Finally made it to double digits!

Thank you so much to everyone who followed/faved/reviewed! I love you all!

I know some of you wanted a Billy POV but sadly it's not this chapter. It's coming soon though, so you will get a glimpse into Billy's head eventually.

…

Chapter 10: Weed Killer

'Smile, the worst is yet to come.' – Mikky Ekko, Smile

Monday 26th November 1984

I squint as lights from overhead bounced off of the white walls and glared at me, the bright beams penetrated my retina's. The air in this room was piercing and sterile as if every breath was equal parts oxygen and bleach as it coldly soared through my oesophagus. I hated hospitals.

"So, Clare, what grade are you in?" The doctor asked, his eyes settled onto mine.

"11th." I answered simply as I fiddled with the stitching of the leather seat on which I sat.

He carried on asking questions of that nature, as if he were trying to get to know me. But I knew better. This was just a technique used to lull the patients into feeling safe, a way of making sure that the patient was comfortable enough to divulge anything that was wrong with them even if the patient was embarrassed about it.

"Let's talk about why you're here today," He began, voice deepening as if he were done with the small talk. "I've read your file, and I just wondered why you wanted to see me rather than Dr Holmes."

"Oh, well, I just don't think I need him right now." I replied. "There's something physically wrong with my body, not my mind."

He nodded for me to continue, his beady black eyes locked onto mine.

"Uh," I must admit; I am quite nervous of telling a forty-odd year-old man about my faulty reproductive system.

"Go ahead, Clare." He gave a reassuring smile. "There's no judgment here."

"I think there's… somethingwrongwithmyinsides?" The words scrambled out of my mouth, and I wasn't quite sure why the end of it sounded like a question. "My womb. Or my- I don't know."

"What's made you worry?" He asked as he made a note on his clipboard.

"Well, I'm bleeding a lot." I admitted.

"And you're sure it's not your period?" He asked, one eyebrow raised condescendingly.

"No. I'm sure that it's not my period. I would know." I said, sharply, eyes wide. "This is irregular. And it only happens at night. The bleeding doesn't carry on through the day like a normal period would."

"Spotting, then?" He asked as he wrote something down.

"Yeah, I thought it was that." I nodded. "But it's heavy bleeding. It's like when I'm on my period but then it stops for a few days before it happens again."

"Hmm." He carried on taking notes. He paused then, reread his notes while he played with his pen in his right hand.

I had known another doctor with a similar habit.

"How have you been this week, Clare?" He asked as he toyed with the pen situated between thumb, index and middle fingers.

Holmes was quite the character with a slightly hunched frame that always had a white lab coat swathed over him. He was smaller than the average man, but he made up for that in his enthusiasm during our sessions. He had a rounded face and drooping skin that told of many years being pulled by gravity. I thought he could've been hansom as a younger man.

As I got to know him, I learned that his many years were filled with tales of his childhood, his struggles in the war, his wife and his kids. Holmes was a fatherly figure, and I was glad to have been assigned to him and not some other, younger doctor whose only aim was a promotion.

It had been 5 weeks since I was let out of the hospital, and every Wednesday since I was made to come to these sessions. We – doctor Holmes and I – discussed trivial things, typical teenage stuff as well as some pop culture. At first the 'getting to know you' routine had gotten really old really fast but then he had started to let more and more of his personality show. Soon I began to look forward to these sessions that were filled with tales of the war or discussions of the philosophy of The Lord of the Rings or reviews of movies we'd seen separately.

But today's session felt off. There was something in the air that was just unsettling. It set my teeth on edge.

"I've been good." I answered.

"Great." He nodded, thoughtfully. "School's coming up, right?"

It was my turn to nod before I informed him it was two weeks away.

"How are you feeling about that?" He stopped moving his pen between his fingers and positioned it above the paper, readying himself to make notes.

"I'm fine." My forehead creased.

"Are you sure?" He asked.

Was I sure? No. Sometimes I felt as though I crack and break like the mirror she apparently used to open her wrists. Or at least that's what the police report had said she did.

"No thoughts about…?" He trailed off.

No thoughts about Hannah? I just had one less than five seconds ago.

