Lesser of Two Evils
It had been nearly a month, he'd told Brooke. And in that month, Billy's emotional state had gotten steadily worse. In that month, he hadn't managed to slip his issues back under the rug as he always had been able to before, and it bothered him. Far too much.
His paranoia had also grown. Scott had said he wasn't done with Billy, and the possibilities of when and where and how terrified him more than he felt it all ought to.
In fact, everything made him jumpier, angrier, more defensive. It wasn't healthy, and he knew that, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. How to deal with it. How to fix it.
He was starting to realize that this had been Rachel's point all along.
Well, he decided, the best way to get started on cutting off the head of the rotting fish was to take it one step at a time. Clearly he wasn't going to go out looking for Scott himself out of fear of what might happen, so he went to the next best source--his brother.
It wasn't something he'd ever planned on, talking to Brendon again. Ever. And he figured that Brendon was not going to see reason as he never had. But he had to start somewhere.
Calling his office hadn't worked. He couldn't convince the secretary that clearly he was an important person in "Mr. Hollister"'s life. Mostly because he wasn't, but since he had always downplayed (or outright denied) that he had a little brother at all, Billy decided he wasn't surprised.
Actually going to the office wasn't as weird as he thought it'd be. The tall office complex for Hollister Solar Industries was much like any other major business, and now that he had some experience with that (sitting in meetings at Stark Manufacturing bored him to death), he felt confident storming into the waiting area and up to the secretary's desk.
Basically, he stole every dramatic office-busting scene from every show and movie he'd ever seen and wanted to see if it would work. It felt really good, actually.
The secretary--curvaceous, blonde, revealing business clothing, typical for Brendon's womanizing taste--looked at him with surprise. "Mr. Hollister is very--"
"I don't care." Billy leaned down across the desk. "Tell him that his brother is here to see him. Now."
He had said it over the phone to no avail, but in person, it was easy to tell the resemblance. After a few wary moments, she stood, subconsciously pulling her skirt down and slinking toward the doors. Billy stood back with crossed arms as he waited, and waited, and when she came back out, she nodded. "He'll see you now, sir."
"Good."
It was plush and fancy and executive, extremely cliched, with large wall-high windows behind the desk. Brendon stood, looking none too pleased.
"Billy."
"Brendon."
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember you never wanting to see my face ever again."
"Yes, well, I couldn't get a call through, so I figured you wouldn't mind talking to your dear brother, who does exist, despite your cries to the contrary." Billy shrugged. "That's okay, I don't mind not being associated with you." Which wasn't entirely the truth, but he wasn't there to argue about their differences. "Look, I'm not here to talk about us, or our respective companies, or any of that."
Brendon sat himself on the edge of his desk. "So what did you wanna talk about?"
"Scott."
A deep frown formed. "If we're going to have the whole gay argument thing going, then--"
"I'm also not here to talk about your hypocrisies, even though that would be extremely fun, tearing you apart verbally like that. Just...where is he? Is he still working out of LA?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"Because I want you to make sure I never see his face ever again."
Brendon shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure I understand what's going on here. Billy, I know you think I'm a controlling asshole, but I'm not about to tell my friends what they can and can't do."
"You should." Billy started to lose the confidence he had gained and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Brendon. I am telling you, like I've always told you, he's bad news. I am not going to put up with your friends threatening me."
"Threatening? You must have the wrong guy." The elder eyed his brother suspiciously. "What'd you do?"
"What did I do?"
"You must have done something to warrant a threat. He's had a hard time, going through some financial difficulties, and with the economy as fucked up as it is these days--"
"He threatens your brother, and you don't even give a damn?"
"What happened? What did he say, exactly?"
"That he's not done with me. Which implies that he's going to find me, and he's going to put me through ten kinds of hell, and--you don't even believe me, do you?"
Brendon scoffed. "Not done with--Billy, come on. That implies he's done something to begin with, and I think I would know, okay? If he's got such a grudge against you like you think, then I'm pretty damn sure you must've done something to piss him off."
Billy scowled right back and waved his arms around. "Here I am, coming to you, of all fucking people, fearing for my safety, and you just don't--"
"Go to the police if you--"
"The police aren't going to--"
"--so in danger from someone I--"
"--conceited jerk you shouldn't even--"
"Wait," and the two fell silent for a moment. "Wait. Let's get a few things straightened out here, all right? First, I have absolutely no obligation to help you just because we're related. Second, I would protect my best friend before you. Third, I don't even know what's going on. You could be making shit up just because you two never got along."
