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joelsgreys · 8 months

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a safe haven l eight

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: Joel encourages you to leave Luke and live the life you deserve with him and Ellie; Luke confronts you about Joel; Ellie discovers your secret and tells Joel, leading you to make a heartbreaking decision for the good of everyone in Jackson.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS A SCENE OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE. reader gets shoved and sustains an injury as a result (non life threatening). mentions of skin discoloration, the word bruise is used but no mentions of specific skin tone for reader, PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. *other chapter warnings and tags include: soft Joel, domestic fluff between reader and Joel, Ellie is a little shit but we love her, death of two minor OCs, talk of grief, funeral and burial, confronation between Ellie and reader, confrontation between Joel and reader, ends with angst and a slight cliffhanger.

Word Count: 10k

News of the ambush attack spreads like a wildfire.

Jackson’s safety and security has been rattled.

One life lost and another life hangs in the balance.

People are anxious—and they’re terrified.

And who could blame anyone for feeling this way?

For the first time in a long time, their peace of mind had been completely shattered.

“Where the hell did the kid run off to?” Joel grumbles, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table.

Now that the adrenaline is beginning to wear off, he’s really starting to feel the pain in his shoulder. It had started throbbing something awful not long after you’d finished stitching him up, and the expired oxycodone tablets you had given him had very little potency left—they hadn’t done a goddamn thing to help ease his discomfort. Not that it really came as a surprise to either one of you that the two decades old painkillers hadn’t worked, but it’d been worth a shot to at least try and see if they would do him any good.

“She’s with Rose in the supply closet,” you reply, taping a piece of gauze over his wound in an effort to keep it protected until you could take him home and get him cleaned up—then you would bandage up his shoulder properly. “They’re gathering some supplies you’ll need and looking for a sling.” It’s quite foolish to be this close to Joel with Luke just mere feet away in the exam room down the hallway, but you can’t seem to help yourself. Offering him a look of empathy, you lift your hand and cup the side of his face, delicately cradling it in your palm. You softly graze your thumb over the scruff of his beard. “I know, I know. You’re itching to get out of here. I promise, as soon as Ellie comes back with the supplies you need, we’ll get you home, okay?”

Joel raises a questioning eyebrow. “We?”

You nod. “I want to help Ellie get you settled in for the night and make sure you’re comfortable.”

He lowers his voice. “But what ‘bout Luke?”

“He’s going to be tied up here at the clinic tonight. It’ll be a while before he heads home,” you assure him. Dropping your hand away from his face, it falls back down against your side as you step back, putting some distance between the both of you. It probably isn’t the wisest idea to spend the night looking after Joel considering you’re already treading on thin ice with your husband for tending to his injury earlier, but your desire to take care of the man you love simply can’t be suppressed. Sensing his unease about it, you quickly add, “But if you don’t want me to, then I completely understand.”

Holding your breath, you anxiously wait for his response.

Part of you almost hopes he’ll say that he doesn’t.

One of you needs to be the voice of reason, and it sure as hell isn’t going to be you.

“No, that ain’t it—that ain’t it at all, sweet girl,” Joel says, shooting you a stern glare for even suggesting such a thing. “‘Course I want you to come home with me and Ellie. Just don’t want you riskin’ your neck for us. I don’t want you gettin’ yourself in some kinda trouble with Luke, that’s all.”

You flash him a small, wry smile. “I’ll be fine, Joel.”

That can’t be further from the truth.

But he doesn’t have to know that.

He doesn’t have to know you’ll be in for it when you’re finally home alone with Luke.

“We hit the fucking jackpot,” Ellie announces, walking into the room. She has an old, brown canvas bag slung over her shoulder and in her hands she holds a sling for Joel’s arm. “Well, sorta. Rose said this is the only adult size the clinic has in stock, so it’s more of a loaner. She said we’ll have to bring it back as soon as his shoulder heals. It’s seen better days,” she remarks, holding it out to you. “But it should do the job.”

Taking the sling from her, you start helping Joel into it. “What about the list I gave you?” you ask her over your shoulder as you adjust the thicker strap around his neck. “Did she get you everything that I wrote down?”

Clicking her tongue, Ellie double checks the bag.

“Uh, let’s see—saline, clean bandages, and a vial of penicillin.”

“And what about the syringes?”

“She could only give me three of them since stock is too low,” she replies. “That okay?”

You shrug. “We’ll have to make it work. We can always clean and boil the needles if we have to.” You tug the strap around Joel’s neck lightly making sure you’d fastened it securely, but not too tightly, either. You touch his arm. “That feel okay, honey?” The pet name slips out, falling from your lips before you even have the chance to catch it. Blood rushes to your face and your cheeks start to burn—even with your back turned to Ellie, you can feel the smirk that’s now plastered on her face.

“Aww,” she teases. ��Honey. How fucking cute is that?”

“Ellie,” Joel says her name warningly as you pick up his bloodied denim shirt and drape it over him in an effort to cover him up. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start.”

“Okay, I won’t.” Ellie pauses, her smirk widening as she slyly adds under her breath, “Honey.”

“Jesus, it’s like this place turned into a fucking ghost town or something,” Ellie observes, glancing around as the three of you make your way down Main Street and head towards the residential side of town. “Where the hell did everybody fucking go? Did we miss something?”

“Maria must have sent out a message to call off all of today’s evening work duties,” you tell her. Even though there isn’t anyone else outside, you keep a healthy distance in between you and Joel as you walk beside him. “The last time that something like this happened, she let everyone take the night off so they could be with their families and mourn. She might even cancel tomorrow’s duties too, if she hasn’t already.”

Ellie lets out a small, understanding hum. “I see.”

“So someone dies and everythin’ just stops?” Joel asks, lightly shaking his head at the thought. “Just like that?”

“Jackson isn’t like the zones,” you remind him. “We’re a community. We all love and care for one another, and when we have a loss, it hits people hard. Peter was a husband and a friend who everyone adored. It’s not like he was some faceless number working himself to the bone to earn just enough rations to survive.” You look around the empty streets, shrugging lightly as you shove both of your hands into the back pockets of your jeans. “Here in Jackson, we don’t toss bodies carelessly into a big fire pit and walk away without giving it a second thought. We bury our dead together—we grieve together. We’re still human, Joel. We can’t let the world outside these walls make us forget our humanity.”

“S’ppose you’re right,” he agrees, quietly.

The sun’s just starting to set by the time the three of you make it to Joel and Ellie’s.

“Careful, Joel,” Ellie fusses, looping her arm through his as she guides him up the steps of their front porch. “Careful, careful, careful—”

“Ellie!” he snaps irritably. “I got shot in the shoulder, not in the fuckin’ kneecap. I can fuckin’ walk just fine.”

Ellie glances over her shoulder at you, scoffing. “It honestly blows my fucking mind that you have the hots for this.” She jerks her chin towards him and rolls her eyes. “Seriously, how does someone like him even manage to pull someone like you? Pretty sure it wasn’t his incredible personality or dashing good looks that reeled you in, so what kind of voodoo spell did my old man put your ass under, princess?”

Joel glares at her. “Now you listen here y’little shit—”

“Alright, that’s enough,” you cut him off. “Knock it off, both of you.” Putting a hand on his lower back, you request, “Ellie can you get the door, please?”

She nods. Letting go of Joel’s arm, she reaches into one of the back pockets of her blue jeans. She digs out her single house key and quickly unlocks the front door, ushering you both inside. “His room’s upstairs,” Ellie informs you as she flips on the lights in the foyer and leads the way up the staircase. She beckons with her hand for you to follow her down the hallway and opens the door to Joel’s bedroom. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

“For you two to stop makin’ a huge fuss over me so I can lay down and get some fuckin’ rest?” Joel hopes. “M’exhausted.”

“Soon enough,” you promise him. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“S’that door there on the left.” He pauses, shooting you a quizzical look. “Why? What are you gonna do?”

“Run a bath to get you all cleaned up, of course.”

“Gross.” Ellie makes a face at you. “Sorry, but you’re gonna have to fly solo on that one, princess. I refuse to help you give the old man a sponge bath.”

You laugh lightly, not the slightest bit surprised by her reaction. “Fair enough. How about you go downstairs and fix him something to eat while I help him wash up?”

“Don’t have to fucking tell me twice!” Ellie whirls around on the heels of her sneakers, booking it for the door. She sings out over the shoulder, “Behave yourselves in there, you two! Don’t forget there’s an innocent child present under this roof and she doesn’t need to hear you guys bumping uglies!”

Flustered, you look down at your boots.

“Ellie!” Joel bellows her name, angrily. Before he has the chance to reprimand her, she scurries out of the room and flies down the stairs towards the kitchen.

Choking back a nervous chuckle, you pivot on your heel and walk into his bathroom. You make your way over to the porcelain tub and turn on the faucet. You kneel beside it as you wait for it to fill with water, occasionally dipping your hand into the water to check the temperature.

“M’real sorry ‘bout her,” Joel apologizes from the door.

“It’s quite alright,” you assure him, despite the heat burning your face and neck from the teenager’s teasing. As soon as the tub is full, you shut off the faucet and stand up. You must have risen to your feet too quickly—a wave of dizziness sweeps over you and for a second, the room spins. Blinking furiously, you brush it off and beckon with a hand for Joel. “Bath’s ready. Come here.”

“Peach, you don’t gotta do this for me, y’know.”

“I know, Joel.”

“M’perfectly capable of cleanin’ myself up.”

“Yeah Joel, I know that too,” you say. “Now come here, please.”

Sighing, Joel slowly makes his way over towards you, taking your hand in his. He gives it a gentle squeeze. “You’ve done more than enough for me today, darlin’. I appreciate you for wantin’ to take care of me, but you don’t—”

You cut him off by tenderly pressing your mouth to his. “Then please, for the sake of what little sanity I have left tonight, just let me,” you murmur quietly against his lips. You reach up, pushing his soiled shirt off of his shoulders, letting the torn, bloodied denim fall to the floor behind him in a crumpled heap. You place your palm on his bare chest, right over his heart and feel it thrum strong and steady beneath your fingertips. Perring up at him, you ask, “Will you let me take care of you, Joel? Please?”

He sighs again, this time in defeat. “It really ain’t fair, y’know.”

“What’s not fair?”

Joel brushes a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“The fact that I can’t ever fuckin’ say no to you.”

With a satisfied smile, you start to help him out of the sling, setting it on the counter. You then take off his belt, unbutton his jeans, and pull down his zipper for him.

“Turn around,” he says, kicking off his boots.

Amused, you cock an eyebrow at him. “Joel, are you kidding me?” He nods and you shake your head at him, reminding him, “I’ve seen you naked plenty of times before.”

“Never in the light,” he counters, sheepishly. “S’always in the dark.”

You lean forward and kiss his collarbone, eliciting a tiny groan from him. “Joel, please,” you mumble against his warm skin. “Don’t be silly. Now come on, let’s hurry before Ellie comes back upstairs with your dinner.” You take a step back and tug at his jeans, pulling them down his legs along with his boxer briefs. After dumping his dirty clothes into the woven laundry basket behind the door, you help him into the bathtub.

Joel hisses out in relief as he sinks into the water.

Once he’s settled in, you kneel beside it once again.

“How does it feel?”

“Feels good,” he remarks, the hot water easing the aches in his bones that have nothing to do with his injury and everything with his age. “Real fuckin’ good.”

