She Screams in Silence

Pleading a headache the next evening, Felicity escaped her house while her parents thought she had retired to bed, escorted by Billie to his apartment. Though it wasn’t an especially large space and still relatively early, it was already heaving with people, music fairly pounding through the walls. Billie led her through the maze of bodies, the upper halves of the rooms hazy clouds of smoke. By glancing in the corner, Felicity noted someone had savagely disconnected the smoke alarms, for the cover hung forlornly by a stray wire or two from its place on the wall.

Near where Felicity assumed the sofa had been at some point, they ran into Mike and Tre, wisps of smoke curling up into the general cloud from their joints. Mike handed a Rizla off to Billie and a bag of pot, to which Billie took to rolling up expertly, lighting it up and taking a drag. He offered it to her, and Felicity inhaled tentatively before coughing violently to the point of practically gagging.

She gave it back, cringing in disgust, which seemed to amuse the little group around her.

“This is Cat,” Billie nodded to a pretty girl that Tre had his arm wrapped around. She was tall and thin with a slinky black bob haircut with bright blue highlights. She was rather striking, as she wore a great deal of black on her pale frame, and of course, she nearly towered over Tre, who was relatively short. Though by glancing down at her feet, Felicity noted that perhaps Cat was not so much an Amazon as a lover of extremely high platform heels.

She looked vaguely intimidating at first, but in the next second she smiled brightly, holding her hand out to Felicity, “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you!”

Felicity smiled back, taking her hand, “Nice to meet you, too!”

“Billie just talks about you all the time! It’s so great to finally see the girl he keeps going on about.”

Felicity raised her eyebrows at Billie’s slightly red face. Cat glanced back and forth between the two of them, her face flushing with embarrassment, “Oh my God, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just––”

“Let’s just get something to drink,” Billie cut her off, steering Felicity away from Cat before she could say anything else that sounded incriminating.

They walked into the kitchen, whereupon Billie grabbed her a bottle of beer, popping the cap against the edge of the countertop and handing it off to her.

She took a sip of the beer and made a face. “Oh, that’s disgusting!” she cried, putting the bottle back on the counter.

Billie smiled. “Here, you might like this better.” He turned and grabbed a cup and a can of coke, pouring it in. Before it was quite full, he took a bottle of rum and added in around a shot or so. “There,” he held it out to her. “That doesn’t taste as much like alcohol. Coke with a kick.”

Felicity accepted it, taking a ginger sip. It wasn’t bad at all––in fact, it was sort of good. She took another more generous sip, shaking her head a bit as the fizz was sending the rum straight to her head.

“Hey, slow down,” Billie laughed, taking her arm and making her pull the cup away from her mouth. “Go easy on that, huh? I know it doesn’t taste strong, but it actually is. You’ll get wasted if you’re not careful.”

“I don’t feel anything,” she protested.

“You will if you don’t watch it. Try to nurse that, if you can.”

“Hey, Billie,” Mike suddenly appeared, holding onto the doorframe, “Rob’s drunk off his ass and he’s attacking Tre’s drum set. He already threw the snare drum and he’s about to kick a hole through the bass drum. You got to help me stop him before Tre sees and freaks.”

“Yeah, okay.” He turned to Felicity, “You good by yourself for a few minutes?”

“Yeah, yeah, go ahead. I’ll be fine,” she waved him out, taking another large drink, very much enjoying the heady effect her little beverage was having on her. This felt marvelous! And what the devil did he mean by “nurse,” anyway?

“All right, I’ll try to come find you again,” he started to step through the door. He turned back, “And hey, I’m serious. Go easy on that. And don’t go getting yourself a refill or anything.”

“I’m fine! Go get the drum beater!”

Billie grabbed Felicity’s nearly untouched bottle of beer as he went, taking a large swig, pulling another from the ice chest as he went so he’d have something once he finished.

“Well, if he can have all that alcohol, so can I,” Felicity muttered, grabbing the rum bottle and adding another splash or two to her cup. It certainly tasted quite strongly now, but damn, was it good!

A couple of hours and a few rum and cokes later, no sign of Billie since he had left to placate the assaulter of Tre’s drums, Felicity stumbled through the hall, placing her hands on the walls to balance herself. Oh, why was the floor spinning around?! She was going to violently lose the contents of her stomach or faint if she didn’t sit down. There––Billie’s room. She could go there. Just go lay on the bed and wait for death.

But as she turned the knob and the door swung open, Felicity felt herself instantly sober up as her heart dropped to somewhere in the region of her knees.

