𝙲𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚙 𝚖𝚎

𝙾𝚌𝚌𝚞𝚙𝚢 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗?

𝙾𝚑 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚑.

𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚎

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍.

𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜.

𝙸 𝚖𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚍.

𝙼𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚔𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚒𝚐𝚑

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚛𝚢.

𝙷𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕

𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚘 𝚞𝚗𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕.

When Lennon got home, Brontë was awake and getting ready for work but he wasn't alone.

Lennon came in, making noise with the door, and was immediately ambushed by two men clattering down the stairs. Steve, who wore a pair of crumpled pajama pants and a severely creased shirt, and Brontë, who wore only a pair of black dress slacks.

She told them she had been on a run and had a tutoring session from ten to noon so they didn't suspect much more.

Steve, having less personal space than her own brother, invaded her neck and made sure there were no hickeys. She quickly batted at him but both men seemed overly annoyed and irritated with her sudden leave. She knew the plan was for Steve to go with her and sneaking away before he even woke up made her seem untrustworthy.

She looked to Brontë because she owed Steve nothing, and apologized. She explained that she took her role very seriously and that bringing Steve along would have seemed unprofessional and distracting as a whole. She explained what she and Eddie did, leaving out the part about the drugs and the kiss, and either due to time or her convincing abilities, he pinned the subject for a later time.

He finished getting ready for work but Steve stayed behind even after he left.

"Eddie isn't a good guy, Lenny. I don't know what he's said to make you think otherwise-"

"He hasn't said anything," she replied nonchalantly. "He gave me a ride home once and he doesn't treat me like a piece of ass or a favor he owes to someone," she corrected him.

"Oh, c'mon," Steve leered. "You know I don't hang out with you just because Brontë told me to. We've known each other for four years-"

"And we've never hung out before now."

"You never went to Hawkins until now."

"No," she rolled her eyes. "Even all those weeks you spent here at the lake, you never once hung out with me or Rion."

Miraculously, she managed to change the subject. Steve was too distracted defending himself to have focused his attention on telling Lennon why she shouldn't trust Eddie. It was easier than she expected but she couldn't keep it up forever.

The next day, Steve stayed the night again and when Brontë woke up, they resumed their conversation about Eddie together. It sounded repetitive but Lennon was able to tell most of the truth. There were no lies, only secrets. And if she kept saying the same thing over and over again in a calm, unsuspicious tone, then there was nothing to worry about.

During Thanksgiving break, she stayed home for most of the week and went over the cheer routine for the game. She felt insane for pretending to hold girls' feet up above her head but the muscle memory was sure to result in something worth her while.

When night crept up on her, she was nuzzled in her room with her speakers blaring music while her brother was gone. She said she needed to study but she didn't put much effort into it, not that she would've gotten much accomplished anyway when her mind was preoccupied with the thought of someone's lips against hers.

She could still taste beer and feel the warmth of his tongue sliding past the curve of her lips. She could see dark brown eyes on the backs of her eyelids and hear the sound of his soft and incandescent hums whenever he was satisfied with the response. She could still feel the heavy weight of his hands riding down her spine and the pressure of his head pressing her further and further back until she had very little room to refuse to lay on her back beneath him.

She found herself in a long, sweet daydream until sleep overtook her.

Her mind was racing with the possibility of what might have happened if she had just submitted to what felt good. It physically hurt to pull away, to deny him... But she knew something that felt that good wouldn't last forever and she didn't need to ruin her reputation over a temporary fix.

And the question still remained.

What did he want with her?

She signified something to him or else he wouldn't be trying so hard to get her attention. Did she mean something to his social growth? Was it the fact she and Brontë's parents looked like he had money and he wanted something for himself? Did he just want to sleep with her? He had handcuffs and acted like he knew what to do with the affections of a woman. Did he just want proof that he could get her? Did he secretly know about the case in Vermont and was planning on outing her at the most opportune time? Was he trying to hurt her? Was he trying to screw her and fuck her over?

She didn't know what he got with her. It was obvious that he didn't want to be her friend now. But what exactly was he looking for in her?

He had friends and a band, and an uncle who cared. The only thing he lacked was social stability. People didn't like him and rumors ran the waterways of his entire being. He had everything except popularity and public support.

What did she give to him that made him so interested in getting to know her?

If not popularity, then what? If not a warm bed, then what?

She had fallen asleep every night with the thought of him in mind. Her dreams betrayed her the satisfaction of having him in them but she was glad she was able to sleep at all.

It took a lot for her to fall asleep and not fear for her life beforehand. She was suffering from old, unhealed wounds when it came to sleep. But things were beginning to change.

