#billyxreader

The funeral was, in a word, bleak. Six people showed up, including you. Two of them left before the end, not because they couldn’t face it, but because a nearby pub was showing the football on television and the pair didn’t want to miss it. His mother sobbed hysterically. The only one comforting her was you, but she was broken in a different way; she lost a son, you lost your lover. Two men dressed in black, hidden behind sunglasses, ducked beneath umbrellas, watched from a distance. You thought it odd that they’d wear sunglasses on a cloudy day, but your mind was too busy elsewhere to care all that much. It rained too. Nonstop. Yes, bleak was the word.

You were well into the grieving process too. The denial came first. You were at work when you got the call. It was from his crew, the other skywalkers, parkour lovers, thieves, people you’d grown close to over the years. They had been on a job in Kyiv, looking for a diamond necklace, the Kalahari, worth fifty million dollars. And he didn’t make it. Police showed up and shot at the team, taking down a few. Your boyfriend fell seven stories onto solid concrete and his body was never found. At first, you didn’t believe it. You got the call at work, teaching languages at a local high school. And of all the twenty languages you had dedicated your life to learning, not one had the words to express what you felt. You didn’t believe them. He was talented, skilled, thieving his whole life. He was your skywalker. But his friends were serious. Billy was dead. 

That took you to anger as they told you what happened. The members of the team who weren’t shot on sight ran, leaping across rooftops, racing over scaffolding, jumping through windows. Billy lost his footing. He had the Kalahari between his teeth and the ledge of a rooftop under his fingertips. Instead of helping him, a girl in the group grabbed the necklace, and Billy fell seven stories to his death as the others escaped. She left him. She took the necklace instead of his hand. With a fifty million dollar necklace, it’s easy to disappear and protect yourself, which was lucky for this girl, because if you knew where she was and had the means of doing so, you’d hurt her in ways she never knew possible. Because she left him to die.

But you didn’t know where she was, didn’t have the means of getting your revenge and releasing your anger. So you bargained. Your mind was polluted with ‘what if’ and ‘if only’. ‘If’ became the one word you couldn’t get out of your head. What if he hadn’t lost his footing on the roof? What if the cops shot the girl who left him, instead of shooting someone else? What if he never found the necklace? What if he never went to Kyiv in the first place? But none of that mattered now. Did anything matter now?

The numbness was depression. It crept in somewhere around the first ‘what if’. It didn’t leave for a very long time. The days spent lying motionless on the sofa melted into months. You hadn’t been at work since his death. You just lay here from sunrise to sunset. Immobile. When the TV in what was once your poky shared flat wasn’t off, it was on the news. You didn’t care about the car chase and gunfight in Florence when it was reported. Didn’t move to watch Turgistan’s evil dictator being overthrown a couple of months ago. Everything felt heavy to you.

It was almost one year since his death, but step five of grief, acceptance, wasn’t coming to you. His birthday was tomorrow. You had a cake, a tiny thing, but Billy was never one for massive shows. It was barely the size of your hand, fit one candle comfortably, and was sitting in your kitchen, serving as a reminder than the man you loved was gone and was never coming back. You’d been trying to move on, really, you had. But everything was sore, like part of you was gone. His pictures were still on the wall. The Polaroid of the two of you that you treasured was still in your purse. His clothes still in their drawers. You were very careful with how often you wore his jumpers and hoodies because you feared that if you washed them too much and too often, the scent of cologne, London’s sky, and Billy would disappear forever. The only thing you changed was the lock on the door to the flat. Something about the only other key to your home that existed being lost in the world unsettled you. Maybe it was the stress and lack of sleep controlling your train of thought. 

Lack of sleep... You needed rest. You retired to your bedroom, bare feet cold on the hard wooden floors. The room was not the tidiest. The bed was unmade, but that wasn’t a concern. You trudged past your dresser, the dust gathering on the photo of the pair of you atop a skyscraper when Billy persuaded you to let him try to teach you parkour. Only a few grazes and bruises were sustained that night. He kissed each one tenderly in apology when you got home. He was wholly sorry, forest green eyes glazed with concern when you limped home after the trip. Eyes as pure green as spring evolving into a warm summer. Eyes you’d never get to see flutter open again in the lazy morning when he’d just lay with you, sunlight peeking through your curtains.