Cupping your hands together, you dip them into the water and start wetting his hair. You can’t help but smile when you notice how it curls more so than usual when it’s wet. “Scoot forward and then lean back a little. I’m going to wash your hair—I don’t want to soak the gauze on your shoulder.” Reaching across him, you grab his bottle of shampoo, twisting the cap off. You pour some of the product into your palm and set the bottle back down. After lathering the shampoo between your hands, you start running the suds through his damp locks.

“Christ,” Joel’s eyes roll into the back of his head as soon as you start massaging his scalp. “Fuck, sweetheart. Y’know, I think I could get used to this,” he admits with a sigh of content. “Feels fuckin’ incredible.”

You smile again, opening your mouth to speak, but then immediately clamp it shut.

Suddenly, you’re feeling a little off—something doesn’t feel right.

Brows knitting together in confusion, your smile falters.

Normally, you love the scent of Joel’s shampoo.

You can’t even begin to count all the nights you’d hold him in your arms, breathing in the earthiness of jojoba oil combined with calming lavender from his hair as he rested his head on your chest. It’s usually fairly subtle, however now, as you wash his hair, the scent seems heavier and much more potent than usual—it makes your stomach churn violently and you can taste the bile as it slowly creeps its way up your throat. Pausing, you take a brief moment to breathe your way through the wave of nausea and swallow back the bitterness, willing yourself not to be sick right there in his bath. Worried you actually might, you drop your hands from his hair, close your eyes, and sit back on your heels as you wait for the feeling to subside.

“Baby.” You hear the water slosh around him. He tries reaching out for you with his injured arm, but grimaces, unable to make it very far before a sharp pain shoots through his shoulder. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

After a minute, it passes. You open your eyes only to meet Joel’s as he watches you with concern. “Sorry.”

“What’s wrong, darlin’? You feelin’ alright?”

You nod. “Yeah, I’m fine.” Leaning forward, you lift your hands to continue washing his hair. Shrugging dismissively, you realize, “I think I just need to eat something. It’s been a while since my last meal.”

“When’s the last time you ate?”

“Breakfast,” you reluctantly admit. “I had quite a bit of work to do at the stables, so I decided to skip lunch today, and before you scold me for it, I know I shouldn’t have worked through lunch.” You flash him a crooked little grin as he pins you with a disapproving frown. “I promise I’ll eat something as soon as I get home, Joel.”

“You’d better.”

After rinsing the shampoo out of his hair, you take his washcloth and lather it up using his bar of castile soap.

“How’s the water, honey? Does it still feel alright?” you ask him sweetly, running the wet, soapy washcloth over his chest and neck. You’re careful to keep it away from his injured shoulder. Leaning over the side of the bathtub, you start washing his side, being gentle as you sweep over the bruise he’d gotten from falling off of his horse during the attack. A lock of hair falls loose from your ponytail and into your face.

Joel lifts his hand out of the water, tucking it behind your ear. “S’perfect,” he murmurs, his hand grazing your cheek. Water drips off of his arm and lands on your camisole, soaking through the thin cotton. “Looks like you’re gonna have to take off your shirt, peach. Got’cha wet.” He chuckles at his own awful innuendo.

“You’re unbelievable, Joel! I just pulled a bullet out of your shoulder, and you’re already thinking of getting me naked,” you tease him with a giggle. “Oh, and by the way, I hope you know that there will be none of that for a while, not until you’re all healed up. Got it?”

“You can’t be fuckin’ serious.” His face falls when he realizes that you aren’t joking. “But you said it could be four to six weeks until I heal. How am I s’pposed to go that fuckin’ long without touchin’ you?”

Giggling again, you give his chest a gentle pat. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Rolling his eyes at you, Joel grumbles incoherently underneath his breath.

“Oh, come here, you big grump.” You lean forward and press a delicate kiss to his right temple. Your lips linger over the small, jagged scar near his hairline, causing him to shudder slightly.

Joel hasn’t vocalized it to you, but you know that of all the scars he possesses, the one on his temple is the scar he’s the most self-conscious about, especially now that you know how he’d gotten it.

“You know, you were right about Ellie,” you murmur softly against his skin. “About her knowing. You were right to warn me that night.”

He frowns. “She confronted you ‘bout us?”

Pulling away from him, you nod. “She sure did.”

“Well, I reckon that explains why she was givin’ us so much shit earlier,” he huffs, shaking his head. “When did this happen?”

“Earlier this afternoon, when we were alone at the stables,” you answer. “She offered to work through lunch with me and it was just the two of us. It happened just before Tommy showed up and told us you had been shot.”

Joel grimaces. “Might regret askin’ this, but what did she say?”

You chew nervously on your bottom lip.

“She said she wants me to leave Luke.”

His eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline.

He knew his kid was pretty bold, but to go as far as telling you to leave your husband was pretty ballsy, even for her. He should reprimand her for it, but he can’t fault her for being brave enough to do what he still hasn’t mustered up the courage to do himself. “She did? What else did she say to you?”

“That the three of us could be a family together. A real family.” You drop the washcloth into the water and rest both arms on the edge of the tub as you continue filling him in on the encounter between you and Ellie. “She said it wasn’t complicated—that all I had to do was take off the ring, pack up my things, and leave him. She also said that I could just move in here and live with you two.” Pausing, you let out a small, breathy laugh. “I told her I would love that more than anything, but I can’t. It just isn’t possible. I can’t leave my husband.”

His jaw clenches, teeth gritting together. “‘Cause he won’t fuckin’ let you.”

You can’t help yourself and you laugh again.

Now you’re absolutely sure of it. Joel and Ellie really are cut from the same cloth.

You breathe out a long, melancholic sigh.

“Joel, I love you. And I’ve grown to love Ellie, too. You both make me happy,” you tell him, softly. “Ever since you two came into my life, something in me changed. It was almost like I’d forgotten what it felt like to love and to be loved in return. I thought I’d lost that part of me when I lost my father two years ago. I thought that part of me had died along with him. His loss left left me feeling so empty. It left a void inside of me—but you and Ellie have filled it. It’s kind of silly, but sometimes I honestly think he sent you two to me. It’s almost like he knew I needed you.”

His eyes soften. “Ain’t silly at all, darlin’.”

“You both mean so fucking much to me,” you confess.

“And you mean so fuckin’ much to us—you belong with us, peach. Your place is with us. Your home, it ain’t with Luke. It’s here, with me and with Ellie.”

“I know, trust me, I know that Joel. But I can’t—”

Joel sits up straight in the tub, wincing slightly.

“Joel, stop. Come on, you need to take it easy.”

Placing both hands on his chest, you try to push him back against the tub, but Joel’s hand reaches up and catches one of your wrists. He lightly curls his fingers around it. “Don’t you think it’s what your dad would want?” he questions. “You think he’d want you to be livin’ a life of misery with Luke?”

“Of course he wouldn’t. But I can’t leave him, Joel.”

“Look, whatever it is that you’re afraid of—”

“Joel, please,” you whisper, thickly. “Don’t do this.”

“You ain’t gotta be afraid, baby. I can protect you. I can keep you safe.” His thumb lightly caresses the thin, delicate skin on the inside of your wrist as his eyes meet yours. “I mean it. I can keep you safe, my sweet girl. I would never let anythin’ bad happen. I swear it. I wouldn’t let anythin’ bad happen to you, and neither would the kid. She loves you too goddamn much.”

You swallow the emotional lump in your throat.

Lifting your wrist, Joel feathers a gentle kiss on the inside of it. He feels your pulse racing against his lips. “You’d be alright with us, y’know.”

“I know I would.”

“Then what the hell’s stoppin’ you?” Joel challenges. “We’re your family, baby. We’ve got you. No matter what—me and Ellie, we’ve got you, peach.”

Joel makes it sound so simple, so fucking easy.

But he doesn’t know Luke the way you know Luke.

He won’t let you go, not without some kind of fight.

And Joel Miller wouldn’t be afraid to fight back.

He would kill Luke, if it came down to it.

After a moment’s silence, you finally speak.

“Just—just give me a little time so I can figure things out, okay?” you bargain with him. “I need some time to sort things out.” Before Joel can even ask you what you’re talking about, you cut him off and shoot him a pleading look. “Please, Joel. Please. I’m just asking for some time, that’s all. If I can have it my way, I’ll be living here with you and Ellie before winter comes around in a couple of months.”

Joel sighs heavily. “Fine. I’ll give you time, but only on one condition.”

Apprehensive, you question, “What condition is that?”

“He does anythin’ to you, you come and tell me so I can handle it. Alright?”

“Joel, he’s not going to do anything to me.” The lie rolls off of your tongue with such ease that it actually takes you by surprise. “He’s not going to—”

He stops you. “Just promise me, baby. Promise that you’ll come to me if you need me. Please. S’all I’m askin’ of you.”

Knowing there is no other choice but to agree, you nod. “Of course I will.”

It’s a promise you can’t and won’t keep.

“That’s my girl.” Joel places another soft kiss onto your wrist. “I love you. I love you more than fuckin’ life itself.” He glances down and brushes his thumb over your wedding band. “Y’know, someday you’re gonna take this goddamn thing off for good and you ain’t gonna have to put it back on. You’ll be mine.”

Frowning, you counter, “But I’m already yours, Joel.”

“All mine,” he rephrases himself. “Who knows. Maybe I’ll find a ring to put on your finger myself some day.”

Worried you’ll break down, you gently tug your wrist out of his hand. “We should finish up in here. Ellie’s going to come upstairs soon.”

After you finish rinsing off the suds of soap from his body, you drain the tub and help him out of it and into a clean towel, wrapping it around his waist. You hand him a second towel which he uses to haphazardly dry off his chest and hair before walking back out into his bedroom. With his permission, you start searching through his drawers for some comfortable clothes. You pluck a pair of clean boxer briefs from one drawer and faded, navy blue sweatpants from another. Once you help him dress, you instruct, “Sit down. I’m going to bandage your shoulder.”

Obediently, Joel perches himself on the foot of his bed.

You stand in front of him, unrolling the bandage.

“C’mere.” He grabs your hip, pulling you between his thighs. “Y’know, you make a real cute nurse.” He slides his hand up your shirt, his fingers gliding up the soft, smooth skin of your stomach.

“Joel, stop. Cut it out,” you scold him, playfully. “I need to make sure I do this right. Don’t distract me.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” Joel gruffs. He withdraws his hand from under your shirt and keeps it to himself.

You wrap the elastic, flesh toned bandage over his injured shoulder, pulling it behind his back before bringing it around across the front of his chest—after wrapping the excess material snugly around Joel’s bicep, you secure it, fastening the plastic clips at the end of it. “How does that feel? It’s not too tight, is it?”

“S’fine,” he answers. After you help him back into the sling, he wraps his opposite arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “So do I get a kiss or somethin’ for bein’ such a good patient for you, darlin’?”

“Yeah, I suppose you earned it.” Grinning, you carefully wrap an arm around his neck and lean down, swelling his lips with your own in a deep kiss. He swallows the soft moans that find their way from the back of your throat and into his mouth as his hand once again snakes its way up your shirt, touching each and every last inch of skin he can possibly reach.

“Oh fuck, my eyes!” Ellie’s voice cries behind you.

Startled, you rip yourself out of Joel’s grasp.

She stands at the door holding a steaming bowl in her hands, a horrified look on her face.