"If that was the case, I'd be dealing with him directly." Billy turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the love of god, I am turning to you because I'm just petrified of what he'd do to me if I went to him, or if he comes to me. I don't want to deal with him ever again. You don't know the things he's said or the things he's done. You don't--he's your friend; he'll listen to you." He turned back slowly. "I'm just asking you to keep an eye on this guy, okay?"
"What's he said? What's he done?"
"What...?"
Brendon stood straight, serious, perhaps even concerned. "If you think I don't know, then why don't you fill me in? Otherwise it's just me taking your word for it, and if that's the case, I'll direct you back to my second point..."
"...He's...this was a bad idea."
"Yeah, it was."
"Shut up." Brendon was about to say more, but Billy cut his hand through the air sharply. "I said shut up. I have had it. I have had it with your kind of people and being chums with people whose favorite pastime is sexual harassment. I have been humiliated and assaulted by this man; I have been--I have--he's coerced me and blackmailed me. And yes, yes, I have done terrible, jailable things to him, just to get back at him; I have threatened to kill this man and have had the means to do so, I have, and I was the one that put him in that crisis you so selflessly pulled him out of, but everything I have done was for my own protection! I will not stand for a man who thinks he can use me like the whore I have time and again told him I am not, nor a man who decides I can either let him do whatever he pleases with me or have me jailed, or killed, just for fucking kicks, and I can't hurt him, not badly, not physically, so I hit him where it really hurt, and I would do it again, because I didn't hear from him again for months, literally, months, and guess what? I just so happened to run into him again, and he wasn't too happy, and I have no idea if he can find me, and I have no idea what will happen when he does, but it's bound to be a whole hell of a lot worse than the things he's already done, the indignities to--Scott Douglas tried his damnedest to fuck up my life, so I fucked his right back. That's it. That's the story."
That was the story as simply as he could put it, but it was always so much more complicated than that. It was about mutual attraction and dealing with orientations and labels he had only once ever considered and was so uncomfortable with and the feeling of his skin crawling sickly every time he wanted a guy to touch him.
He breathed heavily, out of anger, out of rage, but also to try and keep down the welling feeling of panic in his gut, the terrible feelings and memories of things he had always tried to forget, the instinct to run, or to cry, or to crawl in a hole and die. All of the things left unsaid still hurt too much.
Brendon stared at him, expression unreadable. It could've been shock, or anger, or repulsion, or just looking at him like he was crazy (which he undoubtedly must have sounded), it was uncertain. He worked his mouth, opening it, forming a word, then closing it again. The silence between them grew steadily.
Until he finally shook his head, lost. "Billy...I don't think--"
"Think or don't think whatever you want," Billy pleaded, "but he will listen to you. You don't have to hear from me ever again. You won't. I'm just asking you to do one thing. Just one thing for me."
"Billy, go."
He blinked. "I--what?"
"Go. Leave. Get out of here."
"...But you--"
Brendon shook his head again. "I don't think this is my problem. In fact, I know it's not. You got yourself into this mess. It doesn't have anything to do with me. Do something about it yourself."
"But...! That's why I came to you!"
"Get out."
"How can you say this has nothing to do with you?! I'm your brother! He's your friend!"
He grasped Billy's arm and directed him toward the door. "I said get out. Out! Don't come back here unless you've got business to attend to. It's not my problem. We haven't been brothers for a long time. You saw to that."
"You can't just turn away from--I'm asking you to--just say something to him, out of common decency...!"
Brendon managed to shove him out the door eventually. "Go home, Billy. It's not my fight." And with that, the door slammed.
For a few moments, he simply stared at the door, and the secretary gained his attention just as he was about to literally burst through the doors like in the movies. "Sir...I believe you should leave the building now."
Billy nodded mutely. He hadn't actually expected anything from Brendon. The fact that they had talked at all was amazing enough. But the refusal to help stung all the same. The entire situation he had been put through was, admittedly, avoidable, and clearly he understood that he was to blame for some of the events, but was it really all his fault? So much so that he didn't deserve help? From his own brother, no less. Billy had disowned the man, true, but short of talking to Scott himself, there was nobody else he could go to.
Maybe it had been because of the sexual acts implies. Maybe it was disbelief. Maybe it was apathy. Maybe he felt whatever happened to Billy was deserved. After all, Billy had admitted that he was the one who drained Scott's bank account, and Brendon seemed determined to help his buddy at all costs.
All of his fears seemed to rush to the surface at once--the question of who was at fault and the implication that it was him, his split desires and relationships, the hate he had faced in the past and from his brother and from society, his reluctance to deal with the things he could no longer hide. It made him feel sick and angry and defeated. Who was he, what was he, how would things change? Did he even know anymore?
He didn't go to work, and he didn't go back home. In fact, he had no idea where to go. He took solace in walking around Central Park until his legs burnt with pain and sat himself on a bench, simply trying to figure out his life.