You knew you wouldn’t sleep tonight, but your bed was still welcoming when you fell back onto it and closed your eyes. You could still see the last smile he gave you, like a memory seared into your eyelids. You couldn’t tell if that comforted you or killed you inside.

“I can’t believe you persuaded me to let you come to London on this job,” One, the genius billionaire leader of the ghosts, complained to Four. Their mission went badly when Four got distracted by thinking he saw you, and when bad guys started shooting and instead of shooting back, Four ran to protect the girl who he mistook for you. A bullet nicked his cheek, but frankly, he’d have taken all the bullets in the world directly to the chest if it meant protecting you. “We have rules for a reason, Four, and this fuck up proves it. If you’ve been to the city before, you don’t get to go. Two didn’t get to go to Paris on a job-”

“Which is why I see this as a little unfair,” Five added, trying to stop the bleeding of a slash wound to Two’s bicep sustained during the fight in London. 

The sound of police sirens wailing stopped the group in their tracks. One and Seven were propping an injured Three between them. Five was trying to help Two, who was mumbling disoriented French to herself after being hit in the head and losing blood through her arm. Four was leading them through alleys and backstreets that he knew like the back of his hand. 

“We need to get off the streets. After that little incident back there, we’ve got every cop in London looking for us,” Seven stated, exhausted after the mission gone wrong. “Four, anywhere nearby? We need to get Two and Three patched up quick.”

He recognized where he was. This was the street he used to live in. The street that housed the love of his life and so many thousands of memories with her. The street he left and hadn’t returned to in nearly a year. He didn’t even know if you still lived here.

Four turned to the group and told One, “I’ve got a place, but you won’t like who owns it.”

Police sirens and urgent voices in the distance prompted One to answer faster. “I’m past caring, just get us there.”

He took them to the block of flats that he used to call home, to the flat that at one point was his paradise. He never let go of the key; it was the last tangible thing tying him to you.

The image of Billy’s smile disappeared as you opened your eyes. You heard something scrabbling at your door, muffled curses, frustrated voices. Slowly, your only armor being the last baby blue jumper that Billy wore, legs bare and chilled as you padded barefoot to the door, fear and uncertainty crept in. Billy was always the one to reassure you. He had a confidence about him, a comforting warmth that he exuded. You were just cold now. 

There was silence for a moment outside your door. You were barely a few inches from it, head hung back as you prayed the people would leave. It was the middle of the night, for goodness sake.

They knocked. Three brief raps. 

The fact that they knocked struck you as odd. You certainly weren’t expecting anyone. Your hand clasped around the door handle, and you opened the door a crack, then all the way. 

It was like the day you found out he died. No words in any of the twenty languages you knew could explain what you felt. Only this time, it wasn’t because he was dead, it was because he was standing in front of you. 

“Hi, love.”

You staggered back. You couldn’t help it. How? How was this possible? But then it started falling shakily into place. His body wasn’t found. The scrabbling noise? You changed the lock, he still had his old key. He wasn’t able to open the door.

“Y/n, I know,” Billy told you, hushed yet filled with concern and sympathy, and immeasurable guilt. “I know... but can we come in?”

You were silent and stepped aside, eyes not leaving the green of Billy’s, despite the strange sight of the people Billy was with just strolling inside your flat and setting about healing themselves, finding food and water, resting. At least they were polite enough to close the door behind them.

“You’re dead,” Your voice was a painfully quiet stammer. “They told me you died. You fell... you fell seven stories onto concrete... I went to your funeral!”

“I know, Y/n, please listen-”

“How could you do this to me?” 

Your words were barely audible, but Billy heard them. He felt absolutely guilt-ridden, heart breaking for what he did. But you didn’t know that in exchange for faking his death and joining a vigilante group, he made sure you were safe and looked after. Those months that you were off work, Billy asked One to make sure your boss kept paying you, since he always remembered how you would complain about your boss, Billy listening intently. When you fell hard into your depression, Billy made sure one made sure the bills were paid. He thought it would mean your safety was guaranteed; something he’d never been able to do before. He watched the funeral too. You did think the two men with sunglasses on in the rain was strange, but looking back, how you didn’t recognize Billy was what was truly strange. The other man who was with him? You turned your head and found One patting Three vigorously on the face back into consciousness. One and Billy were there. 

“William. Why?” 

William. That’s how he knew he was in trouble. It was always ‘Billy,’ ‘baby,’ or an affectionate ‘sweetheart’. It was never William. 