There, to her horror, was Billie sitting on the edge of his bed. On his lap was a girl with black hair with dramatic blonde streaks, garbed only in her very tight jeans (low enough on her hips to expose her black g-string) and a lacy pink and black bra. Billie’s hands were roving in the region of her ass and the two of them appeared to be in the middle of a contest to see who was better at shoving their tongue down the other person’s throat.

Felicity slammed the door shut again, her blood running cold. Leaning against it, she allowed herself to slowly slide to the floor, staring blankly. She felt sick. Sick. Sick. Sick. And why? Billie was only her friend. Why should she care if he was about to fuck that skanky slut with hair that resembled a skunk? Let him hook up with the skunk-slut.

Fucking skunk-slut.

Suddenly Felicity’s stomach gave a violent lurch and she jumped up, half-racing/half-stumbling to the bathroom to sink to her knees in front of the toilet, retching horribly.

As she finished emptying herself of any alcohol, she clutched the sides of the toilet bowl, a sob escaping her throat and then beginning to cry weakly.

The door opened, but she didn’t look up.

“Hey, City-Street!” she heard Tre’s cheerful voice. “Praying to the porcelain god there, are ya?”

She didn’t answer. Rather, another sob met him instead.

“Aw, City-Street, no woman, no cry!” Tre quoted Bob Marley, kneeling down next to her and gently patting her back. “So you got sick from a little too much drinkee. Happens to the best of us.”

“That...that’s not it!” Felicity shook her head. “B-b-b-billie,” she managed to hiccough.

“No, no, I think I’m right. You’re sick, you’re not Billie.”

“Tre, please leave me alone.” She bit down on her lip, trying to stop those awful tears.

Tre frowned. “Hey, what happened? Did Billie do something?”

“He...” she paused, looking up at his face. “I...I don’t want to talk about it.” She rose and pushed past him over to the sink, turning on the faucet and rinsing her mouth out.

Gingerly, giving her an uncertain smile, Tre reached over and offered her a still-packaged toothbrush. “I just bought it. I can get another one. I like the Kermit brushes better anyway. They were out before.”

Trying to smile back through her tears, she accepted the proffered gift––a toothbrush with a smiling Elmo gracing the handle. “Thanks, Tre,” she whispered. Turning back to the sink, she went to removing the plastic packaging and brushing her teeth, Tre instructing her to just toss it when she was done, since he wasn’t going to mess with putting it in boiling water for sake of hygiene.

“So you want to talk about it now?” he asked when she was done.

“No,” she shook her head, her tears recommencing. “Fuck him. I don’t want to think about it anymore.” And before he could stop her, she ran out and disappeared into the sea of people.

Shrugging, Tre walked out into the hall, wondering where his Kitty-Cat went––maybe she was with Billie’s cat. That would be vaguely ironic.

Meanwhile, back in Billie’s room, he was murmuring something lightly as he started to pull at one of the bra straps of his new lap-sitting friend, almost drunk enough to not notice her cheap perfume––almost.

“What did you just call me?!” she exclaimed, tearing away from him suddenly, moving back so she was sitting more on his knees.

“What?” Billie stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

“My name is Amber.”

“Yeah, that’s what I said.”

“No. It’s not,” she said flatly.

“Sure I did! What do you think I called you?”

“Fuck this!” Amber cried, getting off him and grabbing her shirt from the floor. “I don’t need to hook up with someone who’s pretending they’re fucking somebody else!” she spat.

“What the fuck?! What did I call you?!”

“The wrong thing, you stupid fuck! Why don’t you go find her if you want to fuck her so bad?!”

Before Billie could argue, Amber-of-the-F-bomb stalked out, screaming, “Go find your little fucking––” The door slammed as she finally said the name he had inadvertently called her.

But Billie didn’t miss it. She had to be joking. He would never have said that name. He couldn’t have. He shook his head, wiping the remnants of bad-tasting cherry lip gloss from his mouth. What was he doing with that girl anyway?! When did that happen? He groaned, putting his head in his hands. Why did he let himself get so drunk? He was hammered. Stupid girl. What was her name again? She liked to say the f-word––that’s about all he could remember. That, and what he had called her.

“God, I fucked up,” he muttered, rising and lurching drunkenly out the door.

Not two steps down the hall, Tre appeared, looking at Billie as though he had just witnessed him shooting a puppy. “Dude, what did you do to Felicity?”

“What? What are you talking about? I haven’t even seen her for the past hour!” Billie stared at him.

