His blue irises reflect the steady stream of moonlight. The night sky and its many little crystals of light peak in on him through the foggy beads of dew and drizzle. The rain patters against glass in a steady melancholic drum; wind rattles the old pipes and wooden bones of the room like a lonesome dog begging to be let in. The windowpanes lead to nature’s own picture show in technicolor, but Billy’s mind wanders to the monochromatic.
To the past. To just that day’s passing period where fifth transitions to sixth. To when the stubborn clouds finally part their curtains to the sun in this drowsy, little northern town. The kids are just as muted in annoyance as the people Billy’s age are in excitement.
Shoes squeak on linoleum, and the hallways are filled with the rhythm of slamming lockers and melodramatic hushes of secret admirers. True love. Broken hearts. Longing…
The muscles of Billy’s cheek pull at the corner of his lip, yet his lips are dry, and the beginning hum of a cackle is yet to be resuscitated in his throat. This is just a residual reaction; Billy knows this somewhere in the back of his mind because it happens from time to time.
He was standing there, in that very hallway, with an arm leaning over a head of long blonde hair that reeked of hairspray and speckled green eyes. Or maybe they were a golden brown. He doesn’t know; the allure in them and the girl’s pretty smile was lost to him. The lockers were hard, and the metal was shooting pins and needles up his arm. Despite the cushion of a jacket, pain bloomed its thorns into the point of his elbow. Yet the pumping vessel beneath his chest bone was receiving the brunt of it.
Because you were there. Just feet away from him. With a dainty hand fiddling with the golden chain of a butterfly necklace—the one Billy had given you just months before—as a large smile was plastered on your face. It was genuine, Billy had noted, because it dared to shatter your complexion. Your wide eyes crinkled. Moisture stuck to your lashes—no, your lips didn’t dare to let go.
You were so happy. You were so goddamn happy, standing there with another man as the center of your focus, as the reflection in your eyes. The gloss of your irises captured better than film technology—how he brushed the stubborn baby hair away from your temple or how his lips spoke of words only you could understand—for it relayed your giggles and other quirks upon the entirety of your features.
Billy’s tortured bone was sending distress signals to his brain, wanting a rest. Billy hadn’t listened to it. He wanted to snap that lanky brunet’s long, slender fingers. The ones that rested on the edge of your scalp were too chicken shit to run and grasp a bit of hair to be brought in for a velvet kiss and never let go until you’re both gasping for air.
Those hands have never worked a day in their life, Billy could tell. Never had to work summers in a humid garage or on somebody’s lawn for some spending money. No, Jimbo would never leave you breathless, but at least you’d be comfortable. Bored, but never worried, nonetheless. He’d give you what Billy never could.
Billy’s fingers mindlessly reach for that same elbow that now thrums in vague feeling. He rubs it, and the callus from handling tools is rough on his skin. God, he wants to laugh. He wants to cackle just as he wanted to cackle in that school hallway. Cackle like he’s got nothing to worry about too, like you meant nothing to him. Cackle because it was just too easy to forget all about you.
Instead, everything blurred, and everything became muffled, and not because he had been engulfed by your plush lips. You didn’t allow Billy the freedom of resuming his affair with this blonde girl, and yet her talking had continued. Going on and on about nail polish—or was it about Madonna’s newest hit? He doesn’t remember what she’d been so interested in, or why stubbornness persisted within her interest in him when Billy was so obviously under another girl’s spell.
You were there. Just a few feet away. With some brunet shorter and thinner than him. Playing with the butterfly necklace Billy had bought for you with the cash he earned, acting as a gardener for his next-door neighbors during spring break. And you were smiling, two months after you had found purple and red hickeys along Billy’s neck and torso for the second time since becoming official. You were now smiling after having screamed and sobbed and pounded on Billy’s bare chest with your fists and watched him turn defensive—listened to him tell you that you didn’t satisfy his needs, you didn’t put out enough, youjust weren’t enough.
You walked out on him and became both deaf and blind. Never answered the incessant ringer of a house phone. Deleted voicemails before Billy’s voice could utter more than two syllables. Donated and hid some of the belongings he left behind in the back of your closet, like his worn Metallica’s Ride the Lightning record. And you never allowed your gaze to fall upon him for more than a couple seconds, no matter how much your eyes stung and begged to stare just a little bit longer.
And, ironically, Billy did too. His grades were worsening from assignments that were lost in the black hole of his backpack. Other girls were not as appealing as before, no matter how attractive they were and continue to be. Billy can pretend sometimes, however; he was pretending to like that blonde and he almost believed he did until you popped up into his peripheral. Most of the time, Billy couldn’t conjure an ounce of care when things weren’t about you. But he’d like to be quite deaf and blind to that fact too.
The hallway light suddenly flickers through the bottom crack of his bedroom door. Socked feet thread not-so-carefully down the wooden flooring. They forget about the creaky panels that tend to disturb the rest of the household. It’s Max, who has a habit of waking in the middle of the night to fill up on a refreshing glass of water. She must have forgotten to leave a filled cup on her bedside table, Billy thinks.
Billy’s throat itches, and he almost calls out to Max for a glass as well. Almost, before the memory of your eyes suck him back into the bottomless pit of nostalgia. Billy finds that he can’t do much these days except loosen up the tension in his muscles, give up the flailing, and just sink. Drown. His throat itches, and yet he will wait until morning, until he’s only got fifteen minutes to spare before the first bell.
A glass clinks as it lands in the metal sink. The same padded feet trek back into the hallway until the light no longer emits a glow beneath his door and another door down the hall clicks close.
For now, he stays, resting on his back, caught up in a web that enslaves him from sleep. He can kick off the blankets that are entangled with his legs, but, just like they don’t provide much warmth these days, it doesn’t do much in lessening the phantom grasp on him.
And the night grows colder as the rain pummels against his window now, and he wonders if, on the other side of town, the rain beats against your bedroom window as well. The moonlight striking on Billy’s face reflects the streams on the glass like tears upon his cheeks, but he cannot produce tears of his own. He simply stares into distance as his brain produces the same haunting images.
Of your smile. Of the silver butterfly necklace—how it still shines from a soft cleanser. Of how you looked exactly the same as the first day Billy met you, only except it wasn’t him who you were sharing intimacy with. It was some other guy who just wouldn’t stop touching you.
Sometimes Billy wishes he could do the simplest things, laugh and cry and get angry—anything to shake off the stranger he has become.
The green cotton of the couch scratched at your cheek while the rest of your bent limbs dug into its lumpy cushions. Your arms were wrapped around the heat of your throbbing midsection, barely paying attention to the laugh track of Three’s Company from the TV screen consume the quietness of your basement. Your knees scoot closer into your hunched form as Jack Tripper placed a lampshade over his head, eliciting another roar from the audience.
It’s one of your favorite scenes from one of your favorite shows, but under the influence of excessive pain you cannot laugh. Even just the colors that filtered through the television screen, draping a glowing blanket where you were huddled, keeps the interest of your blurred gaze longer. Sleep began to pull you into its hypnotizing clutches.
But then a light flickers by the doorway.
The door creaks in retaliation as the figure above the stairs struggles against its stubbornness―it liked to stay open, making harsh contact with the forehead of your caffeine-deprived father in the early mornings. The almost shapeless shadow nears the doorway as boots thud down the wooden steps. Plastic crinkles with every other step.
Safe.
Lazy lids seal shut your fading curiosity, and the pain settles into a low drum. Static laughter shrinks into a hum.
The plastic bag plops onto the ring-stained coffee table, and the material and the contents within sag. It resembles a cartoon frown. Your eyelids flutter open, eyelashes tickling the soft skin below the rims, and the shadow is no longer a shadow.
Calloused digits doused in the outdoor frost of midnight streets land on the plumpness of your cheek. Chills rumble in low vibration throughout your body as his fingers card through your hair, massaging the thumbs in circular motions on your scalp. A soft sigh passes through your lips and you half-way rise, your left shoulder shoving between the couch’s padding.
“Hey,”Billy breathes out.
A couple blinks pass before you realize that Three’s Company is no longer playing, but rather a man in a pressed suit with a file of papers in his hands follows with details about a recent disappearance. A yawn consumes you before speaking, “Where’d you go?”
“You fell asleep on my lap, so I slid out and got you some things,” Billy starts rummaging through the deflated grocery bag. “I know how much those cramps were kicking your ass.”
Reaching forth, your hands join his in their investigation of goods. Red Vine twists. Two cans of Arizona Tea. Family-sized nacho-flavored Doritos. And several of those miscellaneous gummies that the corner store by the movie theater sells for fifty-cents a pack. You didn’t know which snack to dig into first.
“They ran out of that salt-water taffy you like so much, though.”
Burrowing your bare toes in the ruffles of the carpet, you stand and wrap your sore arms around his ribs. Wild wisps from your crown tickle the tip of his nose as he tucked your head beneath his scratchy chin. He was a couple hours overdue for a shave, but that was something to worry about in the morning. Opting to focus on the heating pads of your arms as they slither just a little tighter around him, the cold melts away with the flush of your body.
His head lowers. Yours tips back with your inviting lips on display.
Slightly chapped lips settle over yours, gently grazing over the petal smoothness of yours. Billy’s hands roam to the dip of your waist, pulling you closer to his ministrations. The minty coolness of Billy’s mint chewing habit settles on the expanse of your tongue before you pull away from him for breath. Your content gaze peers up at him.
Scratched up skateboard wheels rolling across the pavement fluttered through the three-inch crack of the front door as Billy sat at the kitchen table. He’ll be met with a stern lecture from a mustached lip if a fly managed to wander into the home like a tourist upon their first breath of the A.C. at a hotel lobby, but Billy had much more important business to intend to. Report cards were just around the corner and with his sweet talking skills, Billy’d convinced the math teacher into giving him a passing grade if he turned in 200 solved problems by the end of the week.
He had seven days. Seven whole days to answer some textbook questions that they’ve gone over in class. It should have been easy, except it wasn’t. Billy was failing the class for a reason. Day five only had two hours left of sunshine, yet Billy’s currently stuck on problem forty-six. With each tick of the clock mounted behind him, his frustration grew.
One of his temples rested in the cup of his left palm as he beat the eraser head on the other before tossing the pencil at the book pages. Words were merging into numbers and numbers were blurring into letters.
Fuck it, he thought, I’ll just ask for a tutor. Yet he knew if he kept this mindset he’d fail, receive a smack across the back of his head, and still wouldn’t seek out a tutor.
He could hear the skateboard’s wheels beat relentlessly against the cracked concrete while Max explained the footwork behind the technique to you, who was sitting on the grass with your white cane last he check. Jealousy picked at the nerves in his forehead as frustration clenched his eyebrows together.
His mind began running off of the book pages and onto the blue sports car in his driveway. Would he have enough for the wash and the wax. Would there be enough leftover for a tip? Billy was an asshole to a lot of things, but he knew what it was liked to be stiffed.
Page 267 was beginning to give him more trouble than it was worth, and those pointers the geek with the lisp in his class gave weren’t helping at all. The rim of one of Susan’s good glasses touched the plush of his bottom lip, the cool water streaming down the well of his parched throat―
A gasp bordering along a yelp burst through the door, clawing its way into his ear. He nearly choked on his drink; some loose water dribbled down his chin.
Pushing out of his chair and the table he was leaning on, not caring if the polished hardwood caught a couple scratches, he was out the front door in five seconds.
Under the shade of his palm, which he planted against his eyebrows to fend off the sun’s brightness, he scanned the situation for clues.
His step-sister’s skateboard lied planted on the other side of the street. Upside down. Wheels spinning lazily under the shade.
The little redheaded runt’s wide eyes met his. Laced with alarm. Her bottom lip wobbled in search for words. Her hands held out below her…toward you, who was slowly lifting yourself by the skin of your elbows.
Raw. Blood beginning to clot around the loose gravel that clung to the wounds.
Billy marched through the grass, nearly tripping over your forgotten cane. “Max, what’d you do?!”
Max took a deep breath, crouching down to you. Her small fingers brushed your palm before helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry.”
As soon as you were back on the safety pads of your feet, Max turned to face her fuming step-brother.”I didn’t mean―”
His hand landed on her slender shoulder, shaking her like an earthquake rattles a brick foundation. “No, of course you didn’t mean to, you little twerp.”