“Ellie,” you say her name, breathlessly. “We didn’t hear you coming up the stairs—”

“Obviously fucking not,” she huffs, rolling her eyes at you as she makes her way into his bedroom. “Well, now that I’m fucking scarred for life—” She pauses and sets the bowl down on Joel’s nightstand. “Here you go, Romeo. I made you some soup. And by made I really mean, I opened a can of twenty one year old chicken noodle soup and warmed it up on the stove.” Smirking, she adds, “So chow down. Unless you’re way too busy sucking her face off to eat, of course.”

Joel narrows his eyes at her. “Y’know I only need one hand to wring that little neck of yours, right?”

Before she has the opportunity to fire back, you step in. “I have to get going. It’s getting late and I need to make it home before Luke does.” You turn to Ellie. “He’s going to need a penicillin injection every six hours, okay? He’s pretty vulnerable to infection right now so he has to be on antibiotics for the next week or so.”

She nods, giving you a thumbs up. “You got it, doc.”

“Normally, you inject penicillin into the buttock—” You pause, holding back a laugh as a look of pure disgust flashes across the young girl’s face. “But, it can also be injected right into the thigh muscle. I’ll show you.” Pointing to the exact spot on the outer portion of his thigh, you instruct, “Five hundred milligrams, no more and no less. Easy enough?”

“Oh, okay. So that’s how you inject penicillin,” Ellie muses with a hum. After a moment, she mutters under her breath, “That would have been fucking useful to know about eight months ago.”

Your lips purse together tightly as you recall her story about what happened in Colorado with David and his group.

“What’d you say, kid?” Joel asks, confused.

“Nothing,” she replies, innocently.

Clearing your throat, you reach up, smoothing a hand over his damp curls, slicking them back. “I’m going to head home. Get plenty of rest, alright? I’ll come over and check up on you as often as I can. I promise.” You lean down, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Jesus, you two make me so fucking sick already,” Ellie remarks, making a loud gagging noise. However, when you look at her, she’s smiling.

You walk into the house, only to find it empty.

Luke must have still been caught up at the clinic.

It seems like a good sign that Carl might still be alive.

After taking a quick, hot shower, you hastily put on some comfortable clothes and hurry downstairs to prepare a late dinner. You had just finished peeling some boiled russet potatoes you planned to mash up when the sound of the front door opening and then slamming shut echoes throughout the house. You hear his footsteps approaching and a chill runs down the length of your spine just like back in the clinic—all you can think about is what he’d said to you as he was leaving the room.

“We’ll talk about this at home.”

Anxiously, you turn around just as Luke enters the kitchen. He’d changed his clothes at the clinic, trading his blood soaked scrubs for a pair of dark wash blue jeans and a plain black button up shirt. “Hey,” you greet him, hoping you don’t sound as nervous as you feel. “How’s, um—how’s Carl doing?”

“He didn’t make it either,” he replies curtly. He sets his black leather satchel down onto the kitchen table. “He lost too much blood during surgery. And without a machine for a transfusion—” He stops short. He hangs his head and even from you’re standing at the stove, you can see the way his jaw clenches.

Luke takes it hard whenever he loses someone—and he always takes it out on you.

“I’m so sorry,” you manage to tell him. Despite trying to remain calm and collected, you’d started wringing your hands together out of habit.

“Well, at least there was one hero in that clinic today,” he scoffs out bitterly with a shake of his head.

You frown. “Luke, please don't do that. Don’t be so hard on yourself. Peter and Carl’s injuries were too severe. And besides, you said it yourself. We don’t have the proper equipment here in the commune.” You know there is no consoling him, not a single word of comfort could ease the blow of his failure, and yet, you find yourself trying anyway. “You did all you could do for them with what little we have. There’s nothing you could have done differently to change the outcome. Their wounds were fatal. Their fate was sealed long before they made it back to Jackson.”

Luke pinches the bridge of his nose and exhales a long, exasperated breath through his lips. It’s like watching a ticking time bomb.

“Look, it’s been a long day for everyone. Why don’t you go upstairs to take a shower, relax a bit, and then come back down for dinner?” you offer. “I’ve got a chicken baking in the oven, it shouldn’t be all that much longer now—”

Luke glares at you. “I just lost two fucking people today. Do you really think I’m fucking hungry right now?”

“You still need to eat,” you say, your voice small.

“Are you really that fucking stupid?” He starts to walk over towards you. “What?” He asks when he notices you flinch, your body shrinking away from him. “What’s the matter, darling? You’re not afraid of me, are you?”

You answer him in the steadiest voice you can, but even you can hear the way it trembles with fear.

“Of course I’m not afraid of you, Luke.”

He lifts one of hands, prompting you to flinch again. “I’m not going to hit you,” he murmurs, touching your cheek before taking it in his palm. Knowing how uncomfortable he’s making you, his green eyes seek yours, only making it worse. “How is your boyfriend? Is he doing alright?”

The color drains from your face. “Excuse me?”

Luke cups your cheek harder. “Patching him up back at the clinic wasn’t enough for you, was it?”

You grab his wrist and try to tear his hand away from your face as you sputter, “What—what are you talking about, Luke?”

“Esther came into the clinic this evening with Martha and Lisa so they could say their goodbyes. While we were out in the hallway giving them a moment of privacy, Esther told me she saw you with Joel and Ellie. She said she watched you walk into their house with them—is that true?”

Left without another choice but to tell him the truth, you nod meekly. “It’s true,” you confess. “I walked them back to their place.” As soon as you see the anger flash in his eyes, you begin to ramble an explanation. “I went home with them so I could help Ellie get him settled. She’s fifteen years old, Luke. I needed to show her how to care for his wound and how to inject the penicillin he needs, that’s all—”

“Bullshit,” Luke seethes through his teeth. He grabs your shoulders, taking them harshly in his hands. “I’m going to ask you one more time—what the hell is going on between you and Joel Miller? And before you even think about giving me the same lie about his fucking brat of a kid, just know that I don’t fucking believe you.”

“Luke, let go of me—”

He starts shaking you as if it’ll somehow shake the answer out of you. “Fucking tell me the truth!”

You squirm in his grasp. “Luke, please! Let go of me!”

He shakes you harder, his violence escalating.

“Why were you at the fucking clinic in the first place, huh?”

“Luke, stop it! You’re hurting me!”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” He repeats, shouting the question into your face. “What were you fucking doing there? You heard your boyfriend got shot while he was out on patrol? You needed to make sure that he was okay? That he was still alive? Is that it?”

“Ellie asked me to go to the clinic with her! She was with me at the stables when Tommy showed up and told her Joel had been shot,” you try telling him. “She didn’t want to go alone!”

Finally, Luke stops rattling you. “And I suppose she asked you to tend to his injury, too?” He sneers. “She asked you to patch up his wound?”

Dizzy, you take a second to catch a quick breath, then respond, “Actually, she did. She and Tommy both asked me to take care of his shoulder and if you don’t believe me, then you can go find him and ask him yourself!”

“How fucking convenient,” Luke snorts. “Do you honestly take me for a fucking fool?”

“Luke—”

He shoves you back roughly.

Your side meets the sharp edge of the countertop in a loud, painful thud. Clutching at your ribcage, you sink down to the kitchen floor, curling yourself up into the fetal position as you brace yourself and wait for what’s undoubtedly coming next.

Luke steps towards you, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. But before he has the chance to lay another finger on you, the doorbell rings.

You breathe out a small sigh of relief.

“Get up,” he hisses. “Go answer it. Now.”

Your side is throbbing, but you scramble up to your feet quickly and hurry to do as you’re told. “I’ll be right there,” you call out, wincing. You briefly stop in front of a mirror hanging in the hallway and check your reflection to make sure that you look—well, that you look normal. You fix up your hair a little, smooth your shirt, and put on a brave face before opening the door. “Tommy,” you say his name in surprise. Your eyes then flicker to his wife. “Maria. What are you two doing here?”

“Sorry, little lady. We know that it’s kinda late,” he apologizes, holding Maria's hand gently in his. “But we’re wonderin’ if we could come in for a minute to talk to you and Luke?”

Without hesitating, you step aside to allow the couple into the foyer of your home. “Of course you can,” you say, closing the door behind them. “I’ve got a late dinner in the oven. If you guys are hungry, then you’re more than welcome to join us. I made plenty.”

“That’s awful kind of you,” Tommy says with a grateful nod. “But it might have to wait for another time. We’ve still got a few more people to see tonight.”

Luke steps out of the kitchen. “Tommy? Maria? Is everything alright? It’s not the baby, is it?”

Maria places a hand on her swollen midsection.

At about five months, her belly had finally popped.

“The baby’s just fine,” she assures him. “Been kicking a storm up all day long.”

“Good.” Luke stands beside you. “I know today has been very difficult, but remember to take it easy, alright? You can’t stress too much, or it can put the baby in distress. I don’t want you going into preterm labor, Maria.”

She cradles her belly. “I know, Luke. I promise, I’m being very careful,” she swears. “We’re just going out door to door and checking in on everyone, offering support where it’s needed.”

Tommy nods, his face looking worn and tired as he pulls Maria close and tucks her into his side. “What happened today was a real fuckin’ tragedy. Two people gone, just like that,” he shakes his head, sadly. “We just wanna make sure everyone’s doin’ okay.”

“How’s Martha?” you ask, tentatively. “Lisa and her daughters, how are they holding up?”

“They’re devastated,” Maria replies, sighing. “Lisa can keep it all together for the sake of her girls. It’s a whole different story for Martha, though. Peter was the only person she had, you know?”

“I can check in on her,” you offer, kindly. “I can stop by on the way to the stables in the morning to see her. Make sure that she’s taking care of herself.”

“We actually canceled tomorrow’s work duties, so if you two need to take the day off, you can,” Maria informs you, her eyes flicking from you to Luke.

“We’re holdin’ a memorial service tomorrow in the old church house,” Tommy states. “And the burial will take place right before sunset.”

“We’ll be there,” Luke nods, taking your hand in his. He squeezes it tightly. Harshly. “Won’t we, sweetheart?”

You wince a little. “Yes, of course we will.”

Tommy notices the way you squirm. “You alright there, little lady?”

Luke squeezes your hand even tighter. It’s a warning.

“Yes,” you lie to him. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The next morning, you stop by Martha’s place, just like you’d told Maria you would. While you had no words that could console the grieving widow or ease the pain of her loss, you sat with her for a good hour and simply let her cry into your shoulder. She tuckered herself out quickly, and just before she fell asleep on the couch in her living room, you made her a promise, telling her you would see her at the memorial later that evening.

“What do you even wear to a funeral?” Ellie asks, curiously. She sits comfortably in Shimmer’s black leather saddle, the mare’s reins clutched in one of her hands. Despite work duties being canceled for the entire day, the two of you met at the stables to tend to the horses—the animals had enough water and food to get by until the following day, but still needed to be exercised so you’d suggested a short ride in the field out behind the paddock.

“Well, people typically wear black to funerals,” you answer, leading the way across the vacant patch of land on Ranger’s back. “Ellie, how many times am I going to have to tell you to hold onto the reins with both hands?” you chastise her over your shoulder. “I’m serious. The last thing we need is for you to fall off and break a bone. Both hands, missy.”

“Alright, alright. Sheesh, mom.” You can’t see it, but you hear the joking grin in her tone. “Why do people wear black to funerals? Was that always a thing?”

“Yeah. It’s the traditional color of mourning.”

“Why black? Why not like, green or something?”