After Brontë took his day off for Thanksgiving and brought home a precooked turkey and some canned or microwavable food, she noticed something strange. Since it took a lot of effort to fall asleep, she didn't know the exact time she was out but she felt like it was more than three hours. She was beginning to feel safe; ever since she met Eddie...

And that's what she got from him. That's what she wanted. And that was why she didn't ignore his insistent and sneaky ways of getting him alone. She was willing to risk it if it meant she could feel even a fraction of what it felt like to be safe. She wanted to know his mind. She wanted to know what made him so... alluring. She wanted to know why her body reacted to his in a way that seemed impossible.

After all, the only reason she didn't ignore him when they first met was that he made her feel safe. But that was only what drew her in, not why she liked his company. She liked that he didn't act like a cocky son of a bitch. She liked that he didn't judge her for the things she truly felt and thought. She liked that he was passionate. He loved D&D and heavy metal and he loved his band. She liked that he wasn't conceited or vain but still managed to look hot nonetheless.

It was a natural beauty that made her question the views of her classmates because when someone who looked like that, so effortlessly attractive and had the soul of a saint, wasn't getting the attention of every horny, romantic teen in the school, the world started to feel a little more like a stranger and less like something she grew up in her whole life.

It didn't make sense.

Her gentle sleeping state was awoken by a deep-rooted sound coming from the house. Her eyes snapped open and she was staring into the darkness of her room. She faced the closed doors of her closet with the soft white casting of the moon's rays radiating inside. She couldn't locate the origin of the noise but it startled her awake. She sat still for a second, wondering if she could tell if it was Brontë making noise upstairs or if one of the neighbors were having a party.

In an instant, a shadow crossed over the moon's radiance and Lennon was quick to flinch and turn to the window.

Outside, from the safety of her bed, she could make out the still water from the lake but there was nothing else there. There would be no small birds and the area never got owls. Lennon shot upright and checked the time on her bedside table, reading 2:12.

She knew there was something out there.

She wondered if the wind picked up and blew a large leaf or a branch across the yard so she slowly approached the window and drew the curtains open hesitantly.

She opened her window and waited. She wasn't going to stick a limb outside if someone was there so she waited to see if the movement continued. When everything remained still and silent, she knelt and felt for the air.

Still.

It wasn't until she looked down at the overgrown, icy-green grass did she remember that she forgot to pop the screen back into place after she snuck inside. It was gently laid on top of the overgrowth below the sill, laying at an angle as if it had fallen.

But there was no sign of an animal that knocked it off and there was no sign of wind. She was overly afraid now. But instead of shutting herself inside and checking to see if all the doors were locked, she angrily grabbed the windowsill and poked her head outside. She turned towards the neighbor's houses but only found dead trees in their wake.

She cast her eyes out towards the lake but there was still no sign of life no matter where she turned. There were no animals, no people, no lights, no wind, no sound... Nothing. It was as if she had made it all up.

As the realization hit her, she drew in a ragged breath of cold air and scurried away from the window. She slammed it shut and locked the top before shutting her curtains entirely.

She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves the best she could without Eddie to lay on top of her. And now that she knew how relieving that was, how freeing and comforting he was, she was desperate to get it back.

She felt crazy. She felt like she was going insane. She was always so on edge and it was one thing to feel like she was being watched once, but now it was happening again and there was still nobody around.

She started to wonder if she did need help, if she was so paranoid her mind was beginning to compensate and imagine things that would rectify her paranoia.

She grabbed her pillow and buried herself in a pile of blankets. She was curled up in the corner of her mattress, warming herself and clinging to the pillow for comfort as she tried to fall back asleep.

She had closed her eyes and willed her body to shut off but it wouldn't. She was too alert now. She was freaking out and scared someone was watching her.

She knew nobody was there, nobody would even know where she lived. Nobody at school who wasn't friends with Brontë at least and nobody from Vermont would either. She wasn't in danger and yet her skin crawled and she wanted to rip it to shreds in an instant. She wanted the paranoia to go away. She wanted the anxiety to go away.

She wanted to disappear.

Her eyes fluttered open and she was left staring into the dark again. She would rather be taken into a state of non-existence than live in the dark foreboding state of constant fear and regret. She wasn't just mourning the loss of a mother and brother, she was mourning the loss of the life she once had, ripped and stolen from her very hands.

Her brother never had the option to grow up. He never had the opportunity to figure himself out or make real friends or graduate. He didn't even finish learning the guitar before he was put in a coffin.

He was gone.