A couple specks of spit landed across her freckled cheeks and nose, prompting her to screw up her face in mild disgust. “She wanted―”
“How many times do I have to tell you? You need to be careful with her, she’s―”
“Stop talking about me like I’m not here, Billy.” You dusted off the debris from your stinging cuts. “I’m blind, not fragile. How many times do I have to tellyou?”
You would have walked off in the direction of his house if only you knew wherever the hell it was. Trying to land that kickflip Max had spent the last half hour explaining to you really messed with your sense of direction, but you weren’t about to tell them that. Your mother didn’t call you a stubborn mule for nothing plus you were getting really sick of Billy thinking you were weak, so you turned around and started stalking off without the aid device your parents payed for.
“Y/n, where are you going?” Billy called after you. “You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me!” You called over your shoulder, continuing your trek into the unknown.
Billy watched you walking down the street, and for once he appreciated living down such a long road miles away from the populated center of town. If it wasn’t one of his neighbors pulling into their cracked driveways after a long 9-to-5 shift or pulling away for a hearty meal at Benny’s Diner, cars rarely ever raced down this street.
Turning to Max, his grip loosened on her shoulder. “Grab your board and get inside.”
Max didn’t argue. Out of the two of them, Max had a more leveled head. She knew she could just check out the damage on your elbows and apologize again once Billy convinced you to come back into their comfy abode. Yanking away from her older step-brother, she ran for her precious skateboard.
“Babe, come on,” Billy tried to reason with you as his long legs neared you. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. You just―”
His warm hand gently latched onto your arm, turning you to face him. “I just what, Billy? You know people here either pity me or they stand feet apart from me like I’m made of glass,”the pressure in the center of your forehead begins to make itself known in the form of a headache, “I just thought things…here…were different.”
“They are, babe.” His chin bounced with quick little nods to reassure you. Sometimes he forgot that you couldn’t see these small actions. “Okay? They are. Max was teaching you one of her stupid tricks, and I just freaked, okay?”
Memories flicker through your mind, sounds and touch alike. When one of the mean girls at school had purposely stuck her foot out in front of you for taking “her man” away, you had bashed your head against a locker and were knocked out cold. You had woken up moments later in Billy’s arms as he carried you to the nurse’s office. You hadn’t bent over and died when the concussion symptoms came at you in full force; you had just taken the standard amount of sick days at home. Not any less and, definitely, not any more.
Other memories came at you, but none were as extreme as the concussion. Yet, with each scrape or nick that life threw at you, Billy reacted like blood was seeping through your clothing at an alarming rate or your lungs were restricting from lack of oxygen. Whatever it was, Billy acted like it was the end of the world for you.
“I didn’t cry when I fell off a tree branch and broke my arm in fourth grade, “ you began the recited verse you’ve told almost every member of your family, “so, I’m not gonna cry because of some stupid scuff marks on my elbows. I’m fine.”
“But, when I was sitting at the kitchen table, loss in thought, I heard it.” His thumbs were stroking the bones of your cheeks. “I heard you fall, Y/n. How was I supposed to know it wasn’t anything worse? When my dad first introduced me to Susan, Max walked around in crutches after a bad skateboard landing snapped her shin bone.”
You sighed, allowing his outlook on the situation widen the scope of your mind. Maybe you were being a little too harsh on him. After all, you couldn’t pour salt to the sizzle off the worry that ate you up inside whenever Billy decided to hang out with one of his pals. It would steal the sleep from you knowing he’d be driving around drunk. Him cradling you to the nurse’s office and you phoning him to make sure he made it to his bedroom safe were two sides of the same coin.
“I’m surprised Susan still lets her ride around on that thing.” His fingers carded through your hair. “I was just scared the same thing might of happened to you, or worse.”
“I understand, Billy.” You spoke so softly, Billy wasn’t entirely sure if it was just one of your breaths. A shuddering gasp forced its way out of your throat as you fought off the burning sensation of tears from the corner of your eyes. “I just get so frustrated sometimes.”
Your face met the soft cotton of his shirt as he brought you into the protection of his arms. “I know, baby,” He kissed the crown of your head. “I’m sorry I overreact sometimes.”
You sniffled a couple times before pulling away from him, “It’s okay.”
His lips brushed against the center of your forehead first then dipped his head to land another on your plump lips, but your fingers caught him. “You still have to apologize to Max first before you can kiss me.”
He took a deep breath. “Deal.”
Your fingers fumbled for his before before successfully latching on. You sighed as your palms melded together like ironworks as Billy led the way to his house.
As you both grew closer a loose thought struck you. “Wait. Don’t you still have homework to do?”
A/N: I hope I did alright in characterizing a blind reader.
After a couple days of trailing after his father and his new little family in their Chevy truck, Billy pulled up in front of the place they’d now be calling home. Billy’s bones ached from sitting for a prolonged period of time and his eyelids had been heavy from the constant blare of the sun, and yet he thought their new humble abode was just about the ugliest thing he’d ever seen. With several window panes bordering a sun parlour and a low roof that suggested the lack of stairs inside, Billy knew it was totally Susan’s style and not something his father would have picked out had it just been him and his teenage son.
The sun parlour was meant for Susan’s obsession with lilies and begonias. There would soon be a wooden bench with flowered cushions just for her to perch on with one of her many melodramatic books about gossip and heartbreak. And with only one story to worry about, Susan would silence her chirps about stupid superstitions about staircases and ladders as if staircases and ladders were the same thing. Yes, he could see it all so clearly.
Billy felt drowsy, but he wasn’t blind. He knew all about the intentions his father had when purchasing this house, beside the new job opportunity, before reaching for the handle of his Camaro. The daintiness of the house, the seclusion of moving across country, was all just a ploy to keep another woman from slipping through his father’s aching embrace. His father couldn’t control Billy’s free spirited mother, so he chased after a much more timid woman who his ex-co-worker cheated on. Susan just so happened to already have a child his father hadn’t known about ‘til it was too late.
Walking up to the front door just a beat behind his father and the two redheads, and just about ready for a twelve-hour nap, Billy somehow picked up on the flutter of lavish curtains of lace and chintz from the house next door.
A peeping neighbor was curious about them, yet his father was much more interested in the plants rooted beneath the neighbor’s window.
“What the hell are those things?”
“I think they’re flowers,” Max threw in her two cents.
With a small, soft turn of her lips, Susan added, “I’m sure they’ll be absolutely beautiful once they bloom.”
Billy will already half-forgotten this exchange of meaningless words meant to fill in the silence and the curious shadow of his new neighbor until…
October 3. Wednesday. 2:31 a.m.
Sweat accumulated on his forehead as Billy awoke with a start. His sheets stuck against hist bare limbs as a hazy memory of an ocean wave toppling over him and a blurred smile clouded his vision. Yet, getting up, he managed to locate his lighter in the strewn jeans he’d worn the day before and place a fresh cigarette between his lips and another behind his ear before sneaking past dad and Susan’s bedroom.
His palms were clammy and chills prickled his arm hair as he stepped out into the night. Standing in the center of the cement path in sleep shorts and a T-shirt, he figured the cigarettes he planned on having would be enough to take his mind off the old breeze and old memories.
Except, he hadn’t planned on having an audience.
Shewas sitting on the steps of the next door porch. Knees jutted out in front of her, arms tucked across her midsection, and eyes already set on him.
Billy only knew a couple things about her. She and her grandparents were his neighbors, she went to school with him, and she flinched…embarrassingly a lot.
Stubbing out his half-burned cigarette, Billy retreated back inside away from the girl, but not before glancing at the plants his father wouldn’t quit pestering everyone about.
Nothing about them had changed. Still green and still very ugly.
October 16. Tuesday. 2:10 a.m.
Days snail by and the weather has remained stagnant, yet again Billy found himself venturing outside before the bird could sing. His mattress had felt too lumpy against the ridges of his spine and the sheets too tampered to find any peace. And there she was again for the fourth time in the past thirteen days, burning holes into the moisture of the patchy lawn before her.
The cold shoulder was a kick to the shin. Billy’d grown accustomed to the thought of having someone to share the cleansing breeze of sorrow they didn’t plan on speaking of. Billy had the idea that he couldn’t be the only one whose demons kept him from snuggling under the covers and drifting off until the alarm clock said so. No one in their right mind found peace in the shadows of orange street lamps without worse occurrences taking place behind doors…or the insides of skulls.
So, he found himself scrounging through the block of ice that’s never been broken through, not even after the welcoming block party. Not when this girl’s “papa” borrowed his father’s lawnmower. Not when Susan and “nana” swapped pot roast recipes. And, definitely not when she came over with a textbook held against her chest to tutor Max at their dining table.
“You make this a habit or something?”
Her delicate eyelids fluttered before she realized Billy’s figure stood in front of her, scuffing his sneakers at the gravel.
His eyes long adjusted to the dim glow of the street lamp, he studied the ribbon struggling to hold on to her hair and the oversized jacket that swallowed her frame. She was still wearing the same outfit from the day before. He only knew because she had been guiding Max through a couple practice problems while he was curling weights to MTV after school.
“You one of them ‘watch the sunrise’ type of gals or something?”
Hooking the stretched sleeves of her sweater over her thumbs, she responded, “Sometimes.”
Within the frame of a breath, Billy had taken a seat beside her on the steps while his hands rested in his pockets, resisting the urge to comment on the leap of her shoulders. It was easy, he managed to wire his lips shut last night when his father had halted her from walking out their front door without the ten dollars she earned from tutoring. Her chin had tucked into her chest with the flicker of her lids before the older Hargrove shoved the bill into her clammy palms.
“Isn’t it kind of early for that?”
She shrugged, failing to convince anyone, even herself, that there wasn’t a care in her bones.
“Do your grandparents know you come out here?” They reminded Billy of his own grandparents, the ones who’d welcomed him with warm biscuits and a spare bed just before his father tore him away from his last shred of contentment.
“Do your parents know you do the same?” she retorted.
“Touché.”
Billy stayed next to her, never brushing against her for fear of sending her running back into the house, for a few moments longer before getting back up.
Glancing down at her, he motioned towards his house. “I should go, you know, before my dad wakes and freaks.”
She nodded twice. “Okay.”
The weight of his shoulders dragged him down just a little bit more as he spared her another glance before shoving his hands in his pockets and trekking back home. He never stayed outside for long, usually only for the span of a burning cigarette or two. Never as long as her, who’d already be out there far before frost greets his skin and who’d remain out there long after he fell back in the abyss of his bed.
And right before he silently jiggled the pestilent doorknob, he noticed that those odd, not-yet-ready, flowers were beginning to crack open like the release of bubbles from clams.
October 18. Thursday. 3:47 a.m.
Another forty-eight hours passed, a full moon encompassed the dark sky and she was still wearing the same loose sweater he’d seen her in outside of fourth period. The flimsy material still threatened to slip off her shoulders and fall in a red pool around her feet. The bags beneath her downcast eyes contrasted further against the skin of her cheeks, yet she agreed to join him on a walk with him without much convincing.
It was just a stroll around their expansive block, and her top lip hardly separated from its thicker sister while twin arms remained crisscrossed around her ribs like Greek ancient pillars. Billy hadn’t expected anything more for she never really made attempt in being friendly with him nor he with her, not when the street lamps sat cold beneath the sun.
So, when her steps came to a close despite only having twenty-seven cement blocks to go before reaching their neighboring homes, muttering, “It’s not you,” Billy stumbled on his own feet. Yet, she fished forth, steadying him with the softness of her palms. and he gave her a simple nod, “I get it.”
The smile didn’t cut into the plush pillows of her cheeks, creating denudation, but the prudent glaze of her pupils softened. “Not a lot of people do.”
The stroll continued in silence, and skipping over his house Billy walked her to her porch. She climbed the three steps, with an appreciative set of eyes, about to twist the knob and enter the shadowed mass of her grandparents’ timely living room, but Billy spoke.
“Can I ask you something?”
Glancing over the red cotton of her shoulder, she responded, “What?”
His foot settled on the first step, “What’s keeping you?”
She fully faced him with her arms down her sides. “What do you mean?”
He ascended those steps with his hands in his pockets, always in his pockets around her vicinity. “You’re always out here. Cold, shivering, instead of in there,” he nodded towards her front door, “warm, maybe with a teddy bear or two. What’s keeping you from your bed?”