“I don’t know, go ask the Ancient Romans.”

“The who?”

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Nevermind.”

Clicking your tongue, you start steering Ranger, signaling him to turn back towards the paddock.

“I don’t even think I own anything that’s black,” Ellie says behind you. She gently squeezes Shimmer’s sides with her calves and the horse breaks out into a trot, catching up with you and Ranger. “Green it’ll have to be, then. Oh, by the way, Joel told me to tell you that he’ll see you at midnight. Your usual place.”

You frown. “He’s one day into his recovery. He needs to rest.”

“That’s what I fucking told him. But I guess he just can’t stay away from you, princess,” she teases as the horses arrive back into the paddock.

“Alright, let me hop off Ranger and I’ll help you—”

You stop short, watching as Ellie swings her leg over the back of Shimmer’s saddle and jumps off.

She grins. “Please. I’m practically a professional at dismounting horses now. Call me Seabiscuit.”

You snort. “Ellie, Seabiscuit was the horse.”

“Oh.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Well, you know what I fucking mean.”

Laughing, you roll your eyes at her. You pull a foot free from one of the stirrups then swing your leg over and start dismounting Ranger—but the second you start going down, your opposite leg still in the stirrup supporting your weight wobbles and you lose your balance. You fall forward against the horse, accidentally sliding down his saddle.

To add insult to injury, the horn catches your sleeve and hikes up your blouse as soon as you land your feet on the ground.

“That was real fucking graceful,” Ellie cackles as she watches you try to unsnag your shirt from the saddle. Walking around Ranger to get a better view of the mishap, her grin suddenly vanishes. Her brown eyes widen when she catches a glimpse of the discoloration that starts near your hip and goes up your entire length of your side. “What the hell? Is that a fucking bruise?”

Finally, you free yourself from the saddle. Feeling your heart pound, you tug your shirt down into place, but it’s too late.“Ellie—”

“What happened to you?”

“Nothing happened to me,” you fib. “I’m fine.”

“You’re fine?” Ellie repeats, incredulously. “There’s a fucking bruise the size of the state of Wyoming on you and you’re fucking fine? Really?”

“I fell,” you tell her, giving her the first excuse that you could think of. “I’m really clumsy, Ellie. Clearly I am.” You gesture to the saddle. “You saw it, just now. I almost fell off a damn horse.”

“You fell.” Ellie raises her eyebrow at you. “Or were you pushed?”

Staring at her helplessly, you reassure her, “Ellie, it’s nothing. I fell and I hit myself. Alright?”

She steps towards you and grabs the hem of your blouse, yanking it up. “That,” she points her index finger at your side, “That is not fucking nothing! That is fucking something.”

“Ellie!” Gasping, you harshly slap her hand away.

“Luke did that you, didn’t he?”

Her accusation comes without hesitation.

“Of course he didn’t,” you stammer. “I told you I fell—”

“Bullshit. I’m fucking telling Joel.”

She spins around on the heel of her sneaker.

“Ellie! No!” You catch her arm, stopping her. “No, please don’t do that! Don’t tell him. Please don’t tell Joel.”

“Then I’ll tell Tommy and Maria,” Ellie says, shrugging. “I’ll tell them about what their precious doctor is doing to you behind closed fucking doors—” She starts to leave the paddock and you’re quick to stop her once more.

“No! You cannot tell anyone! Not Tommy, not Maria, or anyone else. And you especially cannot tell Joel.”

“He’s fucking hurting you!” Ellie all but shouts at you.

“Ellie, I have it under control—”

She snorts, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, clearly.” Sarcasm drips from her tone. “I can tell you have it under control.”

You take her hands, clasping them in yours. “I can handle Luke, Ellie. It’s all under control.” Your gaze meets hers. “Please. Do not tell anyone about this.”

“But—”

“Ellie, please. I’m begging you,” you plead with her. “Don’t tell anyone—and especially not Joel. Please.”

It pains you to see her look so fucking helpless.

Maybe it’s selfish of you to ask her, a child, to keep such a secret.

But it’s for the good of Jackson.

“Swear to me that you won’t tell him about this. Swear it.”

Again, she looks helpless, helpless, helpless.

Eventually, she sighs out in defeat. “Okay. Fine. I swear I won’t tell Joel.”

“Or anyone else,” you add.

Her eyes fall away from yours as she mumbles, “I swear I won’t tell Joel. Or anyone else.”

Later that evening, after the memorial service, everyone makes their way to Jackson Cemetery, a makeshift graveyard right outside the west wall that’s protected by a steel fence. With men and women armed and standing around the entire perimeter of the site, the burial carried on. Miles, a former pastor, reads verses from a bible out loud at the request of the men’s families who were people of faith. You stand at Martha’s side, holding her as Tommy and two other men lower her husband’s casket into the ground and begin to shovel in the dirt.

From the corner of your eye, you see Joel as he stands in the crowd with Ellie and Dina. The girls have their arms linked together. Ellie looks over at you, then glances away, sourly shaking her head as Luke puts a comforting hand on your back. She knows it’s just for show. He’s playing the role of a good husband when he’s anything but.

After the burial, the entire town is invited back to the commune mess hall for the traditional funeral repast. Food, drinks, and plenty of stories of the patrolmen are shared—fond memories are exchanged in efforts to lighten the somber mood.

Joel watches with jealousy as you stand by Luke’s side the entire evening, his arm secured around your waist. He’d been sitting at a table across the hall near the doors with Ellie. Forcing himself to look away from you, he turns his attention to her and notices she hasn’t scarfed down her food as usual. Joel would often have to tell her to slow down before she made herself sick, but tonight, he doesn’t have to. Instead of inhaling her potatoes like a human vacuum, she pushes them around on her plate with her fork.

“Is everythin’ alright, kiddo?” he asks her, worriedly.

She lets out a long, heavy sigh. “Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

He frowns. “Ellie, don’t lie to me.”

She sighs again. “Okay, everything’s not fine.”

“What’s goin’ on? The funeral bother you?”

Ellie looks over towards you and Luke, nervously biting down on her lower lip. She then glances back at Joel.

“Ellie? What is it?”

“She made me swear not to tell anyone. Especially not you.”

“Who?”

The second your name comes out of her mouth, he stiffens in his chair.

“I swore to her I wouldn’t say anything, but—”

“Ellie, what the hell’s goin’ on?”

“She’s going to be so mad at me if I tell you, Joel.”

He shakes his head. “No one’s gonna be mad, kiddo. I can promise you that. No one is gonna be mad at you, alright?” He promises her. “Just tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“Well, you see—” Ellie hesitates. “The thing is—”

She trails off, unsure of how to say it.

“Christ, Ellie. Just fuckin’ spit it out.”

“I think he’s hitting her,” she finally blurts out.

Joel freezes. “What?”

“Luke. I think he’s hitting her or something.”

“Why do you think that?” he asks, his voice rigid.

Ellie lowers her voice. “Today we were taking two of the horses out on a ride around the field behind the paddock. When we got back, she slipped while she was dismounting Ranger. Her sleeve got stuck on his saddle and her shirt pulled up.” She pauses, sucking in a deep breath, then exhaling it before saying, “I saw a huge bruise on her side. It was fucking massive. It looked fresh, too.”

His blood begins to boil. “You ask her ‘bout it?”

“Of course I did. When I asked her what happened, she told me that she fell. But I didn’t believe her. When I asked her if Luke did it—”

“She admitted he did.” It’s a statement, not a question.

Ellie’s face falls. “Well no, not exactly. But Luke did it, I know he fucking did it, Joel. He’s hurting her. It’s why she won’t leave him. She’s too fucking scared of him.”

Joel looks up, his lips pressed into a tight line.

His eyes meet Luke’s from across the room.

The man gives him a small, curt nod and takes your hand in his, pulling you towards where Martha and Lisa are sitting with a group of friends, among them, Tommy and Maria.

“Joel?” Ellie says his name, nervously.

“I’ll handle it, Ellie.”

“But—”

He cuts her off.

“I said I’ll fuckin’ handle it.”

Despite knowing that Joel needed to rest, the part of you that was incredibly selfish just couldn’t wait to see him—to be with him, to hold him in your arms and kiss him. Especially after such a long, gloomy and sorrowful evening.

When midnight rolls around, you find him already waiting behind the barn. Normally, it was you who would always arrive first, so when you see Joel standing there by the paddock fence, you can’t help but feel a little surprised.

“You beat me here,” you remark with a small laugh as you approach him.

“Yeah. I did.”

Excited to see him, you don’t even catch the tone of his voice at first.

Serious.

Upset.

You beam at him and say, “Hi, honey. I missed you.” Smiling, you lift an arm to throw it around Joel’s neck in a careful hug, but he catches your wrist in his hand and stops you, the creases in his brows deepening.

“Show me.”

Your smile slowly falters. “What?”

“Show me,” he repeats, stiffly.

��What are you talking about?” Puzzled, you pull your wrist out of his grasp and step back.

He’d never spoken to you like that. He’d never looked at you like that before, either. Angrily.

“Joel, what’s going on?”

“Ellie told me ‘bout the bruise.”

Your blood runs frigid in your veins. “What?”

“Earlier at the repast. She told me ‘bout the bruise she saw on your side today.”

“It’s nothing, Joel—”

“Show. Me.” Joel bites the words out through gritted teeth.

You stare at him for a moment, then sigh.

With little choice in the matter, you lift the hem of your shirt.

“Here,” you say bitterly, turning your body. “Is this what you want to see?”

His stomach churns violently.

Ellie hadn’t been exaggerating about the size of it.

The painful mark starts at your hip, and it goes up the entire length of the side of your torso until it feathers out beneath your bustline.

“I fell.” Your voice is flat, emotionless. Because you don’t know how else to react now that he knows the truth.

You don’t know what to do or what to say.

So, you turn the dial back to numb.

“The kid didn’t believe that bullshit lie and I fuckin’ don’t believe it either. We both fuckin’ know Luke did this to you.”

He almost expects you to deny it, but when you don’t, it’s all the confirmation he needs. He starts off towards the residential side of town, prepared to yank Luke out of bed and rip him to fucking shreds.

“Joel, where the hell are you going?” you huff as you start following behind him. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“M’gonna fuckin’ kill him,” Joel seethes. He lifts a hand and starts clawing at the strap of his sling to take it off. “For puttin’ his fuckin’ hands on you—”

You grab his arm. “Joel, please! Don’t!”

Refusing to stop, he drags you along behind him.

“Joel, stop! Please, can you just wait for one fucking minute?”

Digging your heels into the dirt, you yank at his arm, and plead for him to listen to you.

“Joel, just give me the chance to explain!”

Finally, he comes to a halt and whirls around, his nostrils flaring. With furiousness in his dark eyes, he faces you.

“You promised me! You fuckin’ promised me you’d come to me if he did somethin’ to you—” Realizing he’s shouting at you, Joel stops. Seeing your bottom lip quiver, he softens ever so slightly. He knows you’re not the person to take his anger out on. No, that person is fast asleep in his bed. “How long? How long has he been doin’ this to you? And don’t you lie to me.”

“Two years,” you admit in a whisper.

Joel’s face pales.

Swallowing dryly, you shake your head. “Joel, he’s the only doctor in this town. There’s so much pressure that he carries on his back. He’s responsible for all of the people in this community,” you begin to explain. “It’s a lot to handle for one person, he’s always stressed—”

“And so beating you is the way he fuckin’ unwinds after a long day of work?” Joel, for the life of him, can’t fucking believe you’re attempting to defend Luke.