“That,” He pointed to One, “Is a billionaire arsehole named One. He faked his death and started a group of vigilantes trying to make the world a better place. That woman over there, the blonde arguing with your telly in French? That’s Two, but her name is Camille. The dude on your sofa is Javier, or Three. Five is the doctor with the first aid kit, helping Two.”

“Call me Amelia,” Five added as she bandaged Two.

“Seven, Blaine, is the only one with common sense, clearly,” Billy stated as Seven checked all the blinds and windows were closed so that they wouldn’t be spotted by the helicopter that watched London after the ghosts’ incident. “I’m Four.”

You, as much as you were absolutely baffled by the scenario you found yourself in, figured that this little explanation was better than nothing. “Where’s Six?”

“He died on our Florence job,” One chimed in, finding a beer in your fridge and cracking it open.

You didn’t put two and two together, so Billy explained, “Did you watch the news about Florence? Massive car chase? Gunfight?”

It hit you like a ton of bricks. There was news helicopter footage of a man running down the Duomo. You never watched but knew it happened. “That was you?”

“Yeah. We also did Turgistan. Evil dictator was overthrown ‘cause of us.” Billy had a hint of pride in his voice.  

You waved your hands slowly, flippantly, to stop him. “Hold on... you let me believe that you died horribly a thousand miles away, so you could join a group of vigilantes?”

“Well when you put it that way it sounds pretty shit-”

Your arms locked around him and you buried your head in the crook of his neck, hands trailing through the curls of blond hair on his head, breathing him in, savoring the feeling of him being back in your arms. “You’re back. You’re back...” You mumbled it like a prayer into his skin, clutching him as sobs wracked your body. The others of the team were too tired to care; they were busying themselves in your kitchen, living room, exploring the flat; they took no notice of you two whatsoever. Billy, however, Billy wrapped you in a tight embrace and held you there, grounding the two of you to the spot. Almost a year of wondering if he made the right decision. Almost a year of wishing he could apologize to you. Almost a year of wanting to feel you in his arms like this again. Almost a year without you, and it drove him mad. 

His voice trembled as he whispered so only you’d hear, “I’m so sorry, Y/n. So fucking sorry for what I did to you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Your voice was quieter than his but just as shaky, “I know, sweetheart, I know... But you’re here now, and that’s all I wanted. The chance to tell you I love you, just once more.”

His arms held you tighter, “I love you too.”

You and Billy sat on the end of your bed as time ticked onwards towards the morning. You patched up his cheek where the bullet grazed him earlier, just about burst into tears when he told you why the mission went bad in the first place, and made small talk about what you’ve both been up to in the last few months. Your stories weren’t quite as action-packed as his. 

When the two of you returned to the kitchen to be with the others, you found Camille still slightly dazed, talking to Amelia in French, and Amelia nodded along with not a clue as to what Camille was saying. Being fluent in French, and nineteen other languages, you were happy to translate. This seemed to impress One. He had heard a lot about you, not just from Billy, but from the research he had done. If Billy had been taking the team anywhere else but here to rest up, One would have said no. But it was useful being here. He wanted to have a conversation with you at some point. 

Blaine had picked up on the cake with the sad single candle and Billy’s name iced on and was counting down the minutes to morning. You noticed this and grinned, overjoyed, and joined him. Three... Two... One... You lit the candle and brought the cake to Billy, who couldn’t stop grinning. He blew out the candle and the room filled with ‘happy birthdays’ from everyone. 

“What’d you wish for, Cuatro?” Javier asked, raising his brows curiously. 

Billy smiled at you. The same smile that haunted and comforted you when you closed your eyes when you still thought he was dead. “I got part one of my wish already,” He squeezed your hand across the kitchen counter. “Part two... maybe Y/n would be able to take me back after fucking up in the worst way you can fuck a relationship up?”

Everyone looked at you in anticipation. You nodded, too choked up to speak, and framed Billy’s face gently with your hands, kissing him tenderly. It always felt like the first kiss with him, excited and loving, but this one was more serious, as if every ounce of love for you he possessed was being projected through the action. 

When you pulled back, One nodded slowly and finally asked, “Y/n, I’ve been doing some research on you. Fluent in twenty languages, graduated early, got your degree in teaching after a brief stint working as an analyst for, who was it, MI6? Translating in the big leagues looks great on any resume. I’ve got a job opening. We’re always on the move, ghosts don’t tend to stay in one place for very long, but we need someone who can make sure we say the right thing.”