“Nothing in there, I love papa and nana.” She shrugged, lowering her head before settling on “It’s complicated.” She sucked in a deep breath between her teeth, “Thanks for walking me home, Billy,” and retreated, softly closing the door on him.
October 22. Monday. 4:03 a.m.
Billy wiped at the beaded moisture on his upper lip before resting his head on his hands. The dream itself vanished upon the flicker of his lids, leaving behind only fragments of images. A dazzling smile. A wave crashing over. But his semi-conscious brain grasped at the emotions the dream had stirred. It was the same thing over and over again.
Shrugging on a crumpled jacket from the floor and slipping on a pair of sneakers, Billy creeped down the hallway towards the front door with ease. After all the interrupted nights in this new house, he knew which floorboards creaked and strained under his stature. Anything that could give him an advantage around his father he took mental notes of.
He didn’t expect to find her sitting on the single step in front of his door or expect to see a bounce in her race to stand on her two feet when he made his appearance. The door softly clicked behind him.
“I was hoping you’d show up.” She spoke gently.
Even her expression wasn’t so pitiful or down in the dumps. Her jaw sat relaxed with parted lips. A sense of wonder had swept every unshed tear in her lashes and the caution that was so natural in her stare. Billy even took notice of her short tennis skirt and the slouch socks that accompanied her white sneakers and how she resembled a cheery teenaged girl for once, like a girl-next-door should be.
“What’s going on?” he asked her, glancing east and west end of the neighborhood.
“I have something to tell you,” she guided a confused Billy down the cement step and across their moist lawns until they stopped in front of the main window of her house. “Look. The poppies finally bloomed.”
And they did. Those ridiculous green bulbs that stuck out like a wallflower among a popular crowd were no longer that but…nice little flowers with graceful necks and blushing petals. Poppies, so that’s what these buggers were all along.
“See? They aren’t so ugly are they?” She glanced up at him with a playful expression. Her lips quirked and an eyebrow raised.
“I never said anything.” His muscular arms crossed against his chest.
A huff of quiet laughter released under her breath. “No, but I’ve heard your dad say a thing or two. He’s not very quiet.”
He stilled and the playful banter isn’t so fun anymore. “You can hear him?”
Her head dropped to her chest and the hair behind her ears fell free. “Sometimes.”
Fists fall to his sides, clenching, and he hides them in his pockets like he usually does around her. And, yet, embarrassment spread a fire across his face. It wasn’t her fault that these houses were so old their walls appeared paper thin. It wasn’t her fault his dad found a reason to express his disappointment in his son every chance he got nor raise his palms with quick ease. Life just freaking sucked sometimes.
But, he didn’t want her thinking he was angry at her or anything because she overheard a scuffle or two. By spending what little time with her after sunlight, he knew her more than any other person at their school did. He knew she couldn’t sleep without demons sinking their claws into her skin and dragging her through mud, like him. They were far past formalities.
Fingers tickled her palm before lacing together with her own, and she realized Billy was holding her hand.
“Poppies, you said?”
She nodded. “Yeah.”
“They’re,” he cleared imaginary lint from his throat, “nice.”
“I grew them myself,” she offered. “I found out the first bouquet papa gave to nana were poppies.”
“Really?” His soft gaze fell on her.
She nodded once more with a pull at her lip before returning the look.
One day she’d tell him about the anxiousness that gnawed on her scalp as the date of her father’s release draws near. She’d tell him how his own father’s forced acts of kindness reminded her of her own whenever one of his work pals would come over to watch the game. She’d tell him that she’d only been living with her grandparents for a little less than four years. She was originally from out of state, where the clouds didn’t hold the sky hostage. One day she’d tell him that there was a time when her papa and nana only knew what she looked like based on a photo in their album when she was only 13 months old. That her father was sent to prison after Coach Annie spotted a trail of blue smudges trailing towards her shoulder. How a scar from a scolding iron on her thigh was discovered after that.
Billy’s thumb brushed over her cold knuckles once more as he gazed upon the warm hues of the poppies, and she felt that one day she could tell him everything.
A/N: So sorry about the super long wait for this request! >.<
“So, what’s this Cocteau Twins? I hear they’re like all the rage in our English class.”
Billy certainly wasn’t the only boy to glance at the heavy black outlines of her eyes or trace the shape of her soft lips with precise pupils and he certainly wasn’t the first to notice the emptiness beneath the blankness of her painted face, but he didn’t turn away like the rest. He stared straight on behind the guise of disinterest in the same fashion she did. Perhaps she never sought out the interests of her peers after her relationship with Steve, but Billy had come to her.
Billy’s interest in her led him to the wrap around porch, where her stray tears dripped onto the painted wood, if they weren’t mopped up by her sleeve. It led to another victory against his rival, but he found he didn’t care for that if it meant this connection with the dazed girl was shallow. It led to something more beneath the shadows of the night away from the pollutants of other gazes. It led to acceptance into her little bubble.
She was no longer trying to push him away with hollow laughter or with the front of her back.
“It’s written on your notebook,” He pressed for a reciprocation of words, in which the answer he’d been searching for would lie.
Heat rose into the supple of her cheeks, a contrast against the moisture clinging to her lashes, when she realized he was awaiting an answer and not just filling the silence with thoughtless matter. “They’re a band not really known around here,” her hands fidgeted in front of her.
His shoulder was now nearly pressing against hers. “How’d you hear about them then?”
Billy’s half-lidded eyes were soft, and she swore since he’d found her the smile on his lips lacked that usual air of arrogance. “Well,” she started, “I have this penpal from the U.K. and we often trade tapes. Been doing it for a couple years now actually.”
All those trips to the record stores resulted in more questions and an increase of mileage on his tank. One time he had to make 20 miles last a week because of the excessive driving and his allowance only came on Sundays, and that’s if his father deemed he was “good” enough to receive it. Hawkins’ may be the smallest town he’d ever step foot in, but even towards the end of that week he was sure he’d get stuck on the side of that long narrow road out in the woods with a brooding Max.
“You should let me hear them some time,” he said, his elbows resting on the railing and his hands clasped together.
“I don’t think you’ll like them,” she answered honestly.
The both of them turned to face the sliding of the house, toward the chanting of the crowd who was no doubt surrounding the keg stand in the backyard. They couldn’t see anything, but soon the crowd erupted in disappointment. No doubt whoever was trying to take down Billy’s score had lost terribly.
“Come on,” he faced her again, “you got me feeling like some curious cat over this foreign band. Surely I’ll like them better than this party.”
“I don’t know,” she shrugged, still not sure whether to reveal such a part of herself to a guy she just met. The guy being Billy of all people.
“My whip’s got good speakers, ya know.” His grin looked sweeter than all those chocolates from those filled-to-the-brim pillow cases from her childhood.
“I have good speakers at home, too.”
“Surely not Rockford Fosgate good.”
“I’m not gonna stand here and pretend to know that brand, but I’m gonna take a guess and say those speakers are expensive.” She eyed him with a quirk of the brow. “You have rich parents or something?”
Billy’s grin faltered, slipping off his face as he thought of something to say, but eventually settled with: “Not really,” his voice trailed off into a pause.
The ring on his finger shone and he twisted it around. His brain was holding up a giant, red STOP sign, telling him to just shut the fuck up for a second. But, just like he runs red traffic lights and cuts off walking pedestrians, Billy doesn’t listen. For some reason, he trusted the girl beside him for she never seemed the stuck-up type nor the kind to spread gossip like wildfires. He only ever saw her speak to one person, and that was Samantha, another girl who didn’t strike him as some annoyance.
He cleared his throat and stared off into the neighborhood. “Actually, I bought them off a friend with some of my mom’s life insurance money.”
If there was ever one thing Y/n envied of Samantha was her relationship with her parents. They were fun, and though they were square they supported and encouraged Samantha’s expressionism in her choice of clothing and style of hair. On the other hand, it was obvious that Y/n’s parents had been brought up in strict Catholic homes by how her mother tried pushing for floral blouses and corduroy skirts in her wardrobe and how her father would glance her way and sigh. But even then, she knew her parents loved her and she couldn’t imagine any sort of life without her mother or her father.
But that was the boulder she learned that weighed on Billy’s spine.
“Oh my god,” she pressed a palm against her mouth, “I’m so sorry.”
He sniffled once. “Don’t be. It happened a long time ago. So uh,” he blinked a few times, “What do you say?”
She doesn’t know what propelled her to ditch the stupid party to go for a ride in Billy’s infamous Camaro. Maybe it was because of the pity she felt for his childhood without the nurture of a mother. Maybe she just really wanted to get away from Steve and the moment that took place by the staircase and he was her only window. Or, maybe it’s because Billy had shown vulnerability, a side to him she had had doubts of existing.
It didn’t matter. None of it did because the night breeze was swirling through her locks in different shades of blue, she imagined in the fashion of that Van Gogh painting in the school library she really liked. The leather seats she was situated in harbored her warmth as though it were an oven mitt and she the casserole that just got taken out to cool. And, Billy was right. His speakers, playing one of her tapes, only cemented the fantasy.
The streets of Hawkins was just a stage, and she was the star among the many worldly props. And, Billy…
His hair was swept away from his own alluring features, like hers, by the the cooperation of Mother Earth’s natural fan and the rolled-down windows of Billy’s waxed Camaro. Gone was the glint of a glare and the stone of the scowl that marred his complexion, leaving behind a pliable expression just a shy away from a smile.
Cocteau Twins was proving itself to be too gloomy for his tastes, its notes striking something deep and morbidly beautiful in his core, but he didn’t mind it so much. This moment was delivering some of the most tranquility and purity since his mother could wiggle her bare toes in sand as she watched him catch a wave.
With every glance he shared with Y/n, his apathetic classmate, Billy had never seen such life ignite and burn in her. He couldn’t ask for anything closer to heaven.
Dating Billy was like dating one of the many attractive rockstars plastered on the pale walls of your bedroom, except only with slightly less screeching girls and more bloody knuckles. Billy hated when other men, many who are older, would try to propose to you some sort of midnight deal involving money and their hotel rooms and you hated when girls would reach up and twirl bits of his hair or rub the lapels of his jean jacket with their fingers every time you left to get more booze or for a quick bathroom break.
This was the Sunset Strip, Hollywood’s most popular spot for metal musicians and whores with fishnets that run up the expanse of their thighs, and it was a dangerous combo when the two of you were thrown into the mix. Yet, it was a drug that provided cheap thrills, and you and Billy were just teenagers without a whole lot of money lining your pockets. This was your amusement park. This was where parts of your D.N.A laid to rest. Billy’s too.
They say one loses fifty to about a hundred strands a day and you cannot imagine any other area in Los Angeles, other than your home, that’s collected all 54,750 of your fallen hair since the age of fifteen. No other area’s collected your fingerprints as much or your littered cigarettes. No other venue outside of the Whisky A Go-Go have you and Billy carried out most of your sloppy quickies in the public restroom—usually because Billy dragged you after a guitarist or singer couldn’t keep their eyes off you.
Billy’s jealousy has gotten you guys into more trouble than sometimes it’s worth. You’ve gotten kicked out of clubs for smashing beer bottles against the wall just centimeters away from his target, a musician’s most precious asset—his pouty face. You were surprised that you could count all scuffles Billy’s gotten himself into with band members, some from bands you actually enjoyed watching, on one hand.
You still haven’t forgiven him for banning the two of you from ever attending an L.A. Guns gig again.
“This place blows.” Billy slams his glass on the counter in a huff and the bartender gives him a pointed look before shaking his head to himself.
His attitude tonight was wearing down your placid features faster than a clock counted minutes. And, he’s hardly glanced in your direction to at least make it easier for you to hear him among all the other noise that penetrated your ear drums.
He slid off the stool and doesn’t apologize when his shoulder shoved into your chin. Sometimes you swore you could wrap your hands around his throat and strangle him.
All the trouble with security and other patrons you both been in hadn’t just been because of his loose tongue and quick fists. No, you were pretty sure you’ve been in more altercations that involved a split lip or black eye than he had. There were too many bimbos that rubbed you the wrong way and too many guys who thought they had a free pass to grope you just because you sometimes wore mini skirts and low-cut tops.