“He just loses his temper sometimes. It gets the best of him and then I’ll say something or so something to piss him off even more—”

Joel catches your hand in his. “Baby, fuckin’ stop that right now. Stop fuckin’ makin’ excuses for him. He’s fuckin’ hurtin’ you, and if something ain’t done, there’s a good chance he’s gonna wind up killin’ you.”

“I have everything under control, Joel.”

“No, you fuckin’ don’t. He’s fuckin’ hittin’ you.” Joel’s voice breaks as he speaks. “He’s hurtin’ you.”

“I can fix it,” you say, though you sound more helpless than anything else. “I just need time, but I can fix this, Joel.”

“No, peach. You can’t fix it. But I can—all you gotta do is let me.”

You look down at your shoes, feeling tears glaze over your eyes. “No. Jackson needs him, Joel.”

“But what ‘bout you?”

“I’m just one person,” you whisper. “You have to look at the bigger picture here. I’m just one fucking person.”

“One fuckin’ person who means everythin’ to me,” he says, squeezing your hand. “If you won’t let me handle him, then we go to Tommy and Maria—”

“If he gets locked up or thrown out, we won’t have a doctor, Joel. Don’t you fucking understand that?”

Joel’s beginning to lose his patience.

He knows you’re only trying to look out for the rest of the community, but at what fucking cost?

Your own life, possibly?

Maybe it’s selfish, but he doesn’t care about everybody else. He cares about you.

Dropping your hand, he steps back, shaking his head. “I ain’t gonna let him keep on hurtin’ you. I’m gonna put a stop to it.”

“Joel, you’re just going to make things fucking worse! I will handle it—I will fix it. I don’t need your help. I don’t need you stepping in trying to play the hero. It’s all under control, okay?”

“Like hell it fuckin’ is. First thing tomorrow, I’m gonna pay Luke a visit at the clinic. Have a little talk with him, man to man, or whatever he fuck he is—”

Your stomach sinks at the mere thought of it. “No! Don’t you fucking dare,” you warn him. “Don’t you even think about it, Joel.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do? Stand around with my fuckin’ hands behind my back and just let him keep on hurtin’ you? Ain’t gonna fuckin’ happen.” Realizing your stance on the matter is firm, Joel comes to his own decision. “Listen, sweet girl. If you ain’t gonna give me permission, then I’m just gonna have to ask for your forgiveness.”

You glare at him and left your chin. “Well, I won’t give it to you.”

He stares at you, completely taken aback by your sudden coldness.

“If you do anything to hurt him, or tell Tommy and Maria about this, I will never forgive you,” you threaten, a warm tear slipping down the side of your face as you prepare to shatter both his heart and yours. “I mean it, Joel. Stay away from Luke. And maybe it’s for the best if you just fucking stay away from me too.”

Before Joel can even think about uttering another word, you turn around and walk away.

You break down as soon as you make it home.

Sinking down onto the porch, you pull the collar of your shirt over your mouth and nose in an effort to muffle the sounds of your sobbing. That look of hurt on Joel’s face and in his eyes when you’d told him to stay away from you, it would be burned into your memory forever. It would haunt you for the rest of your damn life.

It wasn’t what you wanted.

This wasn’t what you wanted.

But there is no other choice.

There never has been another choice for you.

The sound of gravel road crunching underneath a pair of old, tattered red low top sneakers fills the silent night air, prompting you to look up.

“Do you hate me?” Ellie questions you softly.

The remorseful expression on her face sends another sharp, stabbing pain through your chest.

“Oh, Ellie. Of course I don’t hate you.” You pat the empty spot beside you on the porch. “Come here.”

Ellie walks over and sits down beside you, pulling her knees up to her chest.

You wrap an arm around her, reassuring her, “I could never hate you, Ellie. I love you, sweetheart.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes. “I know I swore to you I would keep my fucking mouth shut, but I had to tell Joel about Luke. I’m sorry—I’m so fucking sorry.” She sniffs, dabbing at her eyes as they fill with frustrated tears.

“It’s okay. I would have done the same thing if I were you.”

“Really? You would have?”

You nod, wiping at your face with your opposite hand. “Absolutely.”

“You’re only saying that to make me feel less like a big pile of dog shit, aren’t you?”

“Mostly no, but partially yes,” you joke dryly in an effort to cheer her up.

Ellie flashes you a small, watery smile. “I’ll fucking take it.”

She leans her head against your shoulder and for a while, the two of you sit there in melancholy silence.

“What’s going to happen with you and Joel?” Ellie finally asks, her voice small.

“I don’t know, Ellie,” you admit quietly. “I really don’t know.”

#fic: ash #fic: a safe haven #joel miller series #joel miller story #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller angst #joel miller x y/n #tw domestic violence #tw: dv

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hellfirecvnt · 21 days

Text

It's Personal

Billy Hargrove x Fem!Reader

TW: Violence against Y/N (not via Billy), farfetched for the plot, Billy is mean, angst, possible cringe idk. We're all friends here. THE VIOLENCE IS DESCRIBED IN DETAIL FOR THE MOST PART. A little bit non-canon Billy, but if you're reading his dialogue as sassily and as dry as I'm writing it, it's not quite as jarring to his personality.

Notes: I literally just learned about the "Who did this to you?" Trope and now I'm giving it an angsty go. This is not smut, womp, womp. Also, I did the gifs like a picture book so you can kinda see the expression or energy I was going for. Summary: Billy's been an ongoing bully/ nuisance in your life since you met. He's acting a little different after finding out you've been hurt.

"Can you try not to take up half the lecture dick-riding the professor?" Billy catches you as you're making your way across campus. He's always been an issue for you, ever since he moved here your junior year in high school. Now you're both freshmen in college. He'd taken a year off to pursue other outlets, but sometimes you're convinced he did it just to be able to torment you in college, seeing as he was always a grade above.

"What are you talking about, Billy?" You ask with an exasperated sigh. Already too exhausted from studying late the night before to deal with his endless harassment.

"I'm saying every time we have this course, you ask a million fucking questions the whole time," his voice is low, but filled with a palpable hate. Why does he dislike you so much? You've never known. You've never asked. "Try to save your desperation for after class, cool? It's hard to watch," He jabs, speed-walking ahead of you.

Most days, you'd say something back. A quip just as hateful, if not worse. You were his rival in every sense of the word. The two of you even shared the same genre of fashion sense. You stole his spotlight, and he doesn't like it, so he notices when your venom is running low. You're silent the entire lecture, not because of what Billy said to you, but because you're tired.

Your study session only ran so late because you and your boyfriend spent most of the day arguing. The gaslighting is constant, and his moods have become more and more unstable and harder to navigate. You tell yourself over and over that you love him. You've loved him since you were young. He's your high school sweetheart. Andy was on the basketball team in high school and while that type usually didn't take to a hair-metal gal like you, he seemed so smitten when you met.

The room is dismissed and you try to file out long before Billy can make it to the door. He laughs at your desperate attempt to get away. Like a cockroach scurrying away from a suddenly illuminated bulb. You're not fast enough and as he passes you before you reach the exit to the building, he leans over and taunts you in your ear.

"It's about time you listened," he hisses and walks away laughing. You're indifferent. Nothing he says could hurt the way Andy's words do. You tune everything out to make room for your insecure thoughts to take over. You blame yourself for Andy's rapid change in personality. What could you have done to make him feel like this toward you? Your mind is far too occupied by these untrue concerns, that you barely feel the anxiety settle in until you get back to your dorm. It was a bit more pricey on your tuition, but your scholarship allowed you to have a dorm room for yourself. Instead of another bed, it has a small "living room" area.

With a deep, grounding sigh, you reach for the door handle and step inside. Things are fine. Andy greets you with a smile and kisses you sweetly as you set your things down by the door. You're pleasantly surprised, allowing all the toxic thoughts circling your mind to melt away under his gentle touch.

"How was class?" He asks.

"It was fine. Nothing spectacular," you giggle, smiling warmly, overtly relieved that he's not still upset with you. You can barely recall what he was angry about, to begin with. You snuggle into him as you both relax on the couch. He stares straight ahead as he opens his mouth to speak.

"One of my buddies said he saw you talking to that Steve guy," Andy's voice becomes colder, and you realize it was all a trap. You're wrapped in his arms, feeling his body go rigid as you hesitate to answer. "Y/N." He finally looks down at you, meeting your anxious gaze.

"Oh, uh," your throat goes dry. "I did talk to him. He was a little late and just needed the notes from the first section. I charged him five bucks." You begin to ramble, hoping to defuse the situation before he explodes. "He's still going steady with that Debra girl, too. She's in my journalism class. I bet those cookie-cutter losers end up married, honestly."

"You know I don't like you talking to other guys without me." Andy clenches his jaw.

"I know! I completely understand, too. You know I love how possessive you are, babe. It's hot," you're desperate and hopeful that stroking his ego will put this anger to bed. "There were so many people around, so I was thinking nothing could happen." You furrow your brow at your own words. "Your friend was even there to make sure!"

Andy's grip around you tightens, nearly cutting off your ability to fill your lungs just using one arm.

"I don't ask you for a lot, Y/N." His free hand reaches up to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look into his eyes, though you weren't looking away to begin with. "Don't make me look like a fool." When he loosens his grip, your lungs inflate with a loud gasp and his shift in position slides you off the couch, into the floor with a small thud. Now you're angry. The two of you have screamed at each other plenty of times, but how dare he act so bold?

"Andy," you stand, hovering over him where he remains on the couch. His arched brows frame his bright eyes with anger. "Get out." He smirks, and it fills you with unease. Standing from the couch, he takes one step forward, nearly chest to chest with you, if it weren't for the dramatic height difference. He towers over you, stealing the feeling of power you thought you were cultivating.

"What'd you just say to me?" He asks with a sociopathic smile.

"I said," You swallow hard. "Get. The fuck. Out." You barely get a chance to speak the last word of your sentence before a fast, hard open hand meets your cheek, knocking you to the ground, and almost sending you across the room, it felt like.

"Do not ever talk to me like that just because you got caught," Andy's words are full of anger. You stare at him with wide eyes, arching your brow in an expression that asks him who the fuck he thinks he is. He storms out of the dorm, but you know he'll be back. And after these events, you're scared to try and stop him. His college teammates are at every corner, it seems. It's as if ever since Jason went out of state for college, they all bend to Andy's will. Losers. Andy doesn't come home until after you've fallen asleep. You stayed up as late as your body could take, but he wasn't back in bed until 5 AM. You have no idea where he's been.

The next day, it's your misfortune that you and Billy share yet another class. This one was early in the morning rather than yesterday's afternoon lecture. You're running on very little sleep, and the trauma of Andy snapping and putting his hands on you. It's just something you could never even fathom. The way he would kiss the ground you walked on when you first met, how could he? You're more than distracted, staring directly at the floor as you walk until you run flat into someone else in the hall.

"I stood here, completely still, to see if you'd notice. I guess other people don't exist to you, huh, princess?" He mocks you. It's not long before he notices the dark bags under your lifeless eyes and the speckles of red that have risen in the hazy shape on the side of your face. Assuming it's an allergic reaction like you had back in high school, he didn't hold back. "Jesus Christ, Y/N. You look like shit."

"Still look better than you could pull, pussy," you sneer, shoving past him. "Don't fucking make me late." He steps in front of you again, knowing neither of you is late because he's on the same schedule.