All eyes fell on you. Billy’s hand held yours a little tighter. If you said yes, he’d be over the moon. If you said no, he’d likely quit with the ghosts to be here again; leaving you felt like part of him was across the world and lost.

One continued. “I’ve got a job opening for a number Eight.”

A smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

You were right about them not looking twice. He didn’t even check the list for your name before giving you an appreciative once over and letting you inside. Easy. Way too easy.

You weaved your way through the bodies in a manner that suggested you were experienced in many different ways, the clicking of your heels against the floor drowned out by the voices around you. Businessmen, mostly, which was why you had stuck to a more respectable dress for tonight. Very, very short, but nice enough. Or maybe it was just the raw confidence and anger you wore it with, a challenge to any of them to even think that you looked out of place here. Considering most of the women present, you looked right at home.

And then you saw him. You saw him, and your heart stopped. It stopped dead in your chest and you nearly came crashing to your knees, nearly vomited all over again, the urge to do so rolling through you and causing you to miss a step.

But you breathed deep. You found that tiny kernel of anger still inside of you underneath all the fear, and you gripped onto it, clung to it. You coaxed that ember into a fire until it was roaring, blazing through you, and you could do anything. Including make him pay for what he had done to you.

You weaved your way through the crowd, making it casual. You couldn’t make it obvious that he was your target. It had to be happenstance. 

He smiled, and you felt your guts twist at it. It was the same smile you could remember, the same power-hungry, pathetic, terrifying leer that you knew from that flash in your mind. You tripped again.

You tripped, but this time, it was not on nothing. There was a cufflink on the floor, clearly missing from some rich gentlemen’s suit, and you froze staring down at it. That cufflink...

You saw another cufflink, a pair of them, being taken off by wrinkled hands aged with malice and spite. Saw them tossed to the wayside as sleeves were rolled up, almost careless, almost cavalier with his bravado. And that hunger. That unfathomable hunger, swallowing you up, ruining you, oh gosh, oh gosh.

You were hyperventilating. You were going to start crying in the middle of this room with all of these people and you were going to lose it. You were going to blow your cover and you were going to be kicked out and there would be nothing left, because you remembered all of it now, every second, and you wanted to go back. You wanted to go back to not remembering, wanted to tell yourself that it was better that way, to not chase down these memories, to forget about this revenge, because you were about to lose it in the middle of this party that you did not belong at with him here and then-

And then you were fine. You were fine as a familiar voice said,

“Ah, there you are Krista! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Billy’s smile was disarming, even as the look in his eyes told you he was probably contemplating killing you. But he softened when he noticed your panic, your posture, and looped an arm over your shoulders. To anyone else, it would have looked possessive, but you knew what it was. It was protection.

“Had a few too many drinks again, hm?” He said it like he had intended it to be quiet and the rest of the party had just coincidentally heard, a very calculated tone of voice. “Well, gentlemen, I know I just got here but I think it’s best if I head home. I’d love to do business with all of you though. You know who to call!”

He smiled, laughing as though he had just told some kind of inside joke before he pulled her out of there. Pulled her out of that place with those fake smiles and facades that wreaked of the deeply unhappy rich. Pulled her all the way down to the parking lot, where her car was parked, apparently borrowed by Billy who was now pulling the keys to it out.

He didn’t speak until they got into the car.

“What were you thinking?” He demanded.

He was furious. Rightfully so.

“I wasn’t,” you answered honestly.

Okay, so maybe there had been some thought process and some preplanning and some wig-purchasing put into this, but you thought maybe Billy wouldn’t be quite so angry if you gave him the stereotypical answer he would hopefully buy. That was what you were supposed to say. But Billy was broke before he was anything else and he wasn’t buying it.

“Oh, so there was no premeditated planning here at all?” He gave your wig a meaningful glance.

Time to change the subject. “How did you find me?”

“Well you weren’t exactly subtle earlier today Skittles, and you’ve never been very patient in the revenge category, so I pretended to go to sleep and I waited for you to do something stupid. Which you did. Promptly. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you tonight? Even if Aldrich hadn’t recognized you?”

“Actually, yes Billy, yes I do! I have a lot more than an idea!” You were angry now, eyes flashing as you yelled at him.

He was driving now, but he didn’t look like he was thinking about the road as he stilled, body going stiff.

“Skittles...”