You knew Billy’s itching mood meant you had to turn down alcohol and provide the role of babysitter because if you didn’t, he’d do something that even he’d regret. But, you’ve never been one with much patience. It’s why you hardly knew the three-year-old stranger who lived under your parents’ roof and called you “sissy” in passing. You didn’t feel all that bad for the cold shoulder she often received, your mother and step-father provided plenty of warmth. They preferred her over you anyway.
“Wait up, jerk!” You called after your boyfriend, though he didn’t slow down. You weren’t doubtful that it was due to him ignoring you over simply just not hearing you.
The effort in teasing your hair and painting your face to near perfection had gone to waste so far, but you didn’t mind. The ever prideful girl in a leather skirt and jean jacket, though that alone couldn’t define you.
The bartender’s glare was glued to you, waiting for the payment of Billy’s whiskey glasses. You searched through your pockets, only finding a couple loose bills and some change of mostly pennies you knew wasn’t not nearly enough to cover the tap. You set it on the counter and chased after Billy’s direction before you could be flagged. Luckily some drunk was hassling the bartender for another serving and you caught the wisps of Billy’s dirty-blond locks leaving through the back exit.
Barging through the door, you found Billy already sucking on a Marlboro—your Marlboro.
You marched through the dirty alley. “Hey, stupid, I could’ve gotten arrested back there! I haven’t any money on me you know!” Just inches away from him, you continued, “He knows my freakin’ face.”
“Tough luck.” The smoke harbored in his mouth was blown into your face.
You swiped at him, knocking his, well, your cigarette on the ground. “I’m so sick of your pointless attitude, Billy. Grow up!”
With a flared nose, Billy scoffed, “Everything’s fuckin’ pointless, babe. Don’t you get it?” The point of his burning finger touched the chilled skin of your chest, pushing you. “You’re pointless.”
“No,” you shook your head, “you don’t mean that.” Focusing on the golden pendant that’s hung around his neck, you could feel the suffocating heat of his blue irises. “Two years can’t just go by and not mean anything,” you mumbled.
“Yeah? Well, it did!” A bit of his spit landed on your cheek as he puffed a breath down your face.
You knew this act almost too well. Billy may be the biggest asshole who ever lived, though you knew you stood in a place well below a pedestal to look down upon him, but whenever this sudden bout of anger was directed at you, you knew it was displaced. Billy had a fishermen’s nest worth of loathing in the pit of his stomach, directed at his father and things that couldn’t be undone from the past.
You’ve spent about 730 days together so far. You weren’t just some cheap date nor an easy lay. Billy’s shown you too much—given you more—to be able to take it back straight out of the blue. Damaged goods. That’s what the two of you were, and he found comfort in the thought that he wasn’t alone.
But, even when your brain knew better, your heart found it difficult to differentiate truth from impulse. And right now, the beating beneath your breast bone was thumping a very low, and foreboding note.
You tongued at the rim of your upper back molar, a nervous habit since preschool, before stating, “I don’t believe you.”
“Just get out of here!” Billy pointed at the dark street as if you hadn’t rode here as his passenger for the millionth time. “Find your own way home.”
“The hell I’m not,” you ground between your teeth. Your palms met his chest a couple times before he snatched your wrists.
But, when you glanced up at him, his face was turned into the deeper end of the alleyway. It’s almost too dark to see, but when you squinted you made out the shape of a figure, presumably a guy. And upon closer inspection, you noticed he was about your age. Maybe younger if going by the pudginess of his cheeks. You’d never seen him around before.
“Hey, asshole, what are you staring at?!” Billy’s voice rang in your ear like the beating of heavy church bells, or worse, thunder.
The lone boy looked stuck in a crossfire, and immediately you knew he was in fact younger by a few years based on the softness of his eyes despite the glow of a cigarette between two fingers. Hell, even at fourteen you’d been smoking for at least a year.
His knee jittered, ready to bounce if Billy proved too big of a menace, but he stood at a dead end. He had no where to go.
“Billy,” you warned, but Billy had already succumbed to the role of a predator. Tense muscle pulled out of your grasp as he stalked towards the wide-eyed deer. “Billy!”
“That’s it! I’m outta here!” But, this was what he wanted. If he couldn’t shoo you away like a pigeon picking at crumbs on a sidewalk, he’d ignore you like a lone cat skittering in the neighborhood.
Making up your mind about hailing a cab and then raiding your step-father’s study to pay for the ride, you’re about to reach the sidewalk when suddenly your blood ran cold. You could recognize the clinking of the sheathing of a pocketknife, you’ve carried the same one you found just hours before the first day of fourth grade on you since. Right now, it fit snug inside your leather boot and it bumped against your ankle with every step.
Which meant Billy somehow hadn’t slipped your knife in his pocket.
Yelping, Billy fell against the bricks and slid down until he reached the littered ground of smokes and shards of glass. The boy had already been running away by the time you’d turned to watch, shoving past you with sweat beads above his brow. Some of the glint of the metal in his hand was obstructed by a thick, red consistency and the steady thumping in your chest stuttered.
Running after the boy was a lost cause, especially since the streets tended to be busier at night than in the daylight. Yet, by the time you knelt beside your fallen boyfriend, his breath released in puffs and the tear of his white T-shirt across his abdomen contained stained blots. The skin beneath raw and wet, but not deep at all.
“Oh, thank God,” the breath swooshed out of your lungs, “It’s just a nick, Billy.”
“Fuck,” he chuckled as he inspected the cut. “Way to go world, just kick me when I’m already down!”
Your shaped eyebrows knitted together. “Jesus, have you gone mad? You just got shanked and you’re laughing?!” Your hand hovered just inches away from his wound. “What should we do?”
While you’d been too worried, the pads of his fingers grazed the slice. He winced. “Tonight, I was supposed to be some pissy prick, not escape death from the hands of some scrawny freak.”
“Does—Does it hurt?!”
“It’s not that bad, actually.” Yet, he grunted, “Little fucker,” under his breath as he got to his feet. You followed his lead, still shaken. “It just stings mostly. I’m more worried about the questions someone might ask when they see this,” he gestured to the gash of his ruined shirt, ”but we gotta clean it, babe.”
“We?” Arms crossed beneath your chest, you remembered the things he’d said just moments ago. “Don’t pretend you didn’t just tell me that I’m pointless! Clean it yourself.”
“Hey. Hey,” Billy reached for your arms, gently uncrossing them until your hands were enveloped in his. Somehow even when it was just above fifty degrees, Billy’s body was a furnace that radiated heat. You think it was the anger he could never quite let go of. “I didn’t mean any of it.”
You sheepishly glanced towards the side with puckered lips before you spoke. “You sure you didn’t mean it?”
“Never mean it.” He kissed at your hairline before pulling away.
“Then, why were you being so mean?” you questioned him, still a little insulted.
He sighed and brought you into his side, almost forgetting about the tenderness of his stomach but your were mindful. You knew this trick of his, tucking your head under his chin to hide the plain emotions he failed to bar behind a careless façade.
“Because of my dad… He—uh,“ his adam’s apple bobbed against your temple. “We’re leaving. He’s moving us to Indiana.”
Just when you thought tonight couldn’t get any worse, Billy dropped a bomb on your head.
A/N: You wanted chaotic and I couldn’t think of a more perfect place than 80’s Sunset Strip. Sorry it’s not 100% what you wanted, the story just seemed to go in this direction.
Steve “The King” Harrington was nothing but a fraud who hid behind great hair, brand-named clothing, and, occasionally, tinted specs. But while he had everyone wrapped around his pinky, he was nothing more than a doormat in the middle of sleepless nights. Not because you often bumped shoes with him every time he welcomed you into his arms but because the only time you ever sought him out was after a nasty fight with your older boyfriend, and only in places no prying eyes could reach.
He hadn’t spoken more than a couple sentences to you in months―you have muttered even less to him―yet somehow the warmth between your heated skin had become well acquainted with his.
With your head on his chest and an arm around your waist, Steve’s bed had offered a fraction of the comfort after you decided to climbed into his window and sob unintelligibly against his shirt. Steve didn’t say anything when you flinched upon his fingers grazing over a bruise on your hip. This was the first time.
The clashing of teeth and swollen lips was the first kiss you had desperately bestowed upon him. The school’s boiler room had been too dark for him to see, and maybe that’s partially why the first kiss had been just a little too rough but somehow he had the feeling the brutal kiss was purposeful too.
The first time Steve had sex with you was on your bed of flowered bedding just fifteen minutes after the bell had released its students for the day. Your clammy hands hardly roamed his torso, opting to remain on his shoulders, while your thighs shook around his slim hips. You rode him, wanting Steve’s sweat to penetrate through your sheets and displace the scent of your boyfriend’s odor of whiskey. Meanwhile, Steve’s eyes took turns settling between your face screwed up in mild pleasure, your bouncing breasts, and the door.
Steve was somewhat of a douchebag, but he had a soft side. Your twenty-year-old boyfriend didn’t have a genuine latter. Those moments you stole from Steve were selfish yet they were the only occasion in which you could take control of.
This fucked up routine between the two of you was wrong. Steve had enough sense to understand that, but what else could he do? Steve had known you since your mother styled your hair in small pigtails with ever-changing ribbons.
Your mother used to bring you along for visits with Steve’s mother back when his home was actually a home lived in by a functional family and not just their neglected son. You used to run up the carpeted stairs in your classic Velcro shoes and barge into his room, demanding he’d stop hiding from underneath his bed and play with you.
As an eight-year-old who didn’t have siblings to share his toys with, he often wished to opt out of the presence of the free spirited and bossy girl, and hoped to avoid her. But, not wanting to disappoint the child of her dear friend, his own mother never covered for him with some made-up-on-the-spot lie as to why little Steve wasn’t available for a play-date. No matter how much he begged.
This childish stage was rather quick to pass, and the both of you managed to find some common ground that transformed into a stable friendship. As the years progressed, your oozing confident nature bathe him in a glow of his own.
But, the friendship didn’t last long. Once you hit the age of fourteen, your figure already developed, you met an attractive seventeen-year-old after you and one of your friends decided to crash her brother’s get-together. His name was Nathan, and he was already a high school dropout who sold drugs under the counter at his father’s liquor store. That didn’t matter; Nathan had a car, you liked him, and every girl in your grade wanted to be in your shoes.
Soon, your independence had run thin and every friendship you cherished was squandered under Nathan’s boots. Whatever you had with Steve was strained and peeling like an old coat of paint. It wasn’t obvious at first, but Nathan had been slowly molding you into his ideal twisted image of partnership. His father was controlling, so he figured he should be too.
The school began mailing home your borderline failing report cards and you sent them back with forged signatures. The discolored blotches that appeared on your skin from Nathan’s manhandling never had a chance to heal themselves before new ones appeared. Your arms and waist seemed to think it was some sort of game by collecting the most bruises he threw at you.
Your mother, who you’ve always had a close bond with, didn’t even recognize you anymore. No one did. Casual acquaintances drifted once the bubbles of your character popped while closer friends eventually gave up on you. But, not Steve. The separation of distance between Steve and yourself had always been on you. Your childhood pal spent afternoons knocking on your front door just to have your mother send him away with slouched shoulders. You spent less time at home and more time experimenting with other boys.
And once Nathan hands began twisting and turning your figure every time he so much as suspected you were out of line, Steve became an outlet for frustration. Steve never really spoke during the encounters―never even refused you―and in this perverted logic, you knew you could always count on him.
That is until tonight.
The air was thick from a random bout of humidity, even though summer is still several months away. Steve laid flat on his back, skin slick from moisture and hairline drenched, chest rising and falling in deep breaths. Your back facing him, you had already pulled on your panties and is now sitting on the side of his bed, picking up your fallen sweater.
One of your arms has just found the tunnel of a knitted sleeve when goosebumps pebbled the skin of your exposed spine. Your knotted hair dangles freely and you don’t move an inch.
Among the whirring of crickets chirping in the dead of night, Steve just confessed what he’s known since before puberty widened your hips and gave him armpit hair: “I love you.”
You suppose this knowledge had already been growing like a seed in the pit of your stomach, but hearing it is different. Hearing it so softly spoken sent a spray of acid rain into your tummy, destroying whatever progress was made of your garden. It made this hint of fantasy very real and very daunting.
You compose yourself rather quickly, though not because it’s easy, and slip your sweater on at double speed, eager to slip out of his unlatched window. The frumpy jeans you’d thrown on earlier are next in line for the picking, and once the zipper is zipped and the button is buttoned, you get up to slip on your sneakers.