His paranoia had also grown. Scott had said he wasn't done with Billy, and the possibilities of when and where and how terrified him more than he felt it all ought to.
In fact, everything made him jumpier, angrier, more defensive. It wasn't healthy, and he knew that, but he wasn't sure what to do about it. How to deal with it. How to fix it.
He was starting to realize that this had been Rachel's point all along.
Well, he decided, the best way to get started on cutting off the head of the rotting fish was to take it one step at a time. Clearly he wasn't going to go out looking for Scott himself out of fear of what might happen, so he went to the next best source--his brother.
It wasn't something he'd ever planned on, talking to Brendon again. Ever. And he figured that Brendon was not going to see reason as he never had. But he had to start somewhere.
Calling his office hadn't worked. He couldn't convince the secretary that clearly he was an important person in "Mr. Hollister"'s life. Mostly because he wasn't, but since he had always downplayed (or outright denied) that he had a little brother at all, Billy decided he wasn't surprised.
Actually going to the office wasn't as weird as he thought it'd be. The tall office complex for Hollister Solar Industries was much like any other major business, and now that he had some experience with that (sitting in meetings at Stark Manufacturing bored him to death), he felt confident storming into the waiting area and up to the secretary's desk.
Basically, he stole every dramatic office-busting scene from every show and movie he'd ever seen and wanted to see if it would work. It felt really good, actually.
The secretary--curvaceous, blonde, revealing business clothing, typical for Brendon's womanizing taste--looked at him with surprise. "Mr. Hollister is very--"
"I don't care." Billy leaned down across the desk. "Tell him that his brother is here to see him. Now."
He had said it over the phone to no avail, but in person, it was easy to tell the resemblance. After a few wary moments, she stood, subconsciously pulling her skirt down and slinking toward the doors. Billy stood back with crossed arms as he waited, and waited, and when she came back out, she nodded. "He'll see you now, sir."
"Good."
It was plush and fancy and executive, extremely cliched, with large wall-high windows behind the desk. Brendon stood, looking none too pleased.
"Billy."
"Brendon."
"Now, correct me if I'm wrong, but I seem to remember you never wanting to see my face ever again."
"Yes, well, I couldn't get a call through, so I figured you wouldn't mind talking to your dear brother, who does exist, despite your cries to the contrary." Billy shrugged. "That's okay, I don't mind not being associated with you." Which wasn't entirely the truth, but he wasn't there to argue about their differences. "Look, I'm not here to talk about us, or our respective companies, or any of that."
Brendon sat himself on the edge of his desk. "So what did you wanna talk about?"
"Scott."
A deep frown formed. "If we're going to have the whole gay argument thing going, then--"
"I'm also not here to talk about your hypocrisies, even though that would be extremely fun, tearing you apart verbally like that. Just...where is he? Is he still working out of LA?"
"Why don't you ask him yourself?"
"Because I want you to make sure I never see his face ever again."
Brendon shook his head slowly. "I'm not sure I understand what's going on here. Billy, I know you think I'm a controlling asshole, but I'm not about to tell my friends what they can and can't do."
"You should." Billy started to lose the confidence he had gained and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Brendon. I am telling you, like I've always told you, he's bad news. I am not going to put up with your friends threatening me."
"Threatening? You must have the wrong guy." The elder eyed his brother suspiciously. "What'd you do?"
"What did I do?"
"You must have done something to warrant a threat. He's had a hard time, going through some financial difficulties, and with the economy as fucked up as it is these days--"
"He threatens your brother, and you don't even give a damn?"
"What happened? What did he say, exactly?"
"That he's not done with me. Which implies that he's going to find me, and he's going to put me through ten kinds of hell, and--you don't even believe me, do you?"
Brendon scoffed. "Not done with--Billy, come on. That implies he's done something to begin with, and I think I would know, okay? If he's got such a grudge against you like you think, then I'm pretty damn sure you must've done something to piss him off."
Billy scowled right back and waved his arms around. "Here I am, coming to you, of all fucking people, fearing for my safety, and you just don't--"
"Go to the police if you--"
"The police aren't going to--"
"--so in danger from someone I--"
"--conceited jerk you shouldn't even--"
"Wait," and the two fell silent for a moment. "Wait. Let's get a few things straightened out here, all right? First, I have absolutely no obligation to help you just because we're related. Second, I would protect my best friend before you. Third, I don't even know what's going on. You could be making shit up just because you two never got along."
"If that was the case, I'd be dealing with him directly." Billy turned away and pinched the bridge of his nose. "For the love of god, I am turning to you because I'm just petrified of what he'd do to me if I went to him, or if he comes to me. I don't want to deal with him ever again. You don't know the things he's said or the things he's done. You don't--he's your friend; he'll listen to you." He turned back slowly. "I'm just asking you to keep an eye on this guy, okay?"