Her mother never had the option to finish her doctorate to become an anesthesiologist. She never had the opportunity to save lives or see her babies grow up, graduate, or get married.

She was gone.

Her father was serving time in jail for something he didn't do. He wasn't the best dad when his wife went missing, he wasn't a very good person at all, actually. But he was human and he was in pain. Now, injustice was serving him life.

He was gone.

And the funny thing about the whole situation Lennon found herself in was the fact she survived. It wasn't entirely joyous or guilt-tripping as most people thought it would be.

She found it funny.

Her mom and brother were dead, they wouldn't feel the pain or the fear of living with those consequences. They wouldn't be put on trial or be threatened and ridiculed while on the stand, testifying to the truth and having the people they loved and cared about betray them.

They were dead.

She was still alive.

She still had to face her classmates who accused her of killing her own family. She still had to receive the dark and disgusted looks of all her teachers whenever she sat alone in the back of the classroom or when walking down the halls. She still had to get out of bed knowing her favorite person in the whole world was no longer alive or even a part of the world anymore.

They were dead.

And she was still alive.

She was the one having to carry the burden of surviving. She was the one crawling out of that massacre alive, seeing, hearing, and feeling all the things no seventeen-year-old; or any person for that matter should have to feel.

She felt that survivor's guilt to her core. She wished she could switch places with them but it was worse to live in denial than to live in the fourth stage of grief. She had to live with the PTSD, the anxiety, the paranoia, the depression, the trust issues, the lack of security, the loneliness, the guilt, the regret.

So it was funny.

They were the ones gone and yet she had lost more than them. Their lives were taken, but they wouldn't feel the weight of the trauma crushing them into the surface of the earth. She had lost a brother, a mother, a father, a home, a house, friends, her safety, her security, her family... She was still alive but she had lost her life too.

The only difference was, she had to feel every ounce of it. She didn't have the luxury of being lost in a night of eternal sleep. She had to feel everything. She had to keep going even after enduring all that. She had to continue living.

She realized she was staring at the wall behind her door for over an hour as the thoughts circulated. She needed to go back to sleep. She needed rest.

She turned to the little pool of dark fabric sitting in the corner of her bed curiously. She contemplated the meaning of the pair of blue gloves and grey hat as she uncurled from her cocoon of blankets and grabbed the soft cotton before nestling back into the warmth.

She felt the soft fibers between her index finger and her thumb before pulling the hat to her nose.

She inhaled deeply and found the scent of natural oils and a woody, spicy smell clinging to the beanie that was given to her for the time being. Her eyes closed in an instant and her body relaxed.

She pulled it back and examined the grey threading with a careful eye, but trying to see in the dark made it difficult to see much other than a blob of black.

She started to wonder why Eddie acted the way he acted. It didn't make sense for him to take a bunch of sleeping pills and muscle relaxers with several bottles of beer the night before she came over. He made it seem like the reason for it was the simple notion of her kissing Billy but that didn't make sense to her either. He wasn't there and she was free to have relationships with whoever cared to have one with her. Friendships, romance, parental relationships, role models, acquaintances...

She wasn't exempt from being anything to anyone in particular so why did he seem so upset over her and Billy?

And why did he kiss her after she admitted to it? Why did he act like it never happened once she explained herself? Why did he act so flirtatious one minute and so cautious and awkward the next? It was like he wanted something he was afraid of. None of it made any sense to her.

She was glad he showed his tender affections with the hat and gloves, but they couldn't mean much more. She didn't owe him anything in return for his feelings; even if she did, he didn't deserve them. Not because she was too good for him, but because whatever she had to offer to someone on that kind of personal level wasn't healthy.

She could give him a quick fuck. But she didn't want to.

And what she wanted with him she couldn't give him.

The things she could do and the things she wanted to do were contrasting and torturous.

There was no point in building a house on the grounds of a sinkhole. But she wanted that house. She wanted to live there with Eddie. But she didn't have stable ground. Her foundation was dry-rotted and decaying and whatever they built on top of her crumbling remains would never survive, and neither of them deserved to break underneath the rubble.

She didn't want to be this easy thing for someone to objectify. She could be. But she didn't want that.

She wanted to be cared for and be accepted despite all her flaws and she wanted to give that back to someone. But she couldn't. She wanted to, but she couldn't.

She ended up falling asleep half-sitting up and partially laid back with Eddie's beanie under her nose, nuzzling close and wishing it were him she was falling asleep with and not a piece of sewn, unwashed cotton.

But this time, he was waiting for her in her dreams and all her pain dissipated in an instant.