But, you find you cannot because Steve’s fingers wrap around your wrist. “Y/n―”
“Stop.”
It’s forced between clenched teeth. Gratefulness envelops you when you notice that the curtains of your strands block your face from his view and you refuse to give him a passing of your eyes.
The pads of his fingers and palms stay shy of a caress, but they are softer and gentler than Nathan’s will ever be. And, you know that the gaze Steve has settled on you is nothing short of balmy and that his brown hues plead in a combination of honey and cacao while Nathan’s eyes are as deep as an ocean ready to drown you. Yet, none of these things keep you from shimmying your wrist out of Steve’s grasp.
It’s an easy tug and soon you are tying the laces of your sneakers and placing strands behind your ears, and throughout it, Steve lets you without another word.
No glances are spared as a leg slips through the opening of the window, and you don’t bid him a goodbye before disappearing―not that you ever do.
His window stays open for the rest of the night just like his lids don’t drift him off to a dreamless sleep. His thoughts are on you; how you’re so quick to brush him off as if he was a piece of lint on a coat; the way you touch his body like he’s a mannequin yet attack his lips like a fierce fever, and he briefly thinks about how you behave with your boyfriend in such lustful positions. He wonders how you could be so desperate to find him and then twice as desperate to leave him.
Steve wishes he could be disgusted with you just as much as you self-loathe, but it doesn’t come naturally. He’s a doormat. A fool stuck in love.
Stranded. She was left stranded with no one to turn to. Cars and trucks lined the driveway and yard as if no border between cement and grass existed, yet not one was for her. No car, no ride, just a house miles away from her own, emitting muffled bass and loud chatter and full of people who suppress the flickers of their snake tongues behind concerned frowns. With no clue as to her best friend’s whereabouts, the side of the wrap around porch had become her oyster.
The glistening tear tracks on her youthful cheeks hadn’t the chance to dry since Steve sauntered up to her and opened his stupid mouth. Talking to her with an intensity that shouldn’t be for two people who hadn’t spoken in over a year. Looking at her with wide brown hues like he did, like he used to do in the space of his bedroom because his parents were never home and he needed to feel wanted.
Too much. It had been too much for her to handle.
The cold bites at her skin and the railing is a little moist underneath her forearm and elbow and against her ribs, even through the material of her dress. Bringing a coat hadn’t crossed her mind while Samantha held makeup brushes against her face nor when their heels clicked against the pavement on their way to Sam’s grey Volkswagen Golf GTI. But, even now, the icy night was the least of her worries.
As she tried to make Steve take a backseat in her thoughts, she focused her attention on more trivial things like how she’d get the invisible stains out of the sleeve of her black gown. It had become the tissue to the stream of her pain and snot, yet rivulets of sticky makeup still managed to sting her kohl-rimmed eyes. Like how there was no leash designed tight enough to control the shaking of her bottom lip, no pair of scissors tough enough to quiet down the whimpers escaping her. She can only imagine what she must look like. How the mere sight of her was enough to frighten someone into a heart attack.
“Stupid Steve,” she spits out of her smeared lips, yet the words are only rubber bullets compared to his lead ones. Even though Steve had put her through hell, she could never sink to that level and hurt him. “Stupid me.”
“Who burst your bubble?”
A husky voice cuts through her pity party, evaporating her sniffles and tightening the leaky faucet that was her orbs. The muscles from her neck to her slender shoulders tensed up, even though the smokey voice behind her was too masculine to be Steve’s.
She was caught, and now heat rose to her very ears. Her palms wiped whatever wetness was felt on her face before turning to see the person behind her.
Oh.
It wasn’t just some drunk fool on the verge of passing out who had stumbled upon her, but the very one her douchebag ex had been warning her about. He exhaled danger with his cigarette hanging from his lip, his earring sparkling from the moon’s reflection, and his glistening pecs and pack of abs on full display for the thirsty girls to launch at. She had never seen him in the action of sizing up his competition, but she’d heard the very stories from Samantha herself and Billy made Steve look like a saint.
And, then the bullshit Steve was spewing to her back inside Tina’s house hit her like an 18-wheeler. This nicotine addicted, rather quiet asshole who spends half his nights fucking blonde bimbos wasn’t just out here for some much needed smoke break. No, he actually sought herout.
It started off as a small giggle that tickled her throat then stretched out into sputtering cackles that filled her belly until she could no longer breathe.
“Oh, that’s too good!” She wipes at the crinkles in the corners of her eyes once she calmed down.
Billy’s eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What is?”
She ponders on the question for a moment… and it’s settled. The universe is. The universe was trying to destroy her by trying to gift her with another tool to add to her unwanted collection.
The small smile dribbled down her face and an anchor pulled her dead stare to the floor, at nothing. And, then a spurt of wind brushes through her teased hair. She shuddered, “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
The view of the vehicle-packed neighborhood calls to her again as her shoulders met the support of the porch’s painted spindle with crossed arms. This time, the tears haven’t got a will to taste freedom. This pain was numbing, and she’d been carrying it’s capacity in her bones, it’s weight in her head. It’s a wonder it hadn’t crushed her ligaments and left her a vegetable yet.
The response of her body as it retreated into itself and her character as it shut itself off, was all too familiar to Billy. He’d been watching it—her staring out their English class window—for five days a week since the first day of the new school year.
Billy soon found his place beside her, leather-clad elbows resting on the railing in front of him, but she didn’t stir. Taking another puff of his warm cigarette, he watched the flames as they burned before he cleared his throat and finally asked her the mystery behind the group of words on the cover of her brutalized notebook.
He tapped the ashes loose from the cancer stick. “So, what’s this Cocteau Twins?”
A small intake of breath stilled in her chest, and she turned to look at him with parted lips and eyes as wide as saucers.
Billy then flicked a curl away from toppling over his smooth forehead before leaning in closer to Y/n, “I hear they’re like all the rage in our English class.”
Patrick Hockstetter x Reader / Billy Hargrove x Reader
Word count: 2107
Summary: You thought people exaggerated when they referred to high school. It wasn’t that bad. It wasn’t bad at all until two guys showed up and decided to ruin your life. But, why you?
You moved past Patrick, into your car before driving off.
They were so shocked as you left, in the rearview mirror you still saw them standing in the exact positions.
You just hoped your message finally got to them.
Now
You hit rock bottom.
You felt like there was no escape, you felt like they had won, you weren’t sure what exactly though.
A couple of hours later there was a knock on your door, and since your parents weren’t home you had to go downstairs and open the door.
What you found shocked you beyond belief. There was Patrick and Billy standing right in front of your door, your first instinct was to close the door back on their faces, but before you could do that they both grabbed the door not allowing you to lock them out.
“We are just here to talk,” said Billy as he pushed the door open just a little more so you can see the both of them again.
“Please.” said Patrick almost with a begging voice. You were done with running, you were done with going away and just ignoring them hoping that they would do the same, so you invited both of them inside.
There was an extremely uncomfortable silence between the three of you.
You all sat by the table, you gave everyone a drink.
“Okay, I’ll start.” said Patrick as he turned to you. “I know I have been an asshole about everything. I flirted with you at first because I thought it was fun. You blushed so easily, and it made me go on. But then I realized I liked you. You are not like the other chicks in school. You are smart.”
“And beautiful.” added Billy which made Patrick roll his eyes.
“Look, what we are trying to say is that we both like you and want to be with you. You just have to pick one of us.” finished Patrick.
You really hoped it would never come down to this. That they would just forget you and move on. They didn’t seem the type to be this committed.
“Pick one of you?” you looked at the two of them in front of you. “Both of you are bad for me. Both of you are players, breaking hearts left and right, what kind of a future would I have with any of you?”
“I had a feeling you would say that.” said Billy as he leaned back in his chair. “But I have seen the way you look at us. Both of us. You like us even if we are bad for you as you said.”
“I’m not denying it Billy. But I don’t plan on becoming another name on any of your lists. Another girl out of the many.” they both rolled their eyes at that. “Don’t act like that! I have been to the girl’s bathroom at school! I heard cries and conversations!”
“But you are different, Y/N. Can’t you see that? I have been chasing after you for over a year before Hargrove even arrived.”
That was true. You did have a couple sincere moments with Patrick before you even knew Billy existed. But it didn’t change the fact that you were scared.
Scared to get used and then they would just throw you away. Scared that you’d fall in love and then get your heart broken and be left on the sidewalk.
You sighed. “Give me time. I need time to think.” you looked at the two and then both gave you a nod before standing up, ready to leave. “Give me a week.” you said, you knew you’d need probably months, but this will do. Both boys then left your home, leaving you to think. You were just surprised none made a scene or demanded you to be quicker. Maybe they were not as bad as you thought in the first place. Bad boys, yes, but they weren’t bad to you.
A week should be enough right? It should be plenty of time to think about which one you’d choose.
Right?
Of course not!
The week went by quicker than any week ever! And you didn’t even have time to think!
There were exams, homework, even your mother asked you for your help more than usual, it was as if the entire world knew that you needed peace and quiet so it decided to not give you that.
During the week all you managed to achieve is that Billy told you that he and Patrick will see you in the park near your home where you can announce your decision and you’d have some privacy there.
So, the night before, you didn’t sleep at all.
That Saturday evening was the worst. You didn’t know any better so you just had a pen and paper in your hands, writing pros and cons for both men. You even thought about not picking any of the two.
But you knew that wasn’t an option.
As you started to really think about everything that had happened, you slowly realized just how much you cared for both of them. Something that you realized a couple of weeks ago, yet you decided to ignore.
The morning arrived way too quickly.
At that point your stomach started to hurt, you were more and more nervous by the second.
Then lunch arrived and you couldn’t wait any longer, you headed to the park. You wanted this to be over with.
As you walked, you thought everything over and over again.
You started to become more and more confident about your decision. You finally felt in control again.
It made you happy.
And as you arrived at the park, you found both of them already sitting at the bench you were supposed to meet at.
When they both noticed you, they smiled. Seeing you in that flowy summer dress was something they both really liked. You felt a slight breeze as you walked towards them, letting it move your hair and dress, you smiled.
Yes, you were happy.
And as you arrived you stopped in front of the two of them. You noticed how well-dressed they both were, it made your heart warm and you weren’t nervous anymore.
A/N:Since I could never decide between these two fine men, I decided to write two different endings. One for Billy and another for Patrick. Both will be completely different and I will upload them at the same time, so it might take longer to write than a normal chapter, so apologies for the wait. And seriously thank you all for your support!
IMAGINE: DROPPING YOUR KID OFF AT THE WHEELER HOUSE FOR A PLAYDATE, AND KAREN GETTING FLUSTERED WHILE TALKING TO YOU.
Karen has barely opened the front door when your kid bolts past her, rushing into the house as Mike excitedly waves them over. You laugh, teasingly rolling your eyes as you watch them all disappear into the basement to play their games, and you look up at Karen as you joke, “I can’t thank you enough for hosting them. I don’t know how you manage with so many kids in the house.”
“Oh, you know me,” Karen laughs, flashing you a smile as her cheeks flush ever so slightly. Ever since your kids had become friends, the two of you had gotten closer too, bonding over coffee at her dining room table while your kids are playing. Slowly, Karen began to realise she had developed feelings for you, and she had never expected to fall for another mother in the neighborhood. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger in an attempt to calm herself, and she continues, “I just try my best!”
summary:Reader volunteers to keep Eddie company while the rest of the gang is away, despite their obvious tension and argumentative nature.
warnings:16+, swearing, suggestive dialogue, mentions of the devil
word count:2.1 k
a/n:This contains minor spoilers from season 4 because of the context of the characters’ situation. Also thank you for all the love on the last fic, I hope I do this one justice as well!
note:This can be read as a pt 2 to this fic, just because the characterization and dynamic between the characters is extremely similar. But, it can also be read as a stand alone (this was purposeful).
_______________________
The place is less than ideal, and that’s putting it nicely. The shack, if one can even call it that, is grimy, dirty, dingy, and every other synonym. There are cracks in the wood, possibly from termites eating away at it or the fact that it seems to have been built decades ago. Perhaps hastily as a necessity or a summer job that was haphazardly done.
Nonetheless, nothing about it screams home or safe or bearable.
I’m hesitant to sit down, I’ll probably manage to get splinters through the fabric of my clothes. The little fibres nudged deep into my skin like an annoying reminder.