“I may be a worthless piece of crap who lost all of her memories, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing what I can to get them back, and it doesn’t mean that I didn’t just have one of the worst memories of my life shoved down my throat like...” You bit back the words, biting your lip until it bled as you tried to stop the tears leaking out of your eyes. “I know, Bill. I know what could have happened, okay?”

The car was very silent now. The hum of the heating was on, the New York night a little chilly now, and the engine thrummed quietly. You tried to concentrate on that, on its steadying little hum.

When Billy spoke, it was broken, his voice choking on the words. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“I wasn’t there. I should have been there.”

“From what little I can recall, you had no idea I was there. There was nothing you could have done, and there’s no use beating yourself up for it.”

“But I still could have...I should have...”

“Stop, Billy. Please? Please stop.”

He did, the car falling silent again. It stayed quiet like that until you were back up in your room, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking off your heels.

“You’re not going to do something stupid like that again.” It wasn’t a question.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, flaring with temper, red hot. “If you think for one second I’m going to let you-”

“Let me?” You laughed derisively. “Oh, that’s rich. You’re going to let me do something. You’re going to tell me exactly what I can and cannot do, right? Like I’m a toy. Because that’s what I am, isn’t it Billy? Just a toy to be played with until it breaks. Doesn’t matter who it is, that’s all I’ll ever be.”

Some of the anger ebbed from his eyes, hurt taking its place. But your anger wasn’t gone yet, and you wanted to hurt him more.  Hurt him like you were hurting.

So you scoffed, pulling the wig off your head. “I can’t believe whoever I once was loved you.”

That cut deep. You could see it on his face, the way he flinched back away from you. You wanted to take the words back, but it was too late for that. Too late to do anything but listen as he did what you were both so good at doing. Taking out your pain on other people.

“I can’t believe I was ever naive enough to think someone as scheming and fake as you would have loved me with or without the memories.”

If it was possible for emotional wounds to turn physical, you were pretty sure there was blood welling up in your throat, drowning you. And in fact, there were tears in your eyes, and then before you could stop them, they were slipping down your face. You were just so tired. Too tired to lie anymore, too tired to pretend to be some tough girl who didn’t let anything hurt her, didn’t let anyone control her.

He looked almost surprised at that. Surprised to see you crumble, curling up into a ball on top of the bed. You didn’t look at him when he came to sit beside you, didn’t look when he pulled you into his arms. He didn’t apologize, but he did press a kiss into your hair, and you figured that was the best you were going to get. It was good enough for you.

You sniffled, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his shoulder. For the first time today, you felt safe. Felt safe like this with him holding you, keeping the rest of the world out.

You fumbled your toothbrush, dropping it on the white and black flecked quartz counters of your master bathroom, and sighed as you picked it up. You winced when you saw yourself in the mirror. You weren’t exactly looking your best, but you supposed that didn’t really matter at this time in the morning.

You were still exhausted, which probably had something to do with your recent release from the hospital, so you decided to see if you could get more sleep. By the time you walked back out into your bedroom, you were mostly asleep again. Billy was sprawled out on the bed now, but you were too tired to care, crawling on top of him and cuddling into him, your face pressed into his neck as you went back to sleep.

“It’s a really good thing you’re rich,” was the first thing you heard when you woke up again.

“What?” You rolled over, your heavy black comforter slipping down your shoulders.

Billy was sitting at the end of your bed, fiddling with a switchblade. You should have found it terrifying, but it seemed pretty commonplace. Maybe it was just the casual way he did it, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Maybe it was because you had found one of your own in your purse. You were starting to wonder if you were a very good person before this.

He smiled, putting the knife away. “You’re missing work. But you don’t really have to go into work, because you’re loaded. Not to mention the fact that I took the liberty of calling in sick for you for the next week. Your assistant should be able to stay on top of everything.”

“My assistant? Please tell me I don’t work for some bigshot corporation with a desk almost as boring as this house.” You groaned, sitting up.

“You do not work for some bigshot corporation, although you do have a fairly boring desk. You own an art gallery.”

“Wait, really?” You smiled, incredulous. “That’s such a cool job!”

He chuckled. “Yeah. You have a degree and everything. The whole 9 yards.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard since I fell down several flights of stairs.”

He frowned, sitting back on his palms.