"What's he said? What's he done?"
"What...?"
Brendon stood straight, serious, perhaps even concerned. "If you think I don't know, then why don't you fill me in? Otherwise it's just me taking your word for it, and if that's the case, I'll direct you back to my second point..."
"...He's...this was a bad idea."
"Yeah, it was."
"Shut up." Brendon was about to say more, but Billy cut his hand through the air sharply. "I said shut up. I have had it. I have had it with your kind of people and being chums with people whose favorite pastime is sexual harassment. I have been humiliated and assaulted by this man; I have been--I have--he's coerced me and blackmailed me. And yes, yes, I have done terrible, jailable things to him, just to get back at him; I have threatened to kill this man and have had the means to do so, I have, and I was the one that put him in that crisis you so selflessly pulled him out of, but everything I have done was for my own protection! I will not stand for a man who thinks he can use me like the whore I have time and again told him I am not, nor a man who decides I can either let him do whatever he pleases with me or have me jailed, or killed, just for fucking kicks, and I can't hurt him, not badly, not physically, so I hit him where it really hurt, and I would do it again, because I didn't hear from him again for months, literally, months, and guess what? I just so happened to run into him again, and he wasn't too happy, and I have no idea if he can find me, and I have no idea what will happen when he does, but it's bound to be a whole hell of a lot worse than the things he's already done, the indignities to--Scott Douglas tried his damnedest to fuck up my life, so I fucked his right back. That's it. That's the story."
That was the story as simply as he could put it, but it was always so much more complicated than that. It was about mutual attraction and dealing with orientations and labels he had only once ever considered and was so uncomfortable with and the feeling of his skin crawling sickly every time he wanted a guy to touch him.
He breathed heavily, out of anger, out of rage, but also to try and keep down the welling feeling of panic in his gut, the terrible feelings and memories of things he had always tried to forget, the instinct to run, or to cry, or to crawl in a hole and die. All of the things left unsaid still hurt too much.
Brendon stared at him, expression unreadable. It could've been shock, or anger, or repulsion, or just looking at him like he was crazy (which he undoubtedly must have sounded), it was uncertain. He worked his mouth, opening it, forming a word, then closing it again. The silence between them grew steadily.
Until he finally shook his head, lost. "Billy...I don't think--"
"Think or don't think whatever you want," Billy pleaded, "but he will listen to you. You don't have to hear from me ever again. You won't. I'm just asking you to do one thing. Just one thing for me."
"Billy, go."
He blinked. "I--what?"
"Go. Leave. Get out of here."
"...But you--"
Brendon shook his head again. "I don't think this is my problem. In fact, I know it's not. You got yourself into this mess. It doesn't have anything to do with me. Do something about it yourself."
"But...! That's why I came to you!"
"Get out."
"How can you say this has nothing to do with you?! I'm your brother! He's your friend!"
He grasped Billy's arm and directed him toward the door. "I said get out. Out! Don't come back here unless you've got business to attend to. It's not my problem. We haven't been brothers for a long time. You saw to that."
"You can't just turn away from--I'm asking you to--just say something to him, out of common decency...!"
Brendon managed to shove him out the door eventually. "Go home, Billy. It's not my fight." And with that, the door slammed.
For a few moments, he simply stared at the door, and the secretary gained his attention just as he was about to literally burst through the doors like in the movies. "Sir...I believe you should leave the building now."
Billy nodded mutely. He hadn't actually expected anything from Brendon. The fact that they had talked at all was amazing enough. But the refusal to help stung all the same. The entire situation he had been put through was, admittedly, avoidable, and clearly he understood that he was to blame for some of the events, but was it really all his fault? So much so that he didn't deserve help? From his own brother, no less. Billy had disowned the man, true, but short of talking to Scott himself, there was nobody else he could go to.
Maybe it had been because of the sexual acts implies. Maybe it was disbelief. Maybe it was apathy. Maybe he felt whatever happened to Billy was deserved. After all, Billy had admitted that he was the one who drained Scott's bank account, and Brendon seemed determined to help his buddy at all costs.
All of his fears seemed to rush to the surface at once--the question of who was at fault and the implication that it was him, his split desires and relationships, the hate he had faced in the past and from his brother and from society, his reluctance to deal with the things he could no longer hide. It made him feel sick and angry and defeated. Who was he, what was he, how would things change? Did he even know anymore?
He didn't go to work, and he didn't go back home. In fact, he had no idea where to go. He took solace in walking around Central Park until his legs burnt with pain and sat himself on a bench, simply trying to figure out his life.