The rest of the gang has just left, possibly to brainstorm some more, as they claimed to be doing, or pick up more food, or try to buy enough time to come up with some sort of comforting thing to say to Eddie in the least comforting situation possible.
“You’re not going with them?” Eddie asks, his voice almost meek, mixed with a sense of dread.
“Nope,” I say. “Why would I ever want to leave such a cozy place like this?”
I don’t know how to approach this situation, but if I were him, I’d want someone to treat me as normal as possible. I would want someone to be a distraction. I’ve been a good distraction in the past. I’ll make sure I play the part well.
I’m not very good at serious situations.
“Aren’t you afraid to be perusing with the town devil?” Eddie asks, his normal demeanour beginning to seep through, but there’s still a barrier.
It was like a witch hunt, and I don’t know if most of town believed he did it or if he would be the easiest person to blame. I didn’t though. People are not always what they seem to be.
“I don’t believe what they say. If anything, it’d be someone else. Not you.” I don’t say it to comfort him and I don’t say it to lie. I say it so he knows it’s true.
“What makes you say that?” He questions.
“If you know anything the obvious suspect is never the true culprit.”
I lean against the wall beside the window, far enough that if someone were to pass by, they wouldn’t be able to see me. Eddie is across from me, leaning his body on his outstretched arms resting on the table behind him. His chin is jutted slightly upwards, his hair falling behind his shoulders.
He raises an eyebrow at me.
“Come on, you’re like a walking poster child of what they should look like,” I say, exaggeratedly pointing at him. “That’s like a bank robber walking around with a shirt in huge red letters that say ‘I’m definitely not going to rob you.’”
He doesn’t look convinced.
“If anything, it would be someone you can’t suspect. Someone who’s sly and undetected. Under the radar.”
“I can be sly and undetected,” he argues, suddenly standing up straight. In the process, he knocks down a few empty cans onto the floor gracefully, causing a loud clanking sound to erupt.
He looks down at the cans now rolling near his feet and then back at me. “That was a poor example,” he mutters.
For a few moments, it’s silent. But it’s more of comfortable silence, something that says more than what words can. I don’t think it would be particularly helpful to fill the air with wishful thinking because I don’t know what’s going to happen, and neither does he. We’re both just caught in the crossroads of the most entirely fucking incomprehensible situation.
“So,” Eddie starts. He’s closer to me now, leaning against the right-hand side of the window. He tilts his head so he can look me in the eyes. “You willingly volunteered to stay?”
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Surprised?”
“Why?” he asks. I don’t answer right away. “Is it because you love me and can’t live without me?” He teases.
I smile. “Something like that.”
I angle my body so I’m facing him better. My shoulder is pressed against the wall, it feels rough and cold. “I knew you were an interesting kind of person, but I didn’t think you’d be a fugitive.”
“It’s in my nature to keep people guessing,” he smirks.
“I’m learning that.”
There’s a crunch from outside the window, like twigs snapping. It can’t be from more than a few feet away. Eddie instinctively grabs my wrist, wrapping his fingers around the flesh, like it’s a natural reflex.
If I touched his wrist, would I be able to hear his heartbeat pulsating as fast as mine is right now?
A bunny appears in front of the window, its fur slightly matted with remnants of dirt. The answer to the sudden noise. I’m relieved and Eddie doesn’t let go. Not immediately anyway. And I let his hand rest there.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, before removing his hand. It feels naked now.
“Don’t be,” I say.
I gaze out the window. It feels like a photograph. There isn’t any movement, just a snapshot. No signs of life, besides our interference with the bunny. It’s almost calming, knowing that there’s nothing out there, not in this vicinity anyway. Like an escape from the chaos that lies ahead when I leave. Like an escape from the chaos picking at Eddie’s brain.
I’ve never known him to be silent. In our couple encounters, he’s never been silent. The rest of the world usually quiets for him.
“Do you want to go for a walk?” I ask him, suddenly slicing the silence between us.
Perhaps this can turn into the worst idea ever. Perhaps when they return to find us missing they’ll scold me and call me irresponsible. But I do it anyway, and I hope the universe doesn’t reprimand me for it.
He looks uncertain like he’s weighing his options out. Between the two of us, he has more at stake if we get caught. Eddie looks around the room, at its blandness. Like looking into his future hours, possibly days, trapped in here. How suffocating it will all be.
“Please,” he says.
••••
We’ve been walking for what has seemed like hours, but it’s still light outside, with no indication of how much time has really passed. There’s an incessant buzzing sound through the trees. Leaves crunch under the weight of my feet. My legs are tired, I feel like every inch of my skin has housed way too many insects for my liking, and I probably smell like the outdoors and sweat. I need a shower.
We pass the same tree for the third time. I know it’s the same one because it has the letter S etched into it. It’s all hard edges and jagged lines. Like they couldn’t get a good grip on whatever tool they used to carve the letter.
“Do you know where we’re going?” I whine.
“For the fourth time, yes,” Eddie says, annoyed. “I’ve been through these woods countless times, okay?”
“Doesn’t seem like it,” I mumble.
There’s a tree stump, the surface flat enough that it looks like Mother Nature’s chair. Weeds and other greenery entangle themselves near the bottom and into the ground. Not the most ideal resting place but I’ll take anything for a five-minute break from aimless walking.
I walk over, well more like my body slumps its way over, to the stump and I finally sit.
“Where are you going?” Eddie calls from behind me.
“We’re fucking lost Eddie, just let me sit down for a minute.”
“You’re the one who suggested this, remember?”
“Yeah, and I’m regretting every second of it,” I spit back.
He marches over to me, his eyes boring into mine like they’ve been recently ignited. “I didn’t ask you to come here, alright? You chose to stay with me, you chose to bring me on this walk, for what? You thought it was going to help me? Well, it didn’t. All you’ve done is complain.”
I want to explain to him that I don’t know how to make him feel better, that I don’t know how to navigate the situation. I know all the things I want to say, but I can’t piece them together. I can’t quantify everything I want to tell him in words that he’ll understand. Interpreting the messiness of thoughts inside my head.
My first language is in confrontation.
“Sorry for trying to be a nice fucking person.”
“Oh I’m sorry,” he holds his hands over his heart for exaggeration. “Did I not praise you enough for being on babysitting duty? My apologies.”
“Eat a dick.”
“You first.”
It’s juvenile really, but it’s hard to resist this belligerent nature between us. It’s all so thrilling.
It feels like everything around us has gone silent, only the sounds of us breathing heavily, like we were just in combat, our voices the weapons.
It’stense, the kind where you don’t know if the two main characters are going to kiss or kill each other.
I scowl at him. “That’s the best you can come up with?”
“I didn’t have ample time to prepare my comebacks, when I come up with a list, I’ll call you.” He walks closer now, edging closer to my left side. “Now move over.”
“What? No.”
“Why not?”
“Well for one, there’s no room for the two of us,” I say, motioning to just the slimmest of empty space beside me.
“I can make some arrangements for us to both fit,” he winks.
I narrow my eyes at him. “You’re insufferable.” But part of me looks up at him in anticipation, would I be particularly morally opposed to sitting on his lap? I mean I wouldn’t put up a fight if that’s what you’re thinking.
“Also, you just insulted me for sitting down and now you wanna join? Sit on the ground.”
He nudges me a little, like an annoying shove your obnoxious younger sibling gives you. In an effort to shift into the small space beside me, he manages to trip over his feet. He grabs my arm to keep me steady but, instead, thrusts me onto the ground with him.
He lands on his back with a loud huff, and I’m splayed over his abdomen. I reach for the dirt to steady me, but fragments of the earth just get lodged under my fingernails.
“You’re such a dick,” I mutter, looking him in the eyes.
“I think you’ve mentioned that to me already.”
“No, I said for you to eat a dick not that you were one.”
“Oh, okay, thanks for clarifying.”
His lips part slightly, and I notice how full they are, pink and soft and guarding the depths of his smile. I don’t know how long I’ve been staring, but if I’m thinking about it, it must be too long.
I wonder how it would feel to kiss him right now, without the rush of hormones from the last time. Last time it was like he was breathing air into my lungs, I felt like I needed it. Now, it would be more vulnerable. And I don’t know if I’m ready to cross that threshold, because what would it mean?
I follow his eyes with my own, in its own intricate dance around my face. My eyes, my mouth, the exposed skin of my collarbone from my shirt being stretched at the neckline.
All I’m thinking is DON’T LOOK AT ME LIKE THAT BECAUSE I MIGHT DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!
“Eddie,” I whisper, like a secret. “I really did – do want to help you. I–”
Crunches follow up the trail, getting closer and closer. We both sit up, anticipating what’s to come. We don’t move, it’s like we’re frozen in the picture.
“Here they are!” Robin says. She’s followed by the others, who don’t look necessarily happy to see us.
“Why did you leave? Especially without your walkie-talkie. We thought something bad happened,” Dustin says, wiping sweat from his brow.
“Just wanted fresh air,” Eddie says. I nod.
They don’t look convinced.
“Were you guys hooking up in the woods?” Steve asks.
“What? No!” I yell, defensively.
“Then why does his hair look like that? And why is there dirt on your pants?” Steve asks.
“I fell.”
“Yeah, sure,” Robin says.
“I swear I fell!” I sound hysterical, and extremely defensive.
“Yeah, she fell, totally an embarrassing moment for her. Lots of sporadic limbs, screaming, the works.” I punch Eddie’s arm.
“Then why are you guys also lying on the floor?” Dustin asks.
“Tired,” I say.
“Yeah super tired,” Eddie agrees.
“I’m never leaving you two alone together again,” Dustin says, before turning around to leave.
“Promise!” I yell back to them.
The devil works hard, but Eddie Munson works harder, in every sense of the word.
A/N: I do not claim to, nor do I own Stranger Things; the concept, characters, plot, etc.
Since Kate’s birthday, Max practically lived at the Harrington house.
Max had managed to talk some sense into Kate.
She had opened the curtains in her room, began eating again, not as much as before, as she hadn’t still gained her appetite back fully. (And she only threw up black gunk every week or so.)
Max came over every morning for the first few days, and stayed the whole day, until eventually she just brought a suitcase with her and decided to stay. Kate needed her, and she needed to get away from her house. It had become suffocating, in the aftermath of losing Billy, she just needed to get away.
The girls tried to think of activities to keep them occupied, and not drowning in their thoughts.
They spent a few days deep-cleaning the inside of the house. On hot days, the boys and El would come over and they would all go swimming. They tried to take walks every day, just to get out of the house.
El slept over a few nights, and they became master bakers, making brownies, cakes, and cookies, for no good reason. And they had a few good big group sleepovers, like they used to before everything went to shit.
Kate still kept her night time routine the same: stare at herself in the mirror, search for Billy in the void while she was in the shower, and then cry on the floor after she was finished. Max was there to pick up the pieces and comfort her, and Kate was there for Max.
Sometimes it scared them both. Kate wondered if she could ever return to normal, and before she even asked herself the question she knew the answer was no.
No, she couldn’t.
Not since she had acquired psionic abilities, and “True Sight”. Not since she had failed at saving her friends from an interdimensional monster. Not since her boyfriend had sacrificed his life doing what she should have.
Max tried to tell her that she would live with the guilt forever unless she realized it wasn’t her fault. But she couldn’t. Somehow, she was to blame for everything in her own head, although if you would ask anyone else involved, Kate was the last person they would put the blame on.
Grief was grueling and relentless.
The first time they had all hung out after the July-4th incident, Mrs. Byers had explained to them the stages of grief. “There’s five stages of grief, and if a person is affected enough by a loss, they’ll experience all of them. Denial and isolation, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. I’d imagine Kate is only in phase one.”
By now, Kate was slowly moving from the isolation phase and into the anger phase.
“She’s gonna need a good support system when she comes around, so you’d all better be there for her. She’s saved you guys too many times to count, it’s our turn to be there for her.” Mrs. Byers had said.
The one thing that was ever-changing were the nightmares and dreams. Kate would rather call them all nightmares, because good memory or not, it would never be real again, and that was a nightmare to her.
Most nights she would awaken, and end up downstairs on the couch, or sometimes even on her floor. The bed would become hot and suffocating with the memories swimming her head.
By the time school started, Kate’s temper ran red-hot, consistently. Any little thing would set her off.
