FORTY
— flesh and bone
THE REVVING ENGINE of that blue Camaro was panic inducing. Her eyes were glued to the window, were she could see Billy line his lips with his tongue. His left hand hung loose from the window, a cigarette dangling between his fingers. She swallowed dryly, and slowly turned her focus to Steve— she could see his thought process. His eyes flickering up, and down, and the beaming headlights caused his pupils to dilate. He furrowed his brow, and shifted on his feet. Lucy felt her shoulders fall. "Steve..."
He turned to her. "Stay here," Steve spoke. His hand moved to her arm, and he touched her, as if to tell her it was fine.
She watched him open the door. The headlights turned off, and he stepped outside. Lucy's eyes flickered towards the kids— she nearly shouted. "God, what are you doing?" she whispered. "Get down!"
She joined them on the sofa. Lucy gripped the leather with such force, her knuckles were turning white. Her line of vision traced directly to Billy's face— he had that smug, asshole-ish look tugging on his features. She saw him take a long drag of the cigarette.
Billy breathed out. "Am I dreaming, or is that you, Harrington?"
He spoke in a monotone. "Yeah, it's me. Don't cream your pants."
Billy ripped off the leather jacket. He held the cigarette between his lips, and puffed his chest, as though to intimidate Steve. She rolled her eyes, and lowered herself further.
"Would you dipshits get down?" she murmured, pulling at the back of Dustin's shirt. "I don't want him seeing you."
His voice shook. "I think I'm gonna shit my pants," Dustin whispered. "This guy is an asshole."
The cigarette hung loosely from Billy's lips— she hated it. He spoke in a mumble, so it wouldn't fall. "I don't know this— this situation, Harrington, I dunno," Billy kissed his teeth. "It's givin' me the heebie-jeebies."
He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, yeah? Why's that?"
She saw Billy squint. Lucas spoke from beside her, "This guy," he began, throat going dry. "Really doesn't like me."
Her face fell. She narrowed her brows, and turned to him. "What?"
Lucas widened his eyes. "Like, really doesn't like me."
She blinked. Lucy clenched her jaw, and averted her gaze back towards the window— just in time to make eye contact with Billy. A gasp was pulled from her lips. A devilish smirk grew on his lips, and she cursed. "Fuck!" she spun around, so her back was pressed to the sofa.
Mike's voice cracked. "He saw us."
"Yeah, no shit, Wheeler!" she spoke between gritted teeth.
Dustin's chest heaved. "What are you gonna do?" he cried. "He'll kill us all!"
She pressed her hands over her eyes. "Okay, okay," Lucy spoke. She lifted herself from the sofa. "Listen, if any of you move, I'll kill you. Stay inside."
Lucas' eyes went wide. "What are you doing?" he called.
Her high-tops slammed against the wooden floor. Lucy ripped the door open, slammed it shut, and felt the house rattle behind her. Simultaneously, Billy pushed Steve to the ground. He hit the concrete with a grunt, the back of his head grazing the pavement. When the blonde lifted his head, he met eyes with Lucy— a laugh was pulled from his throat.
Billy licked his lips. With his right foot, he kicked Steve in the gut, and immediately started speaking. "I thought I saw you, Hopper," he pointed. "Lucille, I am glad you're here."
She stepped forward. "What are you doing here, Hargrove?" she stepped forward. "Go home."
"Your little girlfriends here to save the day, Harrington!" he shouted, and gestured to Steve. "And, what are you gonna do, huh?"
She clenched her jaw. Lucy wasn't intimated— her gaze was steady on him, hazel eyes locked on his blue ones. "I've made you bleed before, Billy. I'll do it again," she spoke. Her voice was quiet, but stern. Lucy straightened the collar of his button-down, and smoothed the creases of the shirt— it was demeaning. "How about you strap that leather jacket back on, get in your car, and drive away."
He didn't bother to shake her hands from him. Billy took a drag from the cigarette, formed an O with his lips, and exhaled in her face. The grey smoke clouded her vision, and thickened in her throat. He angled his head down, "Who are you... to tell me what to do?"
She clenched her jaw. Lucy balled her right hand into a fist, and Billy saw— he closed his hand around her wrist. He tugged, and tightened his grip. Her joints ached, and she grimaced. Then, he grinned. It was devilish, conniving, and most of all, angering. In a flash of frizzy brown hair and blue painted nails, she angled her elbow back and let her knuckles meet Billy's jaw.
He dropped her wrist. Stumbling back, Billy adjusted his jaw, eyes deer-wide. He let out a long, raspy holler. "Wow," Billy shouted. "I knew I liked you Lucille, that was a good hit— a great hit, even."
Her knuckles stung. The cigarette had fallen from Billy's lips— she stepped forward, and crushed it with the sole of her sneaker. "Go home."