"What happened to your face? It looks like your boyfriend had to tell you twice," he bursts out laughing at his distasteful joke. You can feel your blood begin to boil. You no longer wish to exchange hateful comments. Now you want to hurt him. You want to hurt Billy the way Andy hurts you. You can't swing on him, so you take your next best shot.

"Yeah? How many times did your mom have to tell you before she just gave up and left?" You boldly stare Billy in the eyes, hoping so badly that none of Andy's henchmen see the two of you going at it. Billy's jaw is rigid, and you can see it tighten as he grinds his teeth, subduing his emotions. You've never come at him like that, it wasn't expected. His taunting smirk is long gone.

"Are you trying to get your fucking ass kicked, Y/L/N?" Billy's disgusted with himself the minute he says it. Of course, he doesn't mean that. He'll drive you into an early grave, but it's never been in his moral compass to hurt a woman the way his father hurt his mom. He wants to rescind the rhetorical threat, but his ego just clamps his lips shut. Your eye twitches as you wonder what else you've got to lose. Or would Andy hit you again for letting another man kick your ass? Your thoughts are exaggerated and full to the brim with frustration. You finally explode.

"Fucking do it then, Billy! Swing! Hit me, motherfucker!" You drop your belongings and stomp toward him and he's unsure how to react now that you've called him on his bluff/ intrusive thought.

"Calm the fuck down. You look ridiculous," Billy takes a cautious step back.

"No, let's go outside. Let's see how hard you can hit someone half your fucking height, pussy!" You're nearly causing a scene, but the building is empty for the hour. Tears well in your eyes and you refuse to let up, demanding he act on his "big, scary" threat. He won't. He stares at your watery, red eyes. Your face is flushed and only your cheeks, nose, and around your eyes hold any pigment. He essentially waits until you tire yourself out.

"You've gotta do something about that shit, Y/N. You're fucking losing it," he shakes his head.

"I'm not losing any-fucking-thing, Hargrove. Don't ever mistake me for a bitch you can scare off with an empty fucking threat," you spit, grabbing your things and taking off, leaving Billy standing confused in the empty hallway.

"What the fuck was that?" He questions aloud. He has no idea you've been drained with no way to recharge. You've been hurt with no way to heal. To him, you're losing your goddamn mind. After that, he's not even angry at your comment anymore. He's just, concerned? Maybe just curious, really. After all, he's supposed to be your burden. Anything else takes the attention off of him.

The class is long and just like yesterday, you're quiet when you usually never stop engaging. Even the professor notices, and she asks you to linger behind after the lecture is over.

"Hey, Y/N. What's up? You were so quiet today," the professor's soft voice is sweet to your ears.

"I've just been, um, tired." You shake your head, barely convincing yourself.

"Is that a bruise on your cheek, honey?" The kind, older woman asks with two hands resting on her coffee mug. Just outside the open door, Billy waits for you to pass by before he realizes you're staying behind. He scoots as close to the door as he can, flat along the wall, listening.

"A bruise," he whispers to himself, recalling what he thought was a rash. His stomach almost attempts to simulate the feeling of guilt as he remembers the joke he made at you. The one that set you off.

"Oh, no. It's a reaction. New laundry detergent fucked me up," you stop yourself. "Messed me up, sorry."

"Y/N, you're an adult. I can't make you do anything you don't want to do, but it's very clearly not hives," the professor sighs, her eyes full of concern as she stares at the ever-developing bruise as it slowly takes the shape of a hand. "Is it another student at the University?"

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I'm dealing with a lot right now. I will see you on Wednesday. Goodbye." You snatch your things up and zip toward the door, holding your breath. The wind from your speed walking blows your hair back, giving Billy a perfect view of the hand-shaped bruise yellowing on the side of your face. You're too determined to get out of there to react to his eavesdropping, so the two of you just share a look, and you keep going.

Billy furrows his brow. He's unsure you even have a boyfriend, so who exactly is leaving bruises like that right, front and center on your face? After his last course of the day, Billy congregates with his friends at a nearby frat house belonging to a different college.

"Hey, Tommy," Billy calls his friend's attention. Tommy pulls himself away from the group of guys he was laughing with and sits across from Billy. "You know that Y/N girl? Lots of denim, nice ass?" It's not until the last two descriptors that Tommy recalls who you are. Figures.

"Yeah, what about her?"

"What's her deal? She dating anybody?" Billy asks, innocently enough.

"I don't know, man. Why do you always ask me about shit like that?" Tommy laughs.

"Because you gossip like a woman," Billy smirks, standing from his slouched position on the couch and grabbing a beer from the large, ice-filled cooler in the kitchen. "She's some annoying broad in a couple of classes with me. I thought I'd ask around and see if there's a reason she never shuts her goddamn mouth." Both of them laugh at his hateful remark, but it's true to him. You get on his nerves, but it's less what you say, and more so the fact that you do "him" better than him. The men drink irresponsibly and cause a ruckus until late, late at night where they then wander back to their campus/ dorms on foot.

You wake up in the morning finally feeling well-rested for the first time in a while, despite the sudden changes in your relationship. You look over to see Andy's side of the bed is empty. You assume he slept over at the frat house after getting too fucked up. You know he likes to party.

Sitting comfortably on your couch, watching an episode of your favorite show, though it's a rerun, you involuntarily flinch when you hear the door open. Andy slightly stumbles through, laughing with messy hair. His clothes seem disheveled, but you chalk it up to drunken hijinks.

"Hey, babe! Did you have fun?" You ask, smiling, beaming, really. Hoping the sound of his laughter is a sign he's in a good mood this morning.

"Huh?" He looks over at you as if he didn't notice your existence until you spoke.

"I was just asking if you had a good time. Sorry I couldn't go with you, I was just too tired," you laugh.

"Oh, no. It's cool. I like it when it's just me and the guys, actually." His confession makes you a little sad, but you try to understand.

"Got any plans for today?" You grin, letting your guard down.

"For the love of God, dude. Can I get in the door first?" He snaps.

"Okay... Sorry," you quieted yourself down at first, but then quickly realized that's not who your daddy raised. You're getting ready to confront him again despite the smack until you notice something that makes your stomach drop, a small trail of three faint hickeys along your long-term boyfriend's neck. "Babe. Where did those come from?"

"What are you talking about?" He groans, throwing himself on the couch next to you, gripping your thigh possessively.

"I'm talking about the hickeys on your neck, Andy. Where did they come from?" Your voice is low and shaky. "Just you and the guys, huh?"

"Don't start with this shit again, Y/N. I'm too hungover." He dismisses you entirely, and all the rage you'd been holding back to be the "cool girlfriend" comes pouring out.

"You knocked me to the floor for looking at Steve Harrington! You put your hands on me for some made-up story you formulated in your own head and now you're coming home with hickyes?!" The longer you scold him, the darker his expression becomes.

"I'm giving you one fucking chance to get on your fucking knees right now and apologize," Andy's unsettlingly calm. You're frozen. Too scared to be openly defiant, but too angry to fold at his command. "One... Two..." He stands, softly placing a hand on your cheek and sliding it up into your hair, gracefully scraping the tips of his fingers behind your ear. It's so soft and soothing, that the sensation causes goosebumps to rise on your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and just as they're about to open again, he closes his fist around a large portion of your hair and forces you to the ground.

"Andy!" You scream, both terrified and in pain.

"I'm so sick of this, Y/N. I'm sick of you," he growls through gritted teeth, holding you painfully at his side like a heeling dog.

"God damn it, stop! It's fucking over! Fuck whoever you want!" You cry, shifting your position against him in hopes of loosening the pull against your scalp.

"And let you whore yourself out to every other guy on campus? Fuck off. You're mine." He finally releases your hair, tossing you forward in front of him. He kneels down to get closer to your face, speaking lowly. "I heard Hargrove's been asking about you. Think you're safe with your playboy side-piece?"

"He's not my side-piece! Please, Andy. Why are you being like this?" You hold a hand up to defend yourself.

"You think I don't see you two whispering to each other? You think you're smart enough to hide anything from me?" Andy's voice is slowly rising in volume. You worry the other students will hear the commotion. You don't want to lose your solo dorm rights seeing as men aren't supposed to "live" with women in the dorms.

"He's a dick, dude! I fucking hate the guy, please stop!" Your makeup is trailing down your face as you continue to cry for mercy. He shakes his head at the scene.

"I tried warning you. I tried getting my point across to you, but you won't hear me," he sighs as he snatches your hair back into his fist in one, quick, snake-like action. You wail at the aching tug, squeezing your eyes shut from the pain. Just as you go to open them, you see his hand flying toward you. It starts with open-handed smacks, knocking the wind out of you from how bad they hurt, but he progresses until he's landing blow after blow, all over you. Anywhere he can reach as you try to block him.

Eventually, you're badly roughed up, and Andy stands to look at what he's done. The remaining alcohol seems to clear from his system as the reality of his actions sets in.

"Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck," he mumbles, tearing his shirt off as it's stained with your blood. He shoves it deep into the trashcan and disappears to wash the evidence of the horrors against you off of his hands. He returns to where you lie in the living room. He's wearing a fresh shirt and his breath heaves as he stares at your seemingly unconscious body. You're awake though, barely. Holding your breath as long as possible, only allowing the shallowest of breaths, basking in the stillness after the abhorrent beating.

Andy bolts out the door and after a few moments of silence, loud sobs of relief and pain emit from your sore chest. You roll over into a ball, holding yourself close as you process everything. You mourn who you were before the person you trusted most betrayed you. You mourn your relationship, regardless of the last few days. You mourn your own face as you imagine the recovery process will be long and draining. You lie there for a while until night falls.

Once it's dark out, you sneak to the old gym building to use the showers there, hoping to avoid running into anyone and having to answer any questions about your battered appearance. No one uses the old gym because it's full of spiders and has a terrible draft, but it's still open to the students 24/7. It's your run-of-the-mill college basketball court with a weight room and showers.

You get inside the building and listen to the silence of the empty halls. Peace. You're numb now. You've cried all you can, and the pain has become a dull hum. Now you just want to shower and try to find yourself beneath all the blood. You scale the walls of the dark hallway, searching for a light switch. You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel what you can only imagine is human flesh.

"Oh fuck!" You and the mystery person exclaim in unison, startled by each other's presence. Still on edge, you duck down, covering your face. The light flips on and you recognize the sweaty figure who stands before you. Billy. He comes to this gym for privacy in the weight room and always has. Not as confident as his demeanor would lead you to believe.

"Had to be you, didn't it?" He rolls his eyes. "Did you come here to- Oh fuck, Y/N." His uncreative insult is cut short when you lower your arms, revealing the massacre of swollen features and bloody skin that used to be your face. His mouth hangs open for a moment. "What happened to you?"

"Oh, shut the fuck up. Like you fucking care, Hargrove. Get out of my way," you're angry, and it feels like you'll be angry forever.

"Hey," he stops you from walking past him by stepping in your path. "I said what happened?" His voice sounds different. Like you've never heard before. Uncharacteristically concerned, but don't let that fool you. It's still not a lot of concern and it's quite monotoned. His eyes search yours for any kind of answer and it's the least arched his brow has ever been. He's being so... Quiet. You're silent too, stunned by his behavior.

"Thought you were gonna kick my ass too, Billy. You scared now?" Your remark is meant to be a bold taunt, but your voice cracks as you fight for your life to hold back tears.

