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" I heard a rumor...you were better…you were happy..."
Billy glared up into the mirror, scarred hands gripping the porcelain sink as he watched his own eyes turn white for a brief moment, the lure of the command battling against his innate reaction to fight it off, before he tore his gaze away.
A shuddering sob bubbling from his lips as he shook his head.
Of course the rumor hadn't worked, in all his sixteen years with this stupid fucking power, it never worked on himself.
It would be too easy, his brain supplied.
His grip on the corners of the sink tightened, the color in his hands draining until only white remained as he righted himself. His eyes found his reflection in the mirror.
Disgusting. Pathetic. Faggot. Worthless. Evil. Wrong.
His father's words rang in his ears, as sharp as they were when the man yelled them at him only an hour ago.
With tear filled eyes, Billy ground his teeth and schooled his features.
"I heard a rumor...you ruin everything you touch." His breathing was ragged, but he pushed on. His side ached with spurts of pain, a physical reminder of his run in with Neil Hargrove.
"I heard a rumor... she left because of you! He left because of you!"
His voice shook, unable to mask his rage. " I heard a rumor... you deserve it!"
Each new command hit Billy with a wave of uneasiness, and nausea, his blue eyes flashing between their regular shade and the smoky whiteness of his abilities. It was too much. Yet somehow, it wasn't enough.
Billy deserved worse .
Before he could comprehend his own actions, Billy had slammed his fist into the mirror, the glass shattering under the impact.
A now bloody hand reached out to grasp at a fallen piece, fingers curling around it with a bruising grip.
Once more, red rimmed blue eyes found his reflection, this time a distorted version of Billy stared back.
His wounded hand pressed the shard into the flesh of his neck, his words icy and devoid of any real emotion. "I heard a rumor... you finally fixed yourself…"
The sharp edge bit into his skin, but it mattered very little, because with one swift motion, Billy slid the piece of mirror across the expanse of his neck.
The blood hadn't immediately begun to spill from the self-inflicted wound for a few moments, but once it had it was reminiscent to that of a waterfall.
But Billy couldn't find it in himself to care, especially not when he hit the ground, his knees meeting the linoleum floor before he was tipping backwards.
It was all in slow-motion, yet felt unreal, aside from the added pain of his throat.
The edges of his vision blurred as he took in the sounds of his own gurgling, a hand slapping up to grasp at the wound before he was slipping.
Slipping. Slipping. Slipping. Into the oblivion, where he couldn't be hurt. Where he couldn't hurt his mother any more than he had. Where he couldn't hurt Steve anymore.
Sweet Steve, who kissed Billy as if he mattered, who held him close to his chest as Billy's frame wracked with the shame and guilt of who he is, and the things he's done.
Sweet Steve , who Billy had finally managed to run off because he couldn't be stronger than he was.
He couldn't hurt anyone. He couldn't disappoint Max any longer.
They'd all understand. They had to. They knew what a terrible fucking person he was. They all knew Neil Hargrove wasn't far off in the insults he threw his son's way.
They'd understand. They'd forgive him…
Wouldn't they?