He kissed his teeth. Billy ran his fingers down her jaw, directly where she hit him, and felt the throbbing bruise. He shrugged. "Well, I learn from my mistakes."
She knitted her brows. Lucy narrowed her eyes at him, and let her lips fall open. "Wha—" Harshly, Billy grabbed for her wrists. He took both of them, this time, and twisted them in his grasp. Lucy gasped in pain, and bent her arms away from him. "Let go!"
He held her with one hand. Her wrists collided together, a burning pain rattling down her arms. Billy pulled her with him, opened the front door, and stepped into the house— when he met eyes with Lucas, he tossed Lucy down.
"Well, well, well. If it isn't Lucas Sinclair," Billy moved forward. "I thought I told you to stay away from him, Max."
The redhead tensed. "Billy, go away," her voice was low.
He continued. "You disobeyed me," the blonde spoke. "...and you know what happens when you disobey me."
She cringed. "Billy."
He blinked. "I break things."
In a blur, he launched forward. Billy took Lucas by the collar, lifted him off his feet, and slammed him into the cabinet. He kept him off the ground, and tightened his fists around the burnt-orange jacket. The house erupted in shouts, worried gasps, and angry cries.
Lucas shouted. "Let go of me!" he cried, writhing under Billy's grasp.
He thrashed him against the shelves of the cabinet. "Stay away from her! You hear me?" he screamed, spit flying from his mouth.
"Oh, my God! Lucas!" she shouted, jaw agape. With her aching wrists and throbbing knuckles, she tugged at the collar of Billy's button-down. "Fucking let go of him!"
Lucas gritted his teeth. "Get off of me!" he breathed. Quickly, he launched his left foot forward, and between Billy's legs. The blonde dropped him, and stumbled back in pain.
He clenched his jaw. Billy grunted, and lifted his head. "You are so dead, Sinclair! So dead!" he screamed. "You're dead."
Her chest fell. When she opened her mouth to speak, vile words on the tip of her tongue, she felt a firm hand on the dip of her waist. He had entered the house silently— not a single creak, from the door or the wooden floorboards.
"No," Steve breathed out. He brought his arm back. "You are."
His knuckles crashed against Billy's jaw, in the place were Lucy's had already made an imprint. He doubled over, hands on his knees— Billy was un-phased. A maniacal shriek of laughter came from his chest, and echoed through the house.
"Looks like you got some fire in you after all, huh?" he screamed. "I've been waiting to meet this 'King Steve' everyone's been telling me so much about."
She wrapped an arm around Lucas' shoulder. Lucy brought him into her chest, and spoke lowly. "You're okay."
Steve raked a hand through his hair. He extended the other arm, two fingers pointed, and pushed Billy's chest. "Get out," he said. His voice was quiet, but stern. Demanding.
A haunting beat of silence. Billy's chest heaved. Steve's muscles tensed.
Billy's fist cut through the air. Steve ducked, with a grunt, and connected his knuckles to his nose. Bone cracked against flesh. The blonde fell back into the dining table, his toned chest pressed against empty glasses. The tension-filled room echoed with hollers.
"Kick his ass, Steve!" Dustin cheered.
Mike shouted. "Beat the shit out of him!"
He hit him again. And again. Steve pounded his fist against Billy's already bloody face, and backed him up into the kitchen counter.
"Kill the son of a bitch!" Dustin yelled.
Billy cackled. He drew in a long breath, back pressed to the messy counter. Lucy watched his hands wander— her eyes went wide. "Steve, he's got a plate!" she warned, her voice breaking.
He cracked the plate over Steve's head. It broke into a hundred pieces, jagged, white glass fell down his grey jacket. She gasped, a called his name.
He stumbled in their direction. His right hand was planted on his head, his eyes screwed shut in an attempt to recollect from the hit. Adrenaline coursed through Billy's veins. He pummeled his fist into Steve's jaw, and knocked him into the bookshelf. His sweaty chest heaved, his back straightened, and his hand tightened into a fist, again.
He grabbed his arms. Billy lifted Steve, "No one... tells me what to do," he breathed. Billy craned his neck back, and with a shocking amount of force, head-butt Steve. He toppled to the floor, body sliding across the ground. Steve's back was pressed to the sloppy drawings, the palms of his hands against the floor in an attempt to stand.
Billy hovered over him. He cracked his knuckles against Steve's flesh, blood pouring from his nose, and his mouth.
Hit, after hit, after hit.
His lip was busted. His nose was bleeding. His eye was swollen. Lucy's throat was raw, and she had screamed every word in the human language, all telling Billy to stop. Thick tears brimmed her bloodshot eyes— she stepped forward.