"Y/N, I'm serious. Who did this to you?" He asks sternly, losing patience by the minute. You still can't seem to trust him enough to open up, so you look down at the ground in silence. "Fuck it. Come on." Billy's long legs float him swiftly down the hall and you hesitate to follow, ultimately deciding all these years arguing with Billy have at least felt better than the last three days with Andy. He leads you to the empty men's locker room where he retrieves an old first-aid kit and a bottle of water from the coach's office, then he makes his way to a locker and retrieves a clean shirt. It's soft and worn in and has the name of your university written across the front.

"Thanks," you mumble, taking the box and other supplies from him. You douse the shirt in water and begin to try to wipe your face clean. There's no mirror, so you can't quite tell what you're doing, causing you to scrape over your open wounds and flinch.

"Just fucking," Billy snatches the damp shirt from you. "Let me do it." He's careful and thorough as he gently works the soft, wet fabric across the new and old blood covering your identity. You can't help but stare at his eyes as they focus so intently on each section of your face that he wipes clean. Just as he's finishing up, his eyes meet yours for a moment. It's a short, little second, but it felt so drawn out. Billy breaks the eye contact when he sets the shirt to the side.

"That should be okay, for now." He reaches for the kit in your hands.

"I can do it, Billy," you remind him, yanking the box away, rejecting any more gentle touch. It doesn't feel like you deserve it right now.

"Let me help," he demands softly, popping the little tin box open and rummaging around for bandaids and antibiotic ointment. He patches you up and while he's working, you're watching his intense face. His brows are arched and his lips every so slightly pursed. You can't clock what emotion he's feeling. Obviously, he's expressing some sort of sympathy, but he hates you. He always has. So maybe he's just having a human moment.

"What's the matter with you, man? Are you fucking with me?" Your guard begins to rise again. You don't trust your own intuition anymore. You tighten your grip around a plastic pair of scissors from the first-aid kit. Billy notices and releases a laughing sigh.

"No, I'm not fucking with you." He places one final bandage. "You're insufferable as fuck, but I don't think you had this coming." He looks you up and down. That's as close as Billy can get to "comforting" anyone. "Don't stab me with those." He points to your hand and you blush, a little embarrassed by your overly-cautious behavior.

"Why do you hate me, Billy?" You ask, point blank as you release the scissors, catching him off guard.

"Because you're the worst. You're loud, you're egotistical, you're an ugly crier," he chuckles, all too quickly, being put on the spot.

"You're just describing yourself," you knit your brows, quickly wiping the tears from your eyes after his ugly cry comment. "I'm serious. You'd think we'd have so much in common. You hated me the second we met. Why?"

"I don't hate you, Y/N. I'm putting bandaids on your split fucking eyebrow. You're just fun to get a rise out of." Billy closes the kit and tosses it aside with the bloody shirt. It's not news to him that he torments you because of a mix of annoyance and attraction, but you have no idea. What started as his catty attempts to pick you up turned into an all-out rivalry when you were the first girl to tell him to shut the fuck up instead of batting your eyelashes at him. To you, he's just a mean dude. But right now, it's like he's someone else entirely. When he's acting like this, you're finally able to see what makes him so irresistible to every girl on campus. Your rivalry kept you blind to it, but now, you can see his brilliant teeth in his wide, warm smile. You can see his sunflower eyes, framed by long, thick, dark lashes. His jawline, his shoulders, everything about him seems so beautiful to you now.

"Thank you, Billy," you smile weakly. He scans your swollen features and something in him awakens. A possessiveness. Rage ensues. Every opinion of you he's ever had melts away except for his attraction to you. Your voice, your mannerisms, everything he's ever absolutely torn you to shreds for, suddenly he admits to himself that it never bothered him. In his eyes, you're his, even if you're just a target for his teasing, a bit of banter around the school, you're still his.

"You never said who did it," Billy chews his inner lip, trying to keep calm until he gets the information he needs from you.

"It doesn't matter-"

"It matters. Who was it?" His voice is stern and sharp. He's still knelt close to you even though he's done tending to your wounds.

"It just... Happened so fast..." You flinch as you recall opening your eyes to his incoming hand.

"Start from the beginning," the sternness in his voice softens. You give him the full run down. Billy's face remains stone, motionless, but his eyes twitch and flutter with each gruesome new detail dragging him further down to the point of no return.

"We've been together so long. I never thought..." You hold your hands up in confusion, dropping them hopelessly in your lap.

"A name. Now." Billy stares deep into your eyes as he makes his demands. You can almost feel a heat coming off his gaze as it bores into you. It's clear he will not relent until he gets the answer he's asking for.

"His name is Andy." That's all Billy needs before he's standing up and exiting the locker room without another word. "Billy?" You call after him, still sitting on the bench. You finally stand to follow when you don't hear a response from him. "Why do you care?" This stops him in his tracks. He turns around for a second as if he's going to explain, but he never does. He tilts his head with a small shrug and disappears. "Wait!" You call, but the exit door is already closing behind him and he stalks off into the dimly lit campus. He sparks up a cigarette on the way, exhaling a large cloud behind him. Andy better have life insurance.

Billy ponders your question as he makes his way across the courtyard. Regardless of any flirtatious feelings he has for you, this comes down to wishing he could've defended his mother in this same way. He was too small then, he's not now, and Andy's about to face the full extent of that rage extending all the way back to his childhood. For now, it's personal.

You take the time alone to have a quick shower to wash away the blood in your hair and hopefully make yourself feel a little better. You're careful not to get your face wet and ruin Billy's careful doctoring. Once your shower is finished, you grab your bag and head back to your dorm. It's still dark, so you keep close to the dim, yellow street lamps that lead to the student housing. There's a dull hum that vibrates from each light post, it's all you can hear, all you can focus on to make yourself stop thinking about Billy.

Back at your place, you lock the door as many times as possible before shakily taking a seat on the small couch. You flip the TV on, just to have something to fill the silence. Every time someone passes by your door, your heart rate leaps and you lose control of your breathing. After the third or fourth time it happens, you seem to desensitize. Billy's new demeanor he has toward you is all you can think about. The softness of his words, his touch. You didn't think he was capable of it. You curl up, pulling your legs to your chest as you snuggle into the plush cushions, nearly dozing off, trying to remember the way his shirt smelled when he was using it to clean you up.

Billy's hell-bent on getting his hands on Andy, tonight. Crossing the lot, he reaches his car and slides inside. His face is blank as he stares ahead, with only one objective in mind. He follows the sound of blaring house music to a nearby frat house and angrily tears the door open. Wasting no time, he walks right up to the first person he sees.

"Where's Andy?" He asks, yelling over the music. The first few people have no idea who he's looking for until he comes to Tommy. "Where's Andy?"

"Andy from Econ? He's upstairs. Dude's super stressed about something and took a bottle up there. Finals, man." Tommy laughs, but Billy's already walking away before he's even finished his sentence. The entire party becomes muffled beats in his ears as he climbs the stairs in pursuit of the man who made you look like a bad Halloween decoration.

First door, nothing. Second door, nothing. Third door, Billy slings it open and a stressed out, curly-haired brunette man jumps out of his skin.

"Fuck, dude! You fucking scared me!" He exclaims.

"You Andy?" Billy asks, already breathless with anticipation.

"I- yeah? Why?" Billy answers his question by crossing the room in the blink of an eye and scooping him up by his shirt. He slams Andy against the wall, eyes wide with unbound rage. "What the fuck are you doing, man?!" The commotion can't be heard over the party below. It's just the two of them.

"You know how much of a pussy you gotta be to beat up on someone half your height?" Billy strains through gritted teeth. This is a thin reference to what you said to him when he let his emotions cloud his judgment and threatened to kick your ass.

"Wait... Y/N? She's alive? Jesus Christ..." Andy's eyes nearly roll back with relief and Billy looks at him disgusted.

"What? You thought you beat her to death? Then, you just left her there and went to a party?" Billy raises his eyebrows, almost seeming to smile. "That's fucked up, man." He slams Andy against the wall again, harder, to accentuate his point.

"Come on, dude. Whatever she told you-"

"I'm not here to talk about her." Billy silences your cruel, long-time partner. "Right now, we're not gonna talk at all."

"Dude-" Billy tosses the guy to the floor, cutting off his futile begs.

"I think right now, I'm gonna beat the living shit out of you," Billy kneels at Andy's side. "And then I'm gonna go fuck your girlfriend."

Billy lands punch after punch, unintentionally mirroring the way Andy laid into you. The only difference is that Billy's got a lot more size, muscle, and strength training than Andy. He lays into him, pummeling in any way he can figure out to mimic all the bruises and blood he could see on you. Billy grips Andy's shirt by the shoulders and forcefully pulls him to his feet just to uppercut him in the stomach, over and over. Blood and saliva fly from Andy's mouth as Billy hooks his fist up against his stomach.

When he's finally done, Andy's no more than a gargling mess on the floor. Properly bloodied just like he left you. Once again, Billy kneels down to Andy, establishing dominance and reminding him who he's fucking with now.

"If you come near her again," Billy inhales and exhales a shuddering breath as adrenaline continues to surge through him. "I will hurt you. I will hurt your family. There is no hiding, I will fucking kill you." His threat is no more than a low whisper before he stands and leaves Andy to wallow in his filth.

Billy's drive back is short and sweet, but he doesn't trust Andy or his entourage of prissy jock boys, so he rolls his eyes and pulls into the lot in front of the women's dorms, and makes his way to yours. He's always known which one you stay in, though finding out was an accident while he was being snuck in by one of his one-night-stands. It was common practice, hence why Andy pretty much lived with you since he had a shared dorm on the men's side.

He raises his hand to bang on the door, but hesitates, knocking softly and even calling your name through the door so you'd know it was him.

"Y/N, it's Billy." You smile with relief, still steadying your anxiety from his initial knock.

"Billy? How did you know which dorm was mine?" You question as you pull the door open.

"I knocked on every single one. And asked for you by name. At 11 PM." He looks at you, straight-faced, annoyed that you think so little of him.

"Are you fucking serious? They'll crucify me," you sigh, unsure if you can even feel any more stress at this point.

"I'm fucking with you. I know where your dorm is because I pay attention."

"And here I thought I was so annoying," you chuckle. There's a short silence between you, something unheard of for you two. "Do you, um, wanna come in?" You step to the side, inviting him in. Nervous, but not sure why. He's never had that effect on you before.

"No, you're coming with me."

"I am?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I just stirred up a lot of shit, probably. I don't like the idea of you sleeping here alone." His words are compassionate, but the delivery is so blank, that you'd think he didn't actually care at all.

"Oh, alright. Let me grab some stuff." You gather your things and follow Billy to his light blue Camaro. He opens the door for you, but even he's wearing an expression that says this is a foreign act of kindness for him. He closes the door and takes his spot in the driver's seat. Billy glances over at you, but you're peering out the car window, searching the shadows for movement. The copper-colored light shining from the street lamp illuminates the high points of your face, exposing your expression as he watches the anxiety dissolve into comfort. Something about being the cause of it strokes his already inflated ego.

"You know what?" You break the silence, turning to meet Billy's gaze.

"What?"

"Contrary to the way my face and body look right now, he really can't hit that hard." You raise your eyebrows and nod, reassuring him that you mean that with your whole chest.

"I wouldn't know. I didn't give him a chance to swing." His grip around the steering wheel tightens, but he grins proudly.