"I still dream about her sometimes." I admit then shrugged. I was never good at lying so I thought that if I fed Holmes at least some of the truth then the lie that I was 'fine' would slip through his fingers like sand. I didn't want to go back to the hospital. I did not want to be the psycho chick anymore. "But it's mostly just that; the dreams. Nothing else."

"You think you'll be 'fine' in school?" He asked, voice stern reminding me of my dad when he was too busy to tell me off properly.

"I'll be fine, Doctor." I replied as I sat back in the chair. "It happened a year ago now. I'm fine."

I didn't know who I was trying to convince; Holmes or myself.

"Clare?" The doctor stopped twiddling his pen between his fingers which freed my eyes so that I could look back to his face. "Could you perhaps be pregnant?"

My eyebrows strung together in confusion.

I remembered in the showers then, how Billy had made me swallow that stuff. And then by the park when I had rubbed him. I pulled my hand from inside his jeans and found that the substance was glistening in what little light there was. None of that stuff had ever come close to my entrance. I inwardly shuddered at the thought, though in lustful anticipation or fear filled dread I was not sure.

"It's quite common for pregnant women to spot, though if the bleeding is quite extensive then unfortunately you might have implantation bleedin-"

I held my hand up for him to stop. His long and finely wrinkled face took on a sour edge at me interruption.

"No." I shook my head. "I am not pregnant."

"Okay then." He crossed something out on his clipboard. He looked down at it with an injured expression, then he looked back up at me as if I was the cause of making his notes look messy. "We can schedule a Pap test if you'd like. It's a cervical screening."

"What's that?" I asked.

"An ultra-sound." He supplied.

"An ultra-sound?" I sat up in my seat. "But I just told you I wasn't pregnant."

"It's a precaution. In case of infection or any other…" He said before he took a deep breath and held it for several seconds. He released it and resumed speaking. "…oddities."

"Oddities?" I repeated, dumbly.

He ignored me and carried on scribbling away on his clipboard.

"Have you cut yourself on the inside perhaps?"

I shook my head.

"Any dryness?"

I shook my head again.

"Stress?"

I nodded. He made a note.

"Are you sexually active?" He said as he looked me in the eyes. It took everything I had not to look away in discomfort.

"I'm n-not pregnant." I stuttered out whilst my head shook as if to shake the very thought of being pregnant with Billy as the father.

"Yes, you've said that." He waved his writing hand lightly with the pen between his fingers as if he was somehow crossing out what I had said as it travelled through the air. "But I must be sure. I'm the doctor, yes?"

I nodded. I wondered if what me and Billy had done together counted but we hadn't actually had sex yet (yet?), so I guessed that I wasn't 'sexually active'. I refused to let him see just how embarrassed I was, but my traitorous cheeks gave me away as they began to redden.

"No." I answered. "I'm not… active."

"Well, if you're not, I don't think there is much seriously wrong with you. I'll leave it up to a gynaecologist to decide whether you have the ultra-sound or not."

"Why am I bleeding then?" I asked.

"Don't worry." He ignored me. "I'm sure you're fine. I'll refer you to a gynaecologist, how's that sound." He asked, though it seemed he didn't care for my answer.

…

Steve wasn't picking up.

Once I had fled the too crisp building, I made my way over to the payphone, and dialled our home number. I received no response. For a few seconds of dread, I pictured him in a car crash on his way back from dropping me off. His shiny car crushed with him inside flashed behind my eyelids briefly. The rational part of me knew that he'd probably just fallen asleep up in his bedroom and he wasn't able to hear the phone ringing.

I took deep calming breaths. Well, they were supposed to be calming but the cold air did nothing but make my chest burn.

I was down to my last dime. I tried to figure out who I could call who owned and drove a car. There was obviously Hargrove… but I didn't know his home number – not like I'd call the asshole anyway.

I thought of others then. There was Taylor or Hopper – who was most definitely busy – or there was…

My fingers rose to type in the number as I recalled the perfect person.

…

His beat up, rusted Ford parked next to me onto the side of the rode. I smiled at him through the window before I opened the door and climbed in.