"Billy, stop! You're gonna kill him!" she tugged at the collar of his shirt. First, it was to no effect. Then, she mustered all her strength, tightened her fingers around the fabric, and pulled. The muscles in her aching arms tensed and throbbed, but she had pulled him off of Steve. Her body acted faster than her mind— she sent a kick to the side of Billy's stomach.
He let out a low groan. She panted, hands still on the collar of his button-down. Billy reached his arm back, and used it to push Lucy to the ground. His face was red with anger, and she could feel his body radiating heat against her. The veins in his neck bulged, and he used both hands to press Lucy's shoulders to the floor.
She grunted. "Piece of shit!" Lucy spat. She writhed her body, lifted her shoulders, and kicked at his stomach. He reached down, and grabbed her fast moving legs— Billy pinned himself there, so she couldn't move.
He grabbed the collar of her v-neck. Lucy's neck snapped back when he yanked her. Billy lifted her face close to his, their noses grazing. She continued to squirm, and he had enough. "Quit it, bitch!" His fists tightened around her shirt, and he quickly slammed her back to the ground.
Her temple smashed against the wooden floor. The room erupted in gasps, and her eyes fluttered shut. Billy took a heaving breath out, released her from his grasp, and turned to face Steve— he was already bloodied and unconscious. The blonde continued to pummel his swollen knuckles into Steve's face.
She groaned. She felt her brain rattle in her head. Lucy pressed her hands to the floorboards, a high-pitched grunt pushing past her lips. The sound of Billy's fists cracking against Steve's nose filled her ears. It's all she heard. Bone against flesh. Blood. Her arms shook when she lifted herself, and the throbbing in her temple commenced. It was like her body was saying enough. Lucy turned groggily— she saw Max start towards Billy, a needle in hand.
She slammed it into Billy's neck. Her thumb pressed at the bottom of the syringe, so the liquid was infected into his system.
He rose. Billy's hand flew to the side of his neck, and he yanked the needle from his skin. "What the hell is this?" he panted. "You little shit, what did you do?" Billy's body wobbled, and he crashed to the ground.
Her knees were pressed to the ground. Lucy scrambled to Steve, her sweaty hands immediately approaching his chest. "Steve, oh, my God," she said, weakly. "Steve."
Max lifted the nailed bat. "From here on out, you leave me, and my friends alone," she warned. "Do you understand?"
He chuckled. "Screw you," Billy slurred.
Her hands wandered to his bloodied face. Her thumb grazed his lip, so her fingertip was covered in crimson blood. "Harrington, please," she whispered, her eyes glossy. "Jesus Christ, are you alive?"
"Say you understand! Say it," Max screamed. She brought the bat down, and between Billy's legs. "SAY IT!"
She scrambled to feel his pulse. Lucy held two pointed fingers at the pulse-point (she thought it was the pulse-point) and panicked. She pressed her ear to his chest— Steve's heart thumped steadily.
Billy grunted. "I understand."
She sniffled. Lucy exhaled, her shaky hands moving to hold Steve's face. The pads of her thumb swiped over his upper-lip, collecting any blood. The room grew painfully silent— she heard Billy's labored breathing, her own labored breathing, and a pair of jingling car keys.
She swallowed. "Hey," Lucy spoke, firmly. She sniffled again, and wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek. "Where the hell do you think you're going?"
"We need to get to the tunnels," Mike spoke.
Lucy shouted, "We're not going anywhere!" It was the first time she had yelled at them. Her voice was firm, raw, and startling. "We can't, no— not with him like this."
"Luce, it's Steve," Dustin spoke. "He will be fine, okay? Slap a bandaid on him. But, we need to leave."
She pressed her hands to her eyes. Lucy stood, and she felt her head spin— Lucas stepped forward, his hands firm on her forearms. Her torso throbbed, her knuckles stung, her wrists ached, and her head was spinning. A deep, green bruise had formed near her temple.
Dustin's eyes widened in realization. "She can't drive," he spoke. "Shit, shit, shit."
She snapped at him, "I can drive, okay?" Lucy said. "Help me get Steve up."
He shoved his hand in her face. "How many fingers am I holding up?" Dustin spoke.
She blinked, and shoved him away. Lucas' hands still clutched her forearms. "What?"
"How many goddamn fingers am I holding up, Lucy?" he repeated, shouting.
She scoffed. "Three, dipshit!" Lucy rolled her eyes— the dizzy feeling resumed.
His face contorted in shock. "It was two, dipshit!" Dustin waved his fingers in the air. "You cannot drive!"
She blinked. "Don't bullshit me, Henderson, that was three!" she yelled. "Jesus Christ."
Max sighed. Between her pointer-finger and thumb, she held the keys to Billy's blue Camaro. She jangled them, and tossed them into her left hand.
"Let's get out of here."
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this is long
lucy my girlboss
why billy gotta be so 🤬 when he's so sexy ☹️