“I’m going to figure out who did this to you, Skittles. I promise.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident? I mean...how do we know? Everyone said-”

He stopped you. “Skittles, I’ve seen a lot of guys get hurt. I know when someone falls and when someone has been pushed. You were pushed. Very hard.”

“You’re positive?”

“I am. I would never lie to you Skittles.” He leaned forward, putting a hand on your knee.

“I really shouldn’t believe you as much as I do,” You breathed.

“If you knew our history, it would make sense. Right now though I guess I should just be glad that you’re not going to fall for any lies some other jerk tells you.”

You sat up all the way, swinging your legs off the bed. “You seem very possessive. I’m not sure that’s healthy.”

“Nothing about us is healthy, Skittles. We’re like junk food. We’re not particularly good for each other, but we just can’t get enough.”

“I do love a good cheeseburger.”

“So cheeseburgers for breakfast?”

You stood up, laughing. “Ew, no! I can’t believe I’m friends with you. How could you even suggest that?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers, Skittles.”

“Well then I guess it’s like you said. It’s a good thing I’m rich.”

“Sometimes.” Billy picked his shirt up from the floor where he had tossed it last night, putting it back on.

“So, what’s the plan for the day?” You stretched, reaching for the ceiling.

“I was thinking we could grab some breakfast, then swing by my place and pick up some of my stuff since you have made it very non-negotiable that we are now roomies. Which was very rude of you, by the way. You didn’t even let me have a say.”

“Just pretend you’re in special forces again. Only this time I’m your drill sergeant or whatever.” You shrugged.

“Damn, I wish you were my drill sergeant. Would have followed every order, no complaints.”

“Isn’t that what you did anyway?” You raised an eyebrow, half a smile on your face.

Billy bit his lip, eyes drifting off in a way that told you for half a second, he wasn’t here. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s what I did anyway. Like a good little soldier.”

You felt something in your chest shift seeing him this way, and you had the sudden urge to hug him, and then go rip his commanding officer’s heart out. Only one of those was an option at the moment though, so you took it. You draped your body over him, the hug lazy, still sleepy.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

“It’s okay, Skittles. You shouldn’t be worrying your pretty little head about any of that stuff, okay?”

You just nodded, unable to lie to him and tell him you wouldn’t worry. You had a feeling he knew and that you’d had this argument a few times before. You always had been stubborn. Even you knew that.

“So, breakfast. What do you want?”

“I already told you Skittles. Cheeseburgers.” He grinned, arrogant.

“Second choice.”

“Steak.”

You rolled your eyes. “Pick a breakfast food, Russo.”

He squinted at you, thinking. “French toast.”

“Thank you. That is an acceptable option.”

“With mayonnaise on it.”

You pulled away from him, reeling back onto the bed.“Oh my gosh I think I just puked in my mouth a little. No, scratch that, it was a lot. That is...by far the most disgusting thing I’ve ever heard of in my life. Maggots would be less gross than that. Please tell me you’ve never actually put that in your mouth.”

He was laughing like a mad man, rolling around on your bed while you stood over him, watching him screw up the sheets and practically chuck the comforter on the floor.

“No, Skittles. I have never eaten that, and I don’t intend to. It’s good to know I can still get a rise out of you though.”

“Jerk.”

“You love it.”

You scoffed, refusing to dignify that comment with an answer.

Billy wouldn’t let you drive to his apartment, much to your chagrin. Apparently, he hadn’t liked the look in your eye when you two had driven past a construction site earlier. Said it reminded him of a bad memory involving a ramp. You decided to let him have his way since he made breakfast. You were kind of a sucker for anyone who fed you. It was comforting to see that at least some things hadn’t changed.

Billy parallel parked outside of his apartment, hopping out while you sat and stared for a moment.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“You live here?”

“Yes.” He set his hands on his hips, impatient.

“I thought you said it wasn’t that bad.”

“It’s not.”

“Don’t lie to my face like that Billy.” You climbed out of the car, stepping directly into a puddle of an unknown substance that you prayed would remain unknown.

You picked your way through the back alley over to the entrance of Billy’s apartment complex, trying not to further damage your shoes. You were grateful you had picked the boots and not one of the many pairs of heels available. Billy lead you inside, opening the door to his apartment and gesturing for you to go first.

His apartment was...remarkably bare. You didn’t realize it was possible for a human to live somewhere and leave so little evidence. There were a couple packs of Ramen in the open cabinets, some dirty sheets crumpled up on the futon pushed against the wall, and in the far corner, a duffle bag with laundry in varying states of cleanliness peaking out haphazardly.