She was angry when Max finally packed her things up and returned home the night before the first day of school. The part of Kate that held reason, knowing Max couldn’t live with her and Steve forever was hidden away in a corner of her mind, too scared to make an appearance.
She was angry at Steve, when he, Dustin, and Robin were too expressive when watching a horror movie during their weekly movie night.
She was angry at Steve all the time. Her poor brother caught the brunt of her outbursts most often.
Why couldn’t Steve put the lid back on the garbage can?
Why did Steve have to leave his clothes in the dryer when his laundry had been done for hours at that point?
Why did Steve always have to ask if she was okay?
Kate didn’t stay angry for long, as the feeling of despair crept back in, and she found herself at war with herself. Sick with the fact that, perhaps, there was a piece of that thing, that monster that took Billy, inside of her. She hated the fact possibility that she had anything to do with his death.
It ate her up. Consumed her thoughts, her dreams. All she could think about was what she could’ve done, what she should’ve done. Any possible decision or action she could’ve taken differently.
She screamed into her pillow, wishing she could go back. She would trade his life for her’s. He didn’t know a damn thing, and he was still dragged into it.
Better yet, she’d go back even further. She never would’ve kissed him on the Byers’s porch. She should’ve never shown even an inkling of interest in him, whether false or not.
She cried until her tears ran dry, or her throat grew raw, or until exhaustion took her over.
She was exhausted.
Every little task took everything out of her. She barely made it to school on time each day, she was flunking out of most of her classes, she didn’t go out for the soccer team this year, and she handed over the AV club responsibilities to Dustin entirely.
She didn’t care.
She didn’t know what to do.
Going to school drained her, so she’d retreat straight to her room when the day was done, wallowing in her thoughts, and what-ifs. Sitting in the silence, listening to every creak and crack of the house. Or hearing the voices of her brother and their friends, muffled through the floor boards.
She’d could the dots along the decorative strip of her wallpaper, but she’d almost always loose her place and have to start again. She tried to count the seconds in-between each gust of wind that blew, or count each drop of rain that fell from the sky.
She’d picked her fingers raw, constantly sporting bandaids as accessories. And there was a permanent groove etched into her bottom lip, due to her nervously biting it.
And she hated to look in the mirror.
For starters, she hated the way she looked. She looked like a ghost. The skin under her eyes was grey and sunken in, and she could see her cheekbones protruding from her face. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were dull.
Nothingness stared back at her.
Her hands were fully skin and bones now. She stopped wearing her rings, because they would just fall off. None of her clothes fit, they were all too big. And she had the laces on her sneakers tied as tightly as she could, but her shoes still felt like cinderblocks.
She was in the depression phase. And everything was heavy.
Her heart weighed down with grief, her thoughts were so burdensome it gave her headaches.
It was all becoming too much. Everyone, everything, all the time. She was tired. Tired of being sad, of everyone tip-toeing around her, asking her if she’s okay after any minor inconvenience.
There was only one activity that Kate had complete solace in: destroying things.
She had psionic abilities now, and El had explained to her how long it took her to fully control and harness her powers, and she was born with them. She told Kate that she should practice, start small; such as soda cans, or twigs and branches. Then bigger things, the more comfortable she became with herself.
When Kate was in the mood, which was a rarity, she would venture to Hopper’s cabin. It was ruined anyway, so what was the harm in damaging it further?
There was still the gaping hole in the roof. Furniture split into broken pieces on the floor, glass everywhere. And she made it worse.
The first night she went to the cabin she released such an energy burst, she broke the pipes. A spray of freezing water dousing her completely, and soaking the floorboards. She went home immediately after.
By her next visit, the water had run out, save for the occasional dripping. The floor around the pipe was soft now, rotted, so she knew to stay clear of it.
She made quick of her work every visit. She imagined the light, starting in her chest, where it hurt the most, and forcing it out her fingertips.
She was so angry, so enraged, she hated herself. She hated the things that happened to her, and hated the way she couldn’t control anything. Anything, except for her power.
Anything in the cabin that had made it wholly through the attack from the Mind Flayer, was no more. Kate left nothing untouched. Everything was destroyed. Broken into crumbs.
Her destruction was the only thing she could control. She could do whatever she wanted with it. She decided how badly to break things, what should stay and what shouldn’t. She didn’t need to hold back, she didn’t need to worry about anything.
Inside the cabin, it was just her.
Until it wasn’t.
Kate had never had a conscience. Everyone had always talked about hearing the “little voice” in their head. The voice that told them right from wrong, and good from bad.
Kate never had that, it was complete silence. She acted with her heart, with what felt right. She never needed to consult her inner self.
The first time Kate heard from her conscience, she was unperturbed. Curious, yet unperturbed.
From deep within the depths of her mind, crawling out from the darkest corner inside of her, a voice called out.
It felt foreign, uncomfortable, almost. And it wasn’t her voice, like she was lead to believe. It rasped, invading the void of her brain, and encapsulating her heart.
The other thing about her conscience, was that it seemed to have it’s own mind, ironically.
It never spoke about what she was thinking about. Never helped her make decisions, or distract her from her thoughts. It was almost an entity of it’s own, planting new thoughts into her brain, saying things of it’s own accord.
But it came and went, it was never constant. Sometimes she wished it would come, help her decide whether to take a bath or a shower, eat the banana or don’t. Mundane tasks never seemed to be her conscience’s forte. It opted to show itself more prominently at night; when she was searching the void, or right as she was falling asleep.
It lulled her back to conscienceness, like a jolt from a battery. And the thoughts that followed were the same, the nightmares that consumed her entire being.
After awhile she become accustomed to not being alone. Wherever she went, she knew her conscience would be there, even if it didn’t speak, even if it didn’t make it’s presence known.
since st4 part one is out (I haven’t watched it yet, but I don’t care about spoilers so don’t worry about that), what would you think of me writing for Steve again?
If anyone has any requests I’d be more than down to take a stab at them (I’d actually be fucking stoked but that’s just a minor detail lol)
Anyway, send in them Steve Harrington requests, because as I’m sure you’re aware by now, I am a slut, a whore, and a simp all wrapped into one for that man ;)
(also if anyone has any requests for Robin, count me in!)
“keep your ‘lectric eye on me, babe, put your ray gun to my head”
The phone rang. Again. On the fourth ring, Dustin finally picked up. Kate strained her ears to hear the muffled conversation, but she had a pretty good guess of how it was going.
It was the same conversation Dustin had the first time he called, and the fifth, and the sixteenth.
“Eddie called,” Dustin appeared in her doorway, and she glued her eyes to the book in her lap.
“Yeah, I bet he did,” Kate sighed, willing her heart to stop beating so damn fast.
“I thought you said you were going to give him a chance?”
“I said I might,” she looked up to meet Dustin’s irritated gaze. “I don’t know how, Dustin.”
—summary: while stuck in the upside down, steve thinks that y/n likes the new addition to their group, but eddie assures she doesn’t.
—warnings:SEASON 4 SPOILERS, slight angst, but fluffy stevie, mentions of death and injury.
—word count: 2.7k
—additional notes: so i asked for blurb requests and i got this, and combined with my steve addiction, it turned into my main third perspective oneshots instead. this is third perspective but focuses on steve’s side.
If holding her against his chest in an attempt to keep her safe and protected during what felt like an earthquake wasn’t enough of an outward confession of his love for Y/n, Steve wasn’t sure what to do next. Watching her walk ahead, laughter falling from her lips as the long-haired brunette engaged with Y/n in conversation among the very unfortunate situation they all got into, Steve was utterly envious of the new addition Eddie Munson.
Robin and Nancy were ahead, getting along strangely more than Steve expected possible, Y/n and Eddie getting to know one another in front of him after the years of passing by each other in the halls.
At first, him and Eddie conversed as they walked for what felt like miles to the Wheeler’s house, and Steve was able to get to know a bit more about Eddie, and not the guy who was considered the Hawkin’s High freak. But his contentment, or the level he was able to achieve while in the upside down, was diminished slowly upon every giggle or whisper Y/n let out while leaning towards Eddie as they quickly became friends, or what Steve thought was more.
It was as if Robin was a saviour within that moment, a mind reader of Steve’s thoughts when he watched her turn around to shout, “hey Y/n, c’mere!” she ushered her over. Y/n waved Eddie a goodbye before walking faster to catch up with Nancy and Robin.
Steve sighed, gaze turning to the sight highlighted through the aim of his flashlight, refusing to meet Eddie’s gaze as he slowed down to walk beside him. He didn’t greet him, able to see the crease forming between Steve’s eyebrow and the tug of his lips.
They were quiet at first, Eddie aware of Steve’s unspoken mood and keeping a slight verbal distance, wondering what to say. Yet Steve could feel Eddie’s stare, continuously looking at him and then looking away, then back again, and Steve closes his eyes while inhaling deeply, trying not to show his jealousy and keep calm.
“You know, she thinks you and Nancy have a thing again,” Eddie finally speaks, and Steve’s outstretched arm drops to his side, the flashlight bumping his thigh as he turns to him, “well that’s ridiculous, I’ve moved ages ago now so—” Steve cuts himself off, “—actually, who said that? I don’t know who you’re talking about.” He turns his flashlight back out into the foggy woods, playing stupid.
Eddie rolls his eyes, “ugh, you do! c’mon, man!” he then uses both his hands to gesture to the group of girls in front, walking far ahead in hushed chatter, “Y/n cares about you. The second that you got pulled underwater she was taking off her jumper and jumping right in after you, no hesitance. She likes you.” Steve shakes his head at Eddie’s playful and teasing tone as he speaks.
“Nah, I think she likes you” Steve uses his free hand to pat on Eddie’s chest before picking up his pace and walking a few steps in front. “Oh. so that’s what you’re frowning about?” Eddie was being far too joking for Steve’s pleasure at the moment, and as much as that was a majoring factor in why, and he was right, Steve glared at him as if offended. “I think being stuck in the upside down, nearly being strangled and eaten alive by weird evil bats while walking around hiding from a deadly monster is enough of a reason to make me frown, okay?”.
“Sure.” Eddie’s tone drops down, pretending to be serious as he purses his lip with an obvious contained smirk, watching as Steve watches him react. “dude” Steve mutters under his breathe, turning forward again, trying his best to stay collected.
More moments of silence pass as Steve thinks to himself, his eyes supposed to be watching the light of his flashlight, but he can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the girl in front. The years of dealing with all the monsters in Hawkin’s, Steve was always protective over keeping her safe and out of harm’s way. So, watching as she walks even a few feet ahead, more than an arm’s length away while they are both in the upside down, was enough to settle anxiety within Steve.
Eddie’s right.
His eyes glance back at Steve when he sighs, slowing his footsteps to be beside Eddie again, his voice hushes as he begins, “okay fine. So maybe I do, maybe I’ve been in love with her for years now and maybe I was ready to tell her in the midst of all this crap, but it’s very clear that Y/n likes you.”
“Does she though?” Eddie asks him, small smile on his lips, eyes knowingly teasing, “uh— yeah, I think she does,” Steve nods confused. “Does she though?” Eddie repeats his question, head nodding further down, “stop saying that. Just say what you’re thinking,” Steve replies.
“Do you like Nancy?” Steve turns his face up at Eddie’s question, arms outstretching in defeat before they thump against his side while answering, “I told you, no. Of course I don’t, I just told you I love—” “Y/n thinks you do.”
Steve shrugs, unsure of what to do, “well. I don’t.” Eddie slaps Steve’s chest before continuing, “so then let her show that she also doesn’t like me. We’ve just gotten to become friends; you’ve known her for years now.”
He nods along as Eddie continues; however, his head turns ahead, watching Y/n once again, “Listen, I believe she would have also helped me if it was me dragged under, she seems like the type of person to help her friends regardless. But, but!Notnearly as fast as when she saw you get pulled under.”
Steve doesn’t respond, speechless and feeling a rush of dizziness in his head at the thought that the girl he loves might return his feelings. “Listen, far as I know, we could all die soon. So, I’m done playing cupid, but just saying, if Dustin was here he would be hyperventilating. As much as he talked about how cool you were, he also spoke about how stupidly in love you were with Y/n, and it’s obvious now I’m seeing it, I understand why he pines over you both.”
