[ gator watches billy exit the suv, silent. watches him pull out a cigarette, silent. watches him saunter to his apartment, silent. the suv's engine still rumbles, and when gator kills the engine, it's the coldness of his heart that leaks into it, freezing the air. his jaw tightens, teeth on teeth, squeezing. he wants billy's flesh between them, tearing off pieces that belong to him one by fucking one. he wants billy to writhe underneath him as he suffocates him with love.
opening the door and stepping out himself, he slams it, walking around the front. he stares at billy for a moment, then follows him over the snow, boots making large tracks. he passes billy, walking up the stairs, stopping in front of the door. he folds his arms, jaw jutting to the side as he waits. he knows this will throw billy off, but he doesn't care, and he can't care about anything other than what's going on. he needs billy to be with him β call it sickness, call it twisted, but that's what his love means. or, at least, what gator sees as love. billy is his β body and soul. he owns him, and billy has to know that.
as he blinks slowly down at billy, he nods toward the door. he could break it down, he could grab all of billy's shit for him β but he'd rather see the shade of dark surprise wash over billy's eyes. it's almost like hunting deer β the light leaving their eyes as the bullet cuts deep. that's what gator is doing β he's hunting, and billy is the poor, innocent thing trekking through the forest. he must have him. ]
Get up here and pack your fuckin' shit. You think I'd let you slip away that easy?
[ there's a solid meanness to gator's tone, authoritative, as if this is somehow billy's last chance. it is, in a way, as roy instructed gator to not let him leave. if he sees too much β gator's jaw sets again, eyes dark and freezing. ]
[ Billy hears the door to the SUV slam shut, and with it come Gator's footsteps, following close behind him. He should've known this wouldn't be the end of things for today - at bare minimum, Gator will feel the need to punish him. Slap him around, choke him, make him remember that even out here, on his own? Billy belongs to him.
But Gator passes him up the stairs, standing still in front of the door to his apartment. Billy frowns, blowing smoke through his nostrils as he stops on the staircase, a few steps below him.
You think I'd let you slip away that easy?
Billy's face falls, lets his gaze drop with it. He should've known. He really should've known. Gator was never going to let this go, let him go, and he'd been stupid enough to think his anger would be enough to change his mind. Like it's not just fuel for the fire, the actions of a spoiled little boy who can't take no for an answer.
The last few stairs feel like he's being asked to climb mountains, but he does as he's told when Gator snaps at him again, pushing past him to unlock the door. He can follow him inside if he wants to, but Billy doesn't look back.
Flicking the lights on, this place couldn't feel farther than the Tillman house. No photos on the walls, no wood or stone or anything rustic to be seen. It's the standard shade of landlord white, dull laminate floors, devoid of personality. But it's his. That's the crucial part. How could he ever expect Gator to understand that when he's still living in his childhood bedroom?
Billy goes to his bedroom first, hauling a large suitcase out of the closet, throwing it onto his mattress on the floor. He unzips it, taking a large empty duffel bag out of it, unzipping that too and laying it out on the bed.
He's silent as he starts pulling clothes from his dresser drawers, throwing them into the suitcase. It's not like he has a huge wardrobe - jeans and button-down shirts, mostly. He'd been so damn proud moving in here. Finally, his life was going to start. He'd work through the summer and then get out of here for good. Then summer turned to fall, fall to winter. And now he's leaving, and it couldn't be for worse reasons.
By the time he's moved away from the dresser to open the closet, his vision is blurred with tears, blinking them away as he sniffles to himself.
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opening the door and stepping out himself, he slams it, walking around the front. he stares at billy for a moment, then follows him over the snow, boots making large tracks. he passes billy, walking up the stairs, stopping in front of the door. he folds his arms, jaw jutting to the side as he waits. he knows this will throw billy off, but he doesn't care, and he can't care about anything other than what's going on. he needs billy to be with him β call it sickness, call it twisted, but that's what his love means. or, at least, what gator sees as love. billy is his β body and soul. he owns him, and billy has to know that.
as he blinks slowly down at billy, he nods toward the door. he could break it down, he could grab all of billy's shit for him β but he'd rather see the shade of dark surprise wash over billy's eyes. it's almost like hunting deer β the light leaving their eyes as the bullet cuts deep. that's what gator is doing β he's hunting, and billy is the poor, innocent thing trekking through the forest. he must have him. ]
Get up here and pack your fuckin' shit. You think I'd let you slip away that easy?
[ there's a solid meanness to gator's tone, authoritative, as if this is somehow billy's last chance. it is, in a way, as roy instructed gator to not let him leave. if he sees too much β gator's jaw sets again, eyes dark and freezing. ]
I said pack your fuckin' shit. Now.
no subject
But Gator passes him up the stairs, standing still in front of the door to his apartment. Billy frowns, blowing smoke through his nostrils as he stops on the staircase, a few steps below him.
You think I'd let you slip away that easy?
Billy's face falls, lets his gaze drop with it. He should've known. He really should've known. Gator was never going to let this go, let him go, and he'd been stupid enough to think his anger would be enough to change his mind. Like it's not just fuel for the fire, the actions of a spoiled little boy who can't take no for an answer.
The last few stairs feel like he's being asked to climb mountains, but he does as he's told when Gator snaps at him again, pushing past him to unlock the door. He can follow him inside if he wants to, but Billy doesn't look back.
Flicking the lights on, this place couldn't feel farther than the Tillman house. No photos on the walls, no wood or stone or anything rustic to be seen. It's the standard shade of landlord white, dull laminate floors, devoid of personality. But it's his. That's the crucial part. How could he ever expect Gator to understand that when he's still living in his childhood bedroom?
Billy goes to his bedroom first, hauling a large suitcase out of the closet, throwing it onto his mattress on the floor. He unzips it, taking a large empty duffel bag out of it, unzipping that too and laying it out on the bed.
He's silent as he starts pulling clothes from his dresser drawers, throwing them into the suitcase. It's not like he has a huge wardrobe - jeans and button-down shirts, mostly. He'd been so damn proud moving in here. Finally, his life was going to start. He'd work through the summer and then get out of here for good. Then summer turned to fall, fall to winter. And now he's leaving, and it couldn't be for worse reasons.
By the time he's moved away from the dresser to open the closet, his vision is blurred with tears, blinking them away as he sniffles to himself.
His life is over, isn't it? ]