"Hi!" I smiled at him and he returned my expression somewhat timidly as I buckled my seat belt. "Thanks so much for picking me up. I owe you one."

"Don't worry about it." Jonathan said, his voice steady as he drove out of the parking lot.

"I can't believe Steve didn't pick up the phone." I said to him, trying to start conversation. "I hope he's okay."

"He's probably fine." Jonathan said. He was always good at calming others and resolving conflicts, so I guessed he was a lot like his mom in that respect.

"Yeah, he probably just fell asleep." I chuckled. "Typical Steve."

Jonathan smiled wider. I wondered what it would take to get him to laugh. I always used to when we were kids, but now he'd hardened. It was only a natural result of the verbal abuse from Lonnie, then the divorce, then Will and the upside down.

I could've gone down the same quiet and stoic path as Jonathan did after Hannah but for some reason I had found a way to cope by burying the sadness, the guilt, the confusion, the anger under a pile of school work and movies and books. I did anything to hide what I felt – and in a lot of ways, I still did. It had only been three years now since Hannah, but the effects of her… death… still lingered. It was a part of me now and it would never leave, I could only make room for it or let it eat me from the inside. I know which option I preferred.

"How's Joyce and Will?" I asked.

Jonathan responded, telling me of the movie night they had had. They had watched Jaws, a favourite of both Will and Jonathan's. It was nice seeing Jonathan content and I knew that Nancy had something to do with that.

"So, how's Nancy?" I asked with a coy smile before I wiggled my eyebrows at him.

His eyes lit up and a smirk tugged at the corners of his lips.

"She's good." He answered as he nodded slowly.

"How's Hargrove?" He threw the question my way as an equally coy smirk found its way onto his face.

"I wouldn't know." I fiddled with my chipped nail polish.

"Any trouble between you guys?" He went from coy and playful to serious and protective in an instant.

"No." I shook my head as my eyes watched the world outside the window. "We're just not… I don't really want to be around him anymore."

"Good." He said as his focus returned to the road ahead. I tried to ignore the jab of an insult when he said it was 'good' that Billy and I weren't close anymore.

I questioned why Jonathan would find that 'good'. Why was it a 'good' thing that I was hurting? Why was it 'good' to be away from someone I cared for? No – don't Clare, just forget about him. Don't carry on caring about him, I told myself.

I wish I had a switch on my back that controlled whether I felt emotion or not. It would be so easy to just not feel anymore. It would be so easy to stop caring for him but caring about people was much like a weed, it would never go away, and it would continue to grow alongside all the other treasures in the garden. To kill the weed wasn't simple but it had to be done. It must be done lest I let Billy continue to grow inside me, fill me with thoughts and daydreams of being content with life. Content like Jonathan was with Nancy.

I had to let go of those daydreams. I had to stay away from Billy Hargrove. As I made the decision to keep my distance, a part of me felt as though it were painfully falling away from my grasp, but I was paralyzed, powerless to stop it.

"Nancy told me she has an open day at a college tomorrow." Jonathan informed me.

"Oh, is that the thing Steve is going to?" I asked.

"Yeah, she told me Steve's driving her there." He nodded. "I can give you a ride to school and back tomorrow if you want."

"Yeah, please." I nodded quickly. I was going to walk but if he's offering, I thought that it best that I say yes.

"There's a catch though." He said as he glanced at me.

"Oh?" My eyebrows raised of their own accord.

"I have to drive Will and Dustin too."

"I get Will being there, but why Dustin?" I asked. I liked Dustin, I even thought he was cute but like most people in the end of the world gang, he was crazy.

"Steve said something about him having to bring heavy equipment in for a science fair project, so he needed a ride."

"Your brother and his friends are… kind of weird, yeah?" I looked to him.

"Hell yeah." He chuckled.

We pulled into my drive way then, up behind Steve's untouched polished car. There was something else parked there too, a chunky white van with cursive letters printed onto its side that read 'Paulette's Plumbing'. That's probably why he didn't pick up earlier; something must have gone wrong with the plumbing.

"You having trouble with your plumbing?" Jonathan asked as he looked up at the van through his windshield with wrinkled brows.