“Really?” Steve asks, smiling slightly as Eddie nods, “Yeah. Now how about I be a good friend for you both, and help you out a bit, huh?” Steve’s smile fades upon his words, “what do you mean—?” he’s cut off when Eddie begins to jog ahead, shouting Y/n’s name.
Blush appears on Steve’s cheeks when she turns around, “hey, Y/n, yeah, Y/n! Steve said he’s bored of me, would rather talk to you. Y’know, since he never gets bored of you.” Steve groans against his hand at the words shouted to the whole group. Nancy and Robin glancing at one another, and he knew Robin would get a kick out of it later.
“Oh, he said that, did he?” Y/n teases, stopping in her tracks as Eddie jogs past her, running around her in a circle before lightly pushing her towards Steve with a wink.
Good god, I’ll kill him. Steve thinks as Y/n approaches him with that beautiful smile he could instantly melt over.
“You never get bored of me, do you?” Y/n nudges Steve’s elbow as he pretends to continue looking out at his flashlight, “I didn’t say that to him.” Steve glances at Y/n, her smile slightly faltering upon his words, “well—“, “I mean he’s not wrong, I guess. I don’t get bored of you, I just didn’t tell him that, he was doing that to tease me.” He tumbles slightly over his words, ensuring not to hurt her feelings, while trying to be smooth.
“Why was he teasing you?” Steve’s head lolls back slightly at her question, his words digging him into a large hole as he tries to figure out how to casually reply. “Oh— uh, I don’t know, it’s— it’s nothing”, well, that wasn’t close to casual Steve. He scrunches his eyes up with a sigh as Y/n’s eyebrows furrow with a following nod of her head, looking ahead.
They walk in silence for a moment, listening to Robin and Eddie’s booming voices ahead while Nancy leads the way, it seems like it’s a never-ending walk, but Steve felt more at ease now that Y/n was next to him again.
“Hey— uh, thank you, for helping me” he gestures to his bandaged waist, and she matches Steve’s light smile, “you’re welcome, it was Nancy’s idea though” his expression drops at the mention of the other girl’s name, thinking back to what Eddie said before.
Steve sways lightly to his left, closer to Y/n as way to show his interest as he continues, “Yeah, but you bandaged me up pretty good, you saved my life.” He can tell she is slightly flustered when she looks away from his gaze, watching her feet as their pace slows down, everyone continuing to walk ahead and further away.
“I didn’t save your life Stevie, I only—”, “Eddie told me you immediately jumped in the water after me, if it weren’t for you I would have died, so you definitely saved my life,” Y/n could feel the heat upon her cheeks and can’t help but rest her fingers against the warmth in an attempt to calm it down. “Well, you’ve saved my life quite a few times, so of course I would do the same.
Steve’s heart swelled, he would save any of his friend’s lives in a heartbeat, but when it came to Y/n, the need in saving her in any remote or troubling situation, he was action before thought, immediately jumping into the scenario to save her.
In those moments he never really thought of himself, only her. So, hearing that Y/n immediately resulted in saving him was not only heart-warming but was also worrying him.
“Well, I’d always save you, no matter what,” Steve replies, they look at one another and he can tell his words concerned her just the way hers did to him, “Steve…” she trails off, coming to a stop, body turning to face him.
“I will always save you, I have to,” he continues, voice sounding desperate as if it was his job, as if his own life relied on it, which he believed it did. “Why? I can care for myself, and you need to look out for yourself at times, I don’t want you to put yourself in more danger to save me.”
Steve steps closer to Y/n, reaching his hands out to take hers but stopping himself before touching her, “because I can’t lose you, the thought of losing you is my worst nightmare, Y/n.” Unlike Steve, Y/n didn’t hesitate to touch him, she steps closer, gazing over his features as her hand reaches up to touch his cheek delicately, “I can’t lose you Steve, if I lost you…” she trails off, not wanting to think about how horrendous it would feel if there was a life ahead without Steve Harrington.
“I would rather it me than you,” he leans into her touch, head tilting slightly against her palm as he looks further into her eyes, both of theirs watering slightly in angst, “I don’t.”
For a moment, they look at one another, pent up fear as they try their best to show their feelings, Y/n’s sad expression only depressing Steve further, “Steve, I know you care for your friends very deeply—” Steve closed his eyes at the mention, a huffed breath escaping as he mutters with a weak smile, “—friends—”, “—but you can’t keep being the hero, you can’t put yourself forward at the expense of me, of Dustin or even Nancy.”
“I don’t love Nancy like you think I do,” Y/n’s eyebrows furrow upon his words as he reopens his eyes, “sorry?”, “I don’t love Nancy, I don’t want to be with her, not with anyone like the way I want to be with you.” Their faces were only centimetres apart, but Y/n pulls back to look over his expression more clearly, “Steve?”.
He shakes his head, closing his eyes once more as if to shut himself away after expressing his feelings, something he struggled to allow out to other people, “Steve, look at me, please.” He can feel Y/n’s hand fall and he opens his eyes, falling upon her face which doesn’t falter from looking at him.
“I love you, Y/n, a lot,” Steve continued, almost desperate, as if it was a weight of his shoulders to let out and his hopeful eyes searching her reaction almost made Y/n cry as she agrees, “and I love you, a lot.”
His eyebrows pull upon Y/n’s response, “yeah?”, and with a nod she continues, “of course I do.”
Steve leans forward slightly, “can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you,” his eyes gaze down to her lips, their faces closer to each other than they ever had been and he can feel her breath against his lips as she sighs, “please kiss me, Steve.”
Upon her words, Steve immediately leans forward, his lips connecting to hers like a puzzle piece he had waited years to unite. The thud of flashlight can be heard as he drops it to instead place both of his hands at the back of her head, as if to keep her from disappearing, to keep her close to him.
The kiss is rushed, desperate as years of waiting has led to now, as if the fate of their lives being on the line within the upside down only made their lips move more passionately against one another. Steve can’t help but smile when he feels her fingers graze his bandaged waist before clumsily faltering from resting there, moving so her palms lay flat against his bare chest.
He can’t help pulling back, for a moment, eyes still closed and lips barely apart as they breathe against each other, “I love you, my God, I love you so much, I swear—” he can barely finish before she’s chasing his lips again, “I love you, Steve”.
Another moment of moving their lips against one another desperately before Steve is pulling back once again, this time eyes blown wide as he nods along with his words, “I’ve loved you for so long, almost three years—”, “don’t make it a competition” Y/n giggles as her hands move up to pull his face closer to hers before returning to his chest.
Steve never wanted to leave this moment. It felt like they were safe, not in the upside-down fighting for their life, as long as Y/n was there it felt like everything was okay. “You look good shirtless by the way” Y/n mumbles against his lips as he pulls her hips closer to his, her hands rubbing against the skin of his collarbone, “yeah?” he chuckles against her, “you have a nice back.”
“You have a nice everything” Steve watches and Y/n groans teasingly, “oh god, you’re so cheesy.” They kiss once again, pulling each other impossibly close to one another as years of hidden feelings all spill out into one moment where they finally find one another.
“Hey guys, I hate to break this love fest up, but we didn’t really sign up for a show today, we need to go,” Steve groans against Y/n’s lips upon Robin’s words, both of them pulling back to see the three of their friends watching from down the path. Shaking his head as he watches Eddie nod proudly as he holds up his fists, “yeah, guys! I did that, I’m cupid!”.
Steve reaches down to lace his fingers with Y/n, leaning down to pick up his flashlight as they catch up to the others. They laugh embarrassed while Steve leans down to whisper to Y/n’s ear, “I thought you were into him,” Y/n looks up to him, “God no, I mean he’s nice, but no. Only you, Stevie.”
“Only me” Steve replies in disbelief, laying a last kiss against Y/n’s cheek before they returned to the others.
He has all sorts of nicknames for you, silly and sweet, but his favourite one to use is Princess(especially during sex).
He is a bit of a wild card, he’s loud and pretty unpredictable but that’s what makes life with Eddie so fun; you never know what you’re going to get up to or what plans he’s got for the day ahead. He’s always surprising you whether it be taking you to a concert impromptu or driving out to Lover’s Lake and making out under the stars or seeing who can last longer eating spicy food with no milk or blasting loud music and dancing round the kitchen… Life with Eddie is just fun.
You’re automatically an honorary part of the Hellfire Club. The guys are pretty nice, you like Mike, Dustin, Lucas and Erica; they’re funny as hell and Erica can totally match Eddie’s energy.
Watching him play guitar and singing along as he does it. He’ll learn all of your favourite songs and surprise you with them. He likes the way you sing along as he plays.
He makes you feel comfortable and safe with everything. If you’re not wanting to get high with him, no worries, if you ask him to take you home early from a party, no worries. He’s constantly checking on you, constantly asking if you’re alright and if you’re happy. He’s just a big sweetheart.
He’s horny… a lot.
Everyone has that preconceived notion of Eddie, they think he’s a freak, they think he’s mean and scary but actually he’s just pretty misunderstood. He doesn’t mind the things people say about him, he only really cares about what you think of him.
He can be quite insecure sometimes, he doubts his worth and if he’s enough for you.
He’s super protective of you, if anyone upsets you Eddie loses his shit and he’ll start throwing punches. You’re working on those issues with him, you don’t want him to get a broken nose for fighting some guy that said something rude to you so you’re working on those issues.
You could call him any time of the day or night and he would answer. If you needed him, he’d drive to you and be there in minutes. He would do anything for you and all he wants is for you to be okay.
Heloves to cuddle. He loves the feeling of wrapping you in his arms and having you lie on his chest. It makes him feel powerful and strong, makes him feel like he’s the best protector in the world. Makes you feel safe when you’re all wrapped up with him.
Heloves when you play with his hair, it relaxes him so much.
Heloves when you pull his hair during sex.
Listening to music and cuddling with Eddie is your favourite thing.
I feel like he’d start loads of tickle fights. He’d just be chilling and then all of a sudden, he’s on top of you tickling you. He loves to hear you laugh, loves the way you squirm under him trying to hit his hands away… We all know what tickle fights lead to.
Sex. Lots and lots of sex.
Sex with Eddie is just… wow. His stamina is incredible so can go for as long as you can handle and then some. He’s a very open minded lover but particularly loves to dominate you, loves tying you up/restraining you in some way, loves risky sex (the thrill of being caught turns him on so much).
He loves to make you beg for him, loves having that control over you.
He’s an ass man, loves grabbing your ass, smacking your ass… To be honest, he’s a whole body man when it comes to you. He worships the ground that you walk on; every single part of you gets touched, kissed and worshipped by him.
He would be great with his fingers and his tongue and would make you orgasm over and over.
He has a breeding kink definitely.
He likes to tease you, make you desperate and hot, he likes edging with himself and you; likes making you both lose total and complete control.
He wants everyone to know that you’re his so this means love bites… everywhere. He likes when you wear his stuff; whether it be his Hellfire t-shirt or his bracelets or his rings or his jacket; it doesn’t matter, he loves it all. He loves the thought of people knowing that you’re his and my god, the sex that comes from you wearing his stuff is incredible.
He just thinks you’re the sexiest, most adorable thing he’s ever seen. He’s so effortlessly in love and attracted to you. You could be wearing sweats or lingerie or a fancy dress or even a bin bag and he’d still get a raging boner by being around you.
The aftercare is great. He’ll play some music quietly in the background, get you some water and maybe a snack and the two of you will curl around each other, naked and sweaty, and you’d probably fall asleep like that.
It takes a lot of courage for him to admit how he feels about you. It took him a while to come to terms with the fact he was in love with you but once he said it (and once he heard you say it back), he’s always telling you now. He’s constantly telling you how much you mean to him and he shows you all the time with actions how much you mean to him.
He loves to hold your hands, playing with your fingers, as you walk together. Loves kissing you on the forehead and cheeks.
To everyone else he’s hard and a bit of a weirdo, to you he’s soft and he’s perfect. He’s Eddie.
![[gif] // requester: anonymous // request hereIMAGINE: DROPPING YOUR KID OFF AT THE WHEELER HOUSE FO](https://64.media.tumblr.com/50d3c59ee81deb79704fd2b1f907f18b/691e0e788f9e36db-2c/s1280x1920/032add37f4922babcb9a313b3a1bf7f42b47f1de.png "[gif] // requester: anonymous // request hereIMAGINE: DROPPING YOUR KID OFF AT THE WHEELER HOUSE FO")
