Billy Hargrove

Billy always used to love that photo of himself, but he honestly forgot what it felt like to look back at the past and not feel a deep sense of dread about it.

June 1985. The last, somewhat "normal" month of his life, before everything just... collapsed like a house of cards and busted into flames like dry tumbleweed on California's hottest days. In a way, it was a good thing. There had been a lot of things in his life that were never going to work out in the long run, things that were better to leave behind, even if it hurt. He just hadn't expected that having that amazing job was going to be one of those things.

Billy had loved being a lifeguard. Not just because he was respected, listened to, and gawped at by the ladies.

He got to bathe in the sun all day, and although the Indiana summer was never going to be the same as in California, Billy had felt more at home, more in his element, and more like himself. 

He got to yell at bratty kids without anyone batting an eye because it was for the sake of safety. HEY, LARDASS! No running on my watch!

At the same time, he got to teach swimming to young kids, and although Billy didn't seem like someone who liked children very much, it was actually a blast to work with them. Children were so honest, energetic, unafraid to be themselves and to show their emotions. They learned quickly if guided correctly, and the extra money for that was amazing.

He got to show off the results of his workout sessions. His bare body was his armor, strong and beautiful, and it made up for the insecurities he carried deeply within. This armor had been so powerful that he could forget about his demons.

This job had been his absolute lifeline. Now that so many people have left Hawkins, and with the military regulating everything, he doubted that the pool was ever going to open back up. Perhaps, they would reintroduce the swimming lessons for the kids at some point, but with how he looked and felt, so pale and malnourished and not at all like the eye-catcher he used to be (at least in his own perception), Billy didn't know if he could stand it. His scars were so massive, so deep and disgusting, he squirmed at the thought of showing them to the world. And he wasn't going to be able to keep people safe if he worried about them seeing his minced body all day.

Well... It had been nice while it lasted, right? Maybe he could work at a cash register or something... 

Before he went to bed that night, Billy threw the polaroid into the trash, telling himself that it was just a photo and nothing meaningful. 

And yet... it hurt.