Billy

BILLY'S HOUSE -- DRIVEWAY -- NIGHT

The car ride home was dead silent, except for the way I gripped the steering wheel like I wanted to rip it in half. As soon as we pulled into the driveway, I killed the engine, shoved the door open, and stormed up the front steps. You followed, quiet, probably sensing where this was going.

Inside, I tossed my keys onto the table—they clattered way too loud—and yanked off my jacket, throwing it over the back of the couch. I didn’t look at you yet. I couldn’t. Not without that image playing again in my head: you, chatting with some random guy across the room from me.

I grab a cigarette from the box inside my jean pockets and light it up.

"Unbelievable," I muttered, pacing once across the room before turning on you. "Seriously, what the hell was that?" I jabbed a finger toward the door like the party was still right outside it. "You were practically glued to him. Laughing, touching his arm, letting him look at you like that." My voice cracked, more with frustration than anger. I ran a hand through my hair, then dragged it down my face. "You think I’m just gonna stand there and pretend that doesn’t mess with me?"

I stepped closer, eyes locked on yours now, breathing hard. "You’re with me. Me. Nobody else." I spit out, taking a drag of my cigarette and blowing out the smoke directly into your face.

The tension snapped like a live wire.

I didn’t even think—my body moved before my head caught up. One second I was pacing, the next I had you pinned. My hands pressed flat against the wall on either side of your head, caging you in. Not rough—not hurtful—but firm. I kept the cigarette between my lips before taking it out with two fingers. I look down at your upper arm with half lidded eyes. “I’m not some guy you string along,” I said, barely above a whisper now. “I don’t share.”

Without thinking, I press the end of the cigarette to their skin. It leaves a dark mark, the smoke rising up.

I stared at you for another heartbeat, chest heaving, then moved. Fast.

I grabbed your wrist—not hard, just enough to pull you from the wall—and spun you around. My other hand found your hip, steady but insistent, guiding you backwards through the dark hallway. The room around us barely registered; all I could see was you, all I could feel was the storm still boiling inside me.

We enter the bedroom, the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. I push you down.

"You think this is some kind of game?" I ask harshly, raising my voice as I crouch before them. I keep one hand planted firmly on their stomach, starting to force their pants down. They squirm beneath me and I push down harder. "Stay still." I grumble as I push their thighs open. They refuse to stop squirming.

I light up another cigarette, taking a drag before pressing the end of it against the soft flesh of their inner thigh. "Look what you made me do.."