“Well, you must have done something to her. She was tossing her cookies in the bathroom and then she started crying, but I was getting the feeling it was more about something you did than her being sick.”

“Wait, she’s sick?” Billie hit himself on the forehead. “Shit. I should have watched her. She doesn’t drink and I let her...” he trailed off, groaning. “You know where she went?”

“Nope,” Tre shrugged. “I tried to get her to talk, but she was kind of pissed, you know? She’s around somewhere, though.”

“Hey, guys,” Cat appeared, putting her arm around Tre’s waist. She nodded to Billie, “Hey, you might want to watch your little friend, BJ. She was all in tears or something last time I saw her and I think Steve was trying to comfort her or some shit.”

“Steve?” Billie’s face drained of color. Steve was that obligatory creepy friend everyone has but doesn’t really like.

“Yeah, they were in the kitchen,” Cat answered, raising an eyebrow at his reaction.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” Billie whispered, pushing past them both.

He headed down the hall, opening doors and slamming them again at the site of very involved couples, none of which involved Felicity. Where was she?! He was starting to panic. Felicity––drunk, sick, and upset. Steve––horny, perverted bastard. This was a very bad equation.

Suddenly Billie heard a vicious crack followed by a hysterical screaming voice, “You lay a hand on me again and I swear to God I’ll––”

The voice cut off, without finishing the threat.

Billie burst into the room where he heard the voices to behold Steve having backed Felicity into a corner. He could see her struggling against him and the side of his face was bright red, indicating the cracking noise he had heard was Steve receiving a very hard slap to the face. This did not appear to be deterring him any.

“Fucking get off her!” Billie shouted, shoving Steve away.

“Hey, man, what’s up?” Steve smiled at him, glassy-eyed. Billie glanced around wildly––on the dresser was an empty shot glass, an ashtray with the remains of a joint still smoking in it, and a line of coke. Steve was fucked beyond belief. Normally an asshole under sober and non-drugged-out circumstances, now he was crossing a line into unforgivable territory. “What’s your problem, man?” Steve asked. “I was gonna get laid, man! Just as soon as I could get the chick to put out!”

Billie could hear Felicity, who was now crouched on the ground, her knees to her chest, weeping. And suddenly he felt something in him snap. Rage boiling in him, he grabbed onto Steve’s shirt collar and even though the other guy outweighed him considerably, he forced him back and slammed him against the wall.

“You so much as go anywhere near her and I will fucking castrate you,” Billie said through gritted teeth, his voice dangerously low. His green eyes were snapping in his face, white with anger.

“Fuck off,” Steve sneered. “It’s just some chick. There’s plenty of ‘em.”

This was the wrong thing to say.

In the next second, Billie brought Steve forward enough so that he was able to slam him against the wall again. He let go of his shirt while Steve blinked, a bit shocked from the violent jar. And before he could do a thing, Billie swung his fist and it collided with his nose. Billie’s knuckles cracked on the impact, instantly covered with the blood that was flowing freely from Steve’s nose. As he doubled over, howling in pain, Billie brought his knee up hard for good measure, turning Steve’s howl into a high-pitched shriek.

Turning from him, Billie held his hand out to Felicity, “Here, come on, let’s get out of here.”

Rather than remember she was mad at him, she clutched onto him, sobbing into his shoulder. She let him lead her out of the room and down the hall to his bedroom, the place where she had witnessed what made her sick to think about. But as she was too distraught to care, she collapsed onto the bed, cradling one of the pillows to her. Perhaps if she just shut her eyes tight enough, everything would just vanish. All that alcohol, that guy who had tried to molest her, and Billie and that horrible skunk girl.

I’ll just close my eyes and it will all go away...

“Felicity,” Billie put a hand on her shoulder.

“Please leave me alone, Billie,” she wept, burying her face in the pillow.

Not knowing what else to do, he did as she asked, walking out and leaning against the door. This night had really gone to hell.

“Oh, I feel sick,” Billie groaned.

He made his way towards the bathroom, but after that, he remembered nothing.

• • •

Billie came out of his daze, looking around at his surroundings. He was slumped down on his knees against the toilet, his arms draped around the sides. He didn’t feel drunk anymore––just very woozy. Rising unsteadily, he clutched onto the sink with one hand and loaded up his toothbrush with toothpaste with the other, scrubbing his mouth furiously to remove the rancid taste. He even grabbed the mouthwash, gargling it until he felt like he was going to start gagging again, spitting it back out and turning on the faucet to rinse it down the drain.

