Page 24 of We Are All Villains Here

Billie’s a pretty face. But she’s pretty for Dosserport, not for those socialites down there. She’sskinny, not slim or tight or athletic.

More than that, she’s not graceful or refined or educated.

Sheisn’t enough.

Kate can be. For Trevor. She has that about her, the look and the air, and she takes night classes at community college. She could so easily slip into this world and stamp it with her brand, make others see that she belongs.

But Billie?

She aims a bitter, watery smile at Preston.

His eyes are downcast, aimed at the plush rug between them. Then he reaches his hand up and runs his fingers through his hair. Once combed and tidied curls, stray strands now break free of their confinement, and a curl hangs over his forehead, the tip of his inky hair grazing his eyebrow.

“I received an early job offer in the city.” He lifts his gaze but not his head. His eyes watch her from beneath his long dark lashes. “I accepted it, Billie.”

Her face twists something grim, something on the verge of a sob-fit meltdown. She knew he would. The city calls to him. But this… it’s just all too much too soon.

She thought she had the summer with him.

She thought all of this would come later.

“It’s for us,” he tells her, but his shoulders are relaxed, as though defeat weighs him down. “You need to get out of this town,” he adds and his gaze flickers fleetingly to the scar on her cheek, the one she’s worn since she was a kid. “There are rehabs out there, on the outskirts of the city. Good ones. At my expense.”

“Don’t stand there and speak to me like I’m the problem here, Preston. Don’t treat me like my drinking is the problem that we have. It’s so much more than that.”

Billie scoffs and snatches up the backpack. She slings a strap over her shoulder and, wet-faced, turns to look him dead in the eye.

“Rehab is for people who want to stop drinking. I don’t want to stop. And I sure as fuck don’t need to sit in a circle to talk about my feelings with some rich assholes, alright?” She takes a step closer to him. “Maybe you should try fix someone else, someone in the city.”

She pushes by him and makes for the door.

He’s hot on her heels, a storm once more. “How can you diminish all that I do for you, all the help I want to give you? Your drinking is a problem, Billie. I don’t even remember who you were before this!”

“We’re done,” she murmurs and stomps for the door.

He moves around her, fast, in the blink of an eye, an all black blur. He slams his hand down on the door. Eyes alight with panic and rage, he towers over her. “Who you are now… this drunk, it’s the only version of you I remember. Don’t you see how fucked up that is?”

“Don’t I seemyself, you mean?” she snarls back at him. “I’m not playing, Preston. Get out of my way. We—” she flaps her hand between them “—are through. It’s over, so just … just get the fuck out of my way.”

His hand slips from the door and, after a beat, he steps back. “Go ahead, Bambi. Drink some more. Another glass, another bottle. What’s the difference these days?”

Right before she moves for him, her nostrils flare with rage and—her hand comes cracking down on his cheek. The awkwardly angled smack was enough to turn his face, a crimson mark spreading on his sunkissed complexion.

Without a word, she snatches the doorhandle and yanks it open. “Fuck you. You’re a prized arsehole, just like your mom.”

No backwards glance is given before she barges through the doorway. But before she can reach the staircase, he comes barreling out after her and shouts—

“Try not to kill anyone on the way home!”

Her chest rises with the sudden swell of anxiety within her.

That’s what she gets for confiding in him, right?

Billie bites down on the insides of her cheeks and storms down the steps. Eyes follow her, whispers too, a laugh here and there.

But she couldn’t give a fuck about them and what they think about her. Not now, not now that’s she’s leaving—leaving the party, and leaving Preston.

7

---