"If we are, I wasn't aware of it." I said, eyebrows drawn together. "Thanks for the ride. I'll, uh, see you tomorrow, Jonathan." I said as I climbed out the car, my eyes focused on the van.

Once inside the house, Jonathan pulled away, his tiers kicked up swirling dust as they rolled further from the house.

"Steve?" I called as I dropped my bag by the doorway. I called his name a once more and received nothing but silence. I walked to the each of the bathrooms of the house, hoping to find a Steve and a plumber.

I travelled to the bathroom by the living room. No Steve, no plumber. I journeyed upstairs to Steve's bathroom, then my parents, then mine. No one was here. It seemed the house was empty.

I sat down onto the lid of my toilet and looked out the window. Through the lace curtain I saw movement from outside. I pulled aside the curtain and found Steve walking with a man in blue overalls; the mysterious plumber. Steve was wearing his green knee-high wellingtons and holding a pink floral wooden box to his chest, which was a peculiar sight. He was talking to the man, before Steve nodded. Then the plumber waddled away, tool box in hand, leaving Steve alone with only the pink box as his company.

I jumped up, and with determined steps made my way to the back door. Before I could exit it, a gathering of boxes by the open basement door caught my eyes. I could hear a faint trickling noise coming from the basement.

Steve opened the back door and it softly clanged into the boxes.

"Clare?" I heard him say before he set the pink box down next to other boxes, all differing in sizes and materials.

"Steve?" I raised my eyebrows.

"Oh crap! I was meant to pick you up." He cursed before shutting the back door.

I nodded before I asked what was up with all the boxes and the plumber

"The pipes burst." He answered.

The pipes burst. All I could think about in that moment the pipes leaking red.

"Come see," Steve gestured for me to follow as he disappeared through the black basement door.

I followed him and began the decent into the basement, the stairs creaked as I went, and the further I got, the more the trickling sound grew. I felt my feet carry me down to the last step where I was greeted by the sight of water pouring steadily out of a hole in the pipes. I looked down and found that the murky water was about 3 or 4 inches deep. Like in my dream, the water had spread, but I found solace in the fact that it wasn't red.

The basement was dark, light from the single window reflected off the water. Steve was stood in the middle of the room, in the centre of the chaotic space, hands on his hips as he shook his head at the offending pipe.

"I completely understand why you didn't pick me up." I murmured from my place on the step, as I watched the water spray out.

Steve walked over to where piles of boxes lay in disarray. Some of the cardboard ones were wrecked, and I held no hope for their survival. He picked up a rounded grey metal box, the size and shape of a car tier, and trod over to me. Each step splashed and made waves that rippled out from where he placed his foot.

"Will you take this upstairs, please?" Steve asked. "I'm trying to get the boxes out. I don't want mom or dad to be pissed if anything gets damaged."

I didn't say anything, too stunned to really process what was happening, as I took the box from his outstretched hands and carried it up to where the others sat. I placed it next to a damp cardboard box before descending into the basement once again.

My dream and the pipes bursting were just a freaky coincidence. So were the nightmares and waking up to bloody sheets. My middle name was coincidence.

I carried several more boxes upstairs, each of the them wet or damp. Each of them heavy. There's still a ton of boxes down there, I thought with a grimace. My red cheeks were proof that I was out of shape.

I descended once more and waited for Steve to bring the next box over.

"Hey," Steve said. "I think this is yours."

"What?" I asked, eyebrows drawn together.

"Yeah, 'C.H.'" He nodded. "It's got your initials on it, see." He held it up for inspection. My heart dropped, a victim of gravity, as my eyes took in the sight of that familiar box.

It was the box from my nightmares.

…

Whenever I write about the box, I think of Brad Pitt's most infamous line; "WHAT'S IN THE BOX?" I mean, I know what's in Clare's box but you guys don't *evil cackle*

I'm sorry for the lack of Billy but I hope you all enjoyed it anyway!

Please drop a review if you have the time Reviews/favs/follows really do motivate me. And I love private messaging you all back when you review. It's cool to know what you liked/disliked about the story.

The Steve/OC fic is definitely a thing now, but I'm going to try to write most of it first before posting anything.

See you next time!