Numbly, feeling close to passing out, he made his way down the hall, his apartment now empty of partiers, stumbling into his room. He glanced at the curled up form on one edge of his bed that was the sleeping Felicity, though it hardly seemed to register with him. Or, if it did, he didn’t much care at the moment. Rather, he staggered over to the other side and gratefully sunk down next to her, out the second his head touched the pillow.

• • •

A little past six in the morning, Billie opened his eyes, staring groggily at his ceiling. His head was pounding. This had to be the worst hangover on record. He was just going to die and that’s all there was to it. He let his head loll to the side, his eyes suddenly widening at the sight that met him.

There was Felicity, lying only a foot or so away, fast asleep.

His mind went into a very alarmed overdrive. He had had a lot to drink last night––he couldn’t even remember the exact amount. Had he...?

It couldn’t be. She could be plastered beyond belief, but she’d never let him...would she? No, no, she was still in all her clothes from the night before. There would have been telltale signs––such as one or both of them waking up without anything on. Billie looked down. No, clothes were still on. That, and he’d never been so drunk he had absolutely no memory of being with a girl. And as far as Felicity––he knew that was something he’d remember for sure. Just because it happening was absolutely impossible.

Memories started to flash in hazy, odd blotches. Rum, Felicity, Tre’s drums, Steve, a fight (which might explain why his hand was bruised and smarting painfully, making it a bit difficult to flex his knuckles), beer, that girl whose name he couldn’t remember, saying a name he now could remember with merciless clarity. Why had he done that? Any of it. Having that stupid party, having way too much to drink, letting Felicity be off alone when she had no tolerance for alcohol whatsoever, leaving her to the mercy of drunk creeps, making out with that strange girl, and saying that damn name. What had possessed him?!

He turned his head to look at the clock at his beside––6:15. He had better get Felicity home before her parents realized she was gone––if they hadn’t already.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and pushed himself up, wincing. Forcing himself to shake his hangover off best he could, he made his way over to the other side, regarding Felicity’s sleeping form for a few seconds. Her hair was pretty disheveled, her clothes wrinkled from sleeping in them, and she had dark smudges from her eyeliner below her eyes. When did she start wearing makeup? Crazy thing was, she still looked pretty nice to him.

Not that he was looking.

“Felicity, come on, wake up,” he shook her gently.

She gave a soft moan, flinching and pulling away.

“Come on, I got to get you home. Wake up,” he tried again, shaking her a little harder. In normal circumstances he wouldn’t have thought twice about pissing her off by jumping on her or something, but if how he was feeling was anything to go by, trying that would basically warrant him a death sentence.

“Billie?” she asked faintly, squinting up at him. “Why are you in my bedroom?”

“I’m not. You’re in mine.”

“What?!” She was completely awake now, pulling away from him as though she’d been burned, her eyes wide with terror. The impulsive action, however, did a number on her aching head and she cringed, putting a hand to her temple and groaning.

“Yeah, you got a pretty bad hangover. Now, come on, get up and I’ll take you home,” he took her by the arm, trying to draw her out of bed.

She shook her head, unwilling to budge. “Why am I in your bed? What happened?”

“Nothing happened. We both drank too much and kind of passed out.”

“So I didn’t...? I mean, we didn’t...?”

“No,” he said tiredly. “Now, really, we got to go.”

“What time is it?” she sat up all the way, rubbing her head.

“Early. Very, very early. And I need to get you back home before it gets any later and your parents realize you never came home. But if we get going now, I think we can get out of dodge.”

“Okay, let me just go splash my face or something first,” she stood up, pushing past him for the bathroom. Once inside, she shut the door, wincing at the bright bathroom light. She turned on the faucet, splashing her face a couple times to try to wake up and end this wretched torture called a hangover. What had happened last night? How had she ended up in Billie’s bed? Drunk?

He, of course, said nothing had happened. Maybe he was right and––

Felicity froze suddenly, gaping at her reflection as it started to come rushing back to her. That awful guy Billie had pulled off of her when she had been so upset. Why had she been so upset?

Billie. Billie and that girl. That awful skunk girl and Billie half-undressed on his bed. He was why everything had gone so wrong.

Poorly attempting to mask her renewed anger, Felicity came back out, silently following him to the car, her arms crossed over her chest. He said something to her, but she just shrugged him off. This was all his fault.

“Are you...um...mad at me or something?” Billie raised an eyebrow after a few minutes of somewhat uncordial silence.