“So this is where you stay?” You turned slowly, staring at the chilly apartment.

“Sometimes. Usually I pay the heating bill when I stay here though. Doesn’t matter what time of year, it’s always freezing in this corner of the building. No idea why. Some of the people here seem to think it’s haunted.”

Billy swung the duffle bag over his shoulder, not even bothering to look at the rest of the room. He was headed for the door before you could even ask any more questions. How could he live like this?

“I thought you owned a company.”

“I do.” He popped the trunk, throwing the duffle in.

“So then why…?”

You both got into the car, Billy starting up the engine. The low purr of it was nice, relaxing.

“Have you ever heard those stories of the rich people who get depressed, and then everyone wonders why they were so sad when they had everything?”

You nodded. Those kinds of stories were hard to avoid. They were usually plastered all over the tabloids since rich was practically synonymous with famous. Walk down a grocery aisle and you were sure to see at least one death glaring you in the face, right next to how to lose 10 pounds in a week. The only thing more depressing was the news.

“Well, psychology says that they feel like that because they break habit. Everything that was routine and familiar to them is stripped away, all in one blow. They have everything, but they have nothing of what they used to have or who they used to be. It screws with your head, messes you up. So, I come here when I want to remember where I came from. Lately, that’s been a lot, so I just kind of moved in full-time.”

“You were worse than me, weren’t you?”

He didn’t have to ask what you meant.

“Yeah. I got picked up by CPS a little later, so I was on my own for a few years. I made it though. I’m a survivor. A fighter. Just like you, Skittles.” He smiled at you.

“Yeah. Just like me.” You frowned slightly, thinking about what you had recently survived. “Billy?”

“Yeah?”

“Who would want to hurt me? Did I make a lot of enemies? I mean, be honest. Was I a total witch?”

Billy laughed a little bit at that. “No. You were pretty popular in high school, actually. But now you’re...I guess disillusioned would be the best way to put it. You hate society life. Or at least, you did before the accident.”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that hasn’t changed either. Eating snails with a bunch of snobs who pretend they’re better than you doesn’t sound like fun to me.”

“Oh, c’mon Skittles. You’re being too harsh. They eat fish eggs, not snails.”

“Ew!” You covered your ears, squirming while he laughed at you.

You waited a moment before deciding it was worth pressing. It was your life after all.

“Really though Billy. Who would hate me so much they would try to kill me?”

“Well, that’s the troubling part Skittles. I don’t exactly know.”

There was something about the way he said it though that, of all the things that had happened so far, made you not trust him. For the first time, he wouldn’t look at you, eyes shifting back and forth over the road nervously, like he was watching for something, some imagined threat powerful enough to hurt you in broad daylight in the middle of New York. For the first time since you had met Billy, you felt unsafe.

“You’re lying.”

He glanced at you now, just for a second out of the corner of his eye, then sighed. “Skittles, it’s complicated.”

“Yeah? Well so am I. And this is my life, so complicated only makes sense. Tell me,” You demanded, turning your body fully to face him in the car seat.

“You...came to me, one night. You were upset, crying. At first, I just thought you got into a fight with your fiance, Carter. You guys weren’t really very compatible if you ask me. I mean, I guess he was nice, but not for you. I knew you didn’t really love him, and I’d been pressuring you to tell him as much, or at least admit it to yourself. I thought maybe you’d done both and he’d taken it poorly or something like that.”

You listened, watching the way he glanced between you and the road, as though trying to gauge how you would react to his next words.

“Then you told me you wanted to hurt somebody.”

You pulled back, like some invisible string was attached to one of the notches in your spine, tethering you to the back of the car seat, and someone had just tugged. You stared at him, confused and scared but not...not horrified. There was something vaguely familiar to it, like there was to a lot of things Billy said to you, and that was the part that really scared you. Not the threat of violence, but the familiarity of it.

Billy continued. “I didn’t ask what happened. Whatever it was, it had to be bad, the way you were panicking. The way you had been acting in general, really. You had been off ever since I’d gotten back into town. At first, I thought maybe it was something I did, maybe you were mad about something, but it only took me about a day to realize that it was something that happened while I was gone.”

“What are you saying, Billy?” You couldn’t say the words out loud, couldn’t make yourself reach higher than a whisper as Billy pulled into the parking lot of your apartment complex again.