oh, really?" Her eyebrows shot up with her sarcasm. "Please, share some more of your extremely insightful bullshit with me."

"You did something that you wanted, and not what someone wanted from or for you. You were breaking those facades you keep for everyone around you." His eyes were growing softer and his voice more gentle like he was coming to a realisation or like he wanted her to believe him.

"But not with you apparently. Right, right." Her lips pulled into a straight line, her chin crinkling with the effort. "Just to make this fair, let me share some insightful observations about you then."

Billy rested back against his seat, arms draping over the sides. "Sure. Shoot."

"You think we're the same? Both storms, right?" she questioned, and he nodded, twisting a cigarette between his fingers. "You associate me with rain and lighting, making me a rainstorm." Billy continued to nod, his eyes bleeding with curiosity and an eagerness for her words. "Except you're not a rainstorm, but a snowstorm. You're aggressive and violent like the howling winds of winter that destroy everything around them with ice. While people believe rainstorms or even fires are the worst natural forces, they're wrong, because there's nothing more brutal or angry than a blizzard.

"That was very poetic," his voice was patronizing with a low laughter falling from his lips.

"Don't mock me, Billy," her voice was steel. "We're not the same, maybe similar, but not the same. Not ever. So don't reflect yourself onto me because you're lonely or angry with the injustices life has given you."

A silence encased the pair, both now sitting back in their seats, lost in thought or too stunned to say another word. And Prue was left questioning why every interaction she had with Billy Hargrove was infused with anger and passion and usually left her feeling exposed and raw and riddled with cracks like once fine china that was now ruined or a pale and fragile shell that broke to let something new and awake immerge. Maybe Billy Hargrove was right in a way, maybe the cracks in her well-constructed and once maintained facades was simply her birth or her evolution into what she was seeking or who she needed to be.

Author's Note

How pretty is that character/ship gif? Made by the talented rebellionofhope! I've received some wonderful encouragement from this little story, so thank you to all you lovely readers that vote and comment. I see every single vote and every single comment! And all the support means so much to me, please know that!