“No. I’m fine,” Felicity ground out, staring out the window, deliberately avoiding eye-contact with him.

Billie winced. The “I’m fine” was tantamount to, “I want to fucking slit your throat.”

“You don’t look fine.” When she didn’t answer, he continued, “Look, I’m really sorry I didn’t stay with you. I never should have left you by yourself or let you drink so much and get sick or get anywhere near Steve and––”

“It’s fine, Billie,” she cut him off. “I’m a big girl. I don’t need you to babysit me.”

“Yeah, but I still should have...” he trailed off, frowning a little. “Wait a minute. You’re not just getting mad, are you? Tre said you were pissed before any of that shit happened. What’s the problem?”

“Nothing.”

“Come on, don’t bullshit me. Did I do something? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. It’s fine,” she shrugged, still staring out the window. “I mean, you want to go off and hook up with some whore in a thong, that’s your own business. I certainly don’t care.”

“Wait, what?”

She glanced at him quickly, “I walked in on you and your little friend. I’m very sorry. None of my affair.”

“Wait, this is what all this is about? You saw me with some girl?”

Felicity didn’t answer him.

“Felicity, what the hell?! Are you mad because of that?”

Again no answer, but rather she stared out her window as though she were attempting to bore holes through the glass.

“Hey, I was just drunk! It was just a stupid thing and we didn’t even end up actually having...” he trailed off, shaking his head. “Wait a minute. I shouldn’t have to be explaining myself to you. Look, I don’t know what your problem is. I mean, it’s not like we’re dating or––”

“Exactly. We’re not. I don’t have a problem.”

“Yes, you do,” he said pointedly.

“Drop it.”

“No. Now, come on, why the fuck are you so pissed? I honestly don’t know where you get off getting so mad at something like that and I would really appreciate if you’d just––”

She cut him off, “You’re an ass, Billie.” She didn’t seem to be joking this time.

The rest of the ride was made up of extremely stony silence. When they reached her house, she just hopped out, slamming the door without a backwards glance.

Billie watched her walk into the house, feeling a heavy weight drop down on him. As she disappeared inside, he let his head smack into the steering wheel.

“I am such a fucking idiot,” he groaned. Smack. Smack.

• • •

Monday at lunch, Felicity was despondently poking her lettuce leaves with her fork. For the first time in several weeks, she felt really alone again. And this time around, it seemed to hurt a lot more.

She could hear footsteps start to approach her, but she didn’t look up. It was always just someone passing by. The steps hesitated for several moments. Maybe they were lost. No one would come talk to her. Ever. The owner of the footsteps suddenly cleared their throat.

Felicity let herself glance up, starting with surprise at the sight of the person she honestly never expected to see again.

“Hey,” Billie waved tentatively at her, holding a large silver Mylar balloon, “I’m Sorry” written across it in bright script.

“Hi,” she replied quietly.

He shrugged, taking an uncertain step towards her, holding out the balloon. “I just came to say, well...” he nodded to the message on his helium-filled peace offering. “The thing is,” he took a seat next to her, “I really am––sorry, that is. I never meant for everything to go like that, and...Felicity, look, I was an idiot. And I am sorry for you getting sick, and leaving you when I said I wouldn’t, and Steve, and...that girl. I mean, you were right. I was an ass. And I just––”

“Billie, stop, it’s all right,” she put her hand on his. He looked down at their hands and after a few seconds, she drew hers away, blushing uncomfortably.

“Brought you a present,” he held the balloon string out to her.

Smiling, she took it. “You didn’t have to do this. But thank you. And about the party, really, it’s okay.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. And...and...I’m sorry, too. You were right. I shouldn’t have gotten so upset with you. That wasn’t fair on you at all. I mean, it wasn’t my business and...well, once you did find me, you were really––I mean, you saved me from that guy and everything.”

“Don’t,” he put up his hand. “Don’t worry about it.”

They lapsed into silence for a minute or two, Billie absently drumming his fingers on his knee. Finally, he broke the lull in conversation, “Well, I have to go. I just wanted––needed to come see you.”

“All right,” she nodded. “I’ll see you later?”

“Of course,” he grinned. As he made to stand up, he paused, leaning in and kissing her quickly on the cheek.

“Bye, Felicity,” he smiled again, rising.

“...Bye,” she breathed, staring after him in shock. As he disappeared from sight, her hand rose to her cheek, her fingertips brushing over where he had kissed her.

This was really getting dangerous. She wasn’t quite able to brush him off as only a friend now.

Ignore it. I’ve just got to ignore it.