"Don't worry, I took enough for the both of us," you joke, earning a shocked laugh from the curly-haired man you positively loathed just a day or so ago.

"I dunno. I think you could've taken him if the circumstances were different," he smirks at you, chin up.

"Oh, absolutely. If the emotional ties weren't there, we'd at least have gone a round or two," you mimic boxing the dashboard. It's obvious to both of you that this is not the case, but making a joke of a bad situation is a lot easier than crying. Billy's relieved, as he would have zero idea how to even approach you if you were crying. He's the "tell you you're not a pretty crier and then wonder why you cry harder" type of guy.

"Matter of fact, put me back in coach," you chuckle, accidentally reopening the split on your lip. "Oh, fuck," you mumble, pressing a finger to the wound, worsening the mess.

"Shit," Billy grabs a napkin from his glove box. "Don't touch it," he snaps. You quickly pull your hand away from your face and for just a moment, your breath hitches in your chest. You don't mean to react this way, you're not scared of him, you hope he knows that. He gives a small smile and a nod, almost like a silent apology for scaring you. He holds the napkin to your lip for you as he pulls into the Men's dorm parking lot. His family, much like yours, paid the extra fees to have a large dorm room all to himself. It was sort of a necessity for Billy considering his short temper and inability to compromise.

"How's your lip?" He asks as you set your overnight bag on his small futon in the tiny living area the solo dorms come with.

"It's fine. I think the bleeding stopped and everything," you smile, keeping it small so as not to pop open another split.

"You can take my bed. I got the futon," once again, his words are so kind and generous, but his tone is flat and bare.

"Don't be stupid. I'm your guest. You've..." You sneer at yourself in disgust as you prepare your next sentence. "You've done a lot for me already."

"God," he stares at you with wide eyes.

"What?"

"It looked like you were gonna be sick from saying that out loud."

"Came pretty close, bud." You squint your eyes. It's clear to both of you that this is weird. It's awkward and even a little uncomfortable. He's done so much for you, yes, and you do feel it outweighs all the innocent hell you gave each other, but where do you go from here?

"So, now what? I sleep here. We go to tomorrow's lectures. Then, I just go back to normal?" You don't want to insinuate that you expect him to play bodyguard forever, but it would be kind of nice. You lie the futon into its flat, bed position as you ask.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there. 'Night." Billy climbs into his bed.

"Goodnight, Billy," you say, lowering the tough-gal front you attempt to keep up, usually when you aren't dealing with shit like this. Your voice sounds different when you let your walls down. It's sweeter. And the sound of it makes Billy's chest light.

In the safety of Billy's dorm, sleep finds you swiftly. You're out like a light, but Billy can't say the same. He lies with his eyes plastered to the ceiling. His mind is incoherent, bouncing all over from the possibility of the entire college sports program jumping him to the thought of you and him going back to "normal." It all started when he saw you, thought you were hot, but learned pretty quickly how self-assured you are. You would never be the easy catch he was used to and it pissed him off, igniting a multi-year feud between you. What if that feud were to end?

Billy lies on his back, his two muscular arms propped beneath the back of his head. He glances diagonally in the direction where you sleep. You're peacefully out, features slowly healing from the damage. He could stare at you all night, and that pisses him off too. He rolls his eyes and expels an exasperated sigh before rolling over, hoping that keeping his back faced in your direction will help shield him from the ambiguous thoughts invading his mind.

The next day, you're awake long before him, and to avoid overstepping, you rush through your morning hygiene routine and begin to reset the futon. You're as quiet as possible, but the second your fingertips graze the doorknob, Billy stirs.

"No," he says, wiping a hand over his face to rub the sleep away. "Just give me a minute. We'll go together." He sounds annoyed. You shake your head, dropping yourself down onto the futon while you wait for him to wake up.

"It's really no rush. I gotta get back across campus to get ready anyways." You call to him as he brushes his teeth in the small bathroom.

"I know you do. I'll drive you, just give me a minute," he waves away your excuses to leave without him, his voice becoming a little harsh as he repeats his request for more time. You know walking across campus isn't a treacherous walk. It's long, sure, but not unmanageable. What's really at stake is you running into anyone from the basketball team. And while that's your main concern, Billy has his own selfish reasons for wanting to keep you around. She's nice to look at, he tells himself, but it's more than that.

He walks from one end of the dorm to the other, wearing nothing but a dark grey pair of boxers. He's so lean and huge with well-toned muscles. He must spend a lot of time in the old weight room. You begin to wonder if Andy's in the hospital or not. Your eyes travel from his broad shoulders down to the V shape at his waist. You're unsure if it's your newfound ability to see him as a person, or maybe a trauma bond, but this man has you feeling out of character.

"Alright, car." He points out the door, using his primitive two-word command to instruct you to get into his car. He's still waking up.

"Billy, you know I could've just come back by myself, right? You didn't have to get up so early." You're the first to break the sleepy morning silence in the car. He looks at you like you've suggested possibly the most ridiculous thing he's ever heard.

"I know that. That's stupid. You're too trusting." Billy stares straight ahead through his black sunglasses.

"I guess," you shrug, not taking anything he says too seriously. How could you after all these years? He pulls into the Women's dorm lot and the two of you approach your personally decorated dorm room door. To your horror, the doorknob opens with ease. You forgot to lock it. A wary breath falls down your chest as you squeeze your eyes shut, grounding yourself before opening the door. Billy's confused until he finally sees inside. It's just as you suspected. The entire room, top to bottom, is trashed- thoroughly.

"What the fuck?" Billy inserts himself in front of you, taking a few steps inside to further assess the damage. His eyes narrow in anger as he catalogs every broken picture frame and demolished knick-knack. You seemed to have had a lot of curiosities and oddities, all of which were destroyed on your equally ruined floor.

"Oh, Jesus fucking Christ, I'm gonna lose it," you whisper, exasperated. You place your fingers on your temples and apply gentle pressure in hopes that it'll do any fucking thing for the way you're about to break the fuck down right now. "They want me to fuckin' lose it." Your voice is nearly inaudible.

"Hey, okay. Don't... Lose it. Let's go find 'em and beat the fuck out of 'em." Billy grins, still bloodthirsty. It's as if defending you almost feels like having you.

"I'm gonna get dressed. I'm gonna fix my fucking hair and makeup. And we're gonna go to our goddamn morning classes. This afternoon, we will figure out which one of them is getting their mom's severed middle finger in the mail."

"Sure thing, Killer Klown. That's not at all an overreaction." Billy shakes his head, laughing at your misfortune, though he does feel for you. You disappear into your restroom. It's miraculously, for the most part, untouched. You do a quick version of your usual big, glamour hair and slap on your makeup. It feels good to look like you again, even with the scabs and colorful bruises threatening to peek through the foundation. When you return to the common area, looking and feeling more like yourself, you radiate a type of glow. Billy catches himself in the very initial stage of staring but quickly nips that in the bud. You hardly notice.

"I guess I'm ready. You walking me to class, big guy?" You ask, teasingly.

"I am."

"Listen, I really appreciate everything you've done for me, but this isn't nes-"

"Y/N, have you looked at your dorm? Do you see how every single thing you own is destroyed? Stop being an idiot." His harsh words carry an air of motivation with them as he scolds you.

"Fine. But you're gonna have to pick up the pace or something," you snap your fingers repeatedly, in a circle to show him it's time to leave, now. He sighs, standing and leading the way out the door.

He walks you to your first lecture and waits outside for the entire hour. You don't know, but he actually doesn't have any classes today. He just knew you'd make a big deal out of it if you knew he was going any more out of his way than he already is. All 60 minutes drag by painfully slow, but all the while, Billy notices a few familiar faces casting passing glances into the building, only to suddenly change direction when their eyes meet his. He huffs out a satisfied sigh.

"Don't even think about it," he whispers, staring out the small door window. He glances at the clock, and just a moment before the lecture hall dismisses, he steps outside and waits for the crowd. After a handful of peers pass by, he then walks inside, keeping up his ruse.

"Oh, just in time, I guess," you say, meeting him in the middle of the breezeway as if he'd come from the other end of the college.

"As always," Billy sighs, unbothered, indifferent. You don't mind. It's a peaceful shift from his usual behavior before everything went down. The two of you step out the door and immediately, your eyes meet Andy's. He is standing around his car with his goons. They're all staring, not at Billy, at you. An intimidation tactic that might've worked before, had you not been walking next to a brick wall of a man. As the two of you strut past the bitter sportsmen, you hear Andy decide to pipe up.

"Told you she was a slut. It's already happening," he laughs and his teammates join in. You are unfazed by this sort of insult. Before the trauma at the hands of Andy that you'll now have to work through, you've always been a confident, self-assured person. At least that's all you'd allow anyone to believe. You shake your head at the insult, but when you look beside you, Billy's nowhere to be seen.

"That's pretty bold Andy. How're you healing? Doctor already tell you it's safe to get your shit rocked again?" Billy smiles sadistically as he stalks up to Andy. His crew of bench warmers seems to tighten up, taking a few steps closer, surrounding Andy. Billy can't hold back his laughter.

"Are you guys gonna jump me?" He asks, taunting, grinning as he does. "You think it's gonna be easy because there are so many of you?" Billy's only getting closer by the second, and the confidence of most of the players begins to waver. "Do you think I'll stop if I get my hands on you a second time?" Billy's icy blue eyes are dark with rage, almost black in the right lighting. They bore into Andy's and the two men fall silent.

Eventually, Andy's the one to back down. As expected, of course. And from the look on his face, you'd think he'd just been mugged and told his mom died. Billy smiles, tongue between his teeth as he watches the team climb into their cars. They have a visitors game, so you won't have to deal with them for the next 48 hours at least. As Billy returns to where you wait for him on the sidewalk, he wraps a protective arm around your shoulder. You're visibly jarred by this action, but Billy just stares straight ahead, leading you back to your dorm. He's wearing a self-satisfied grin as each and every busybody on campus whispers when they see the two of you.

Billy's a known bachelor and you're a known bitch. Even his more reoccurring hookups never got the public treatment. And you, fuck you're mean sometimes. Andy liked that about you. You'd be mean to anyone but him, but you guess it just stopped being enough. Even you and Andy weren't exactly "public" with your opposing schedules. You'd only ever been seen together at parties.

You finally reach your room and Billy leans against your counter, silently smiling at you as if he expects you to say something.

"What?" You ask, already starting the clean-up process.

"Just thought a 'thank you' would be in order." He shrugs.

"Thank you, Billy. Please hand me the broom," you groan, pointing to the tiny closet in the kitchen area. He rolls his eyes and carries the broom over to you. You're picking up the larger pieces of shattered glass and placing them into a small trashcan, hoping to make sweeping easier.

"Careful," Billy says as he notices a crack in the shard you're holding. His warning didn't reach you in time though, and the piece snapped, catching the upper part of your palm, slicing it open. "Jesus fucking-" Billy drops the broom and you follow him to the counter where he tears a wad of paper towels off the roll and shoves them into your hand. He stares at you with a straight face, almost like a disappointed parent. You stare back, blinking.

"What?" You ask, daring him to give you a hard time or risk being kicked out of your domicile.

"Nothing. Just getting tired of having to play doctor for you all the time." You release a huff and he smiles, a little sweeter than before.

(Do we want a part 2? Do we still read angst or are we all into smut rn? Maybe sex next chapter. idk.)