Welcome back everyone, thanks for the love, as always. Nothing really to say other than school is getting really busy. But I'll try to stay on top of things.
Jane Eleanor Wheeler: Thank you so much! Hope you like this chapter too, even though it's a little less steamy.
Mik El Max: Thank you!
Stranger Records: That's exactly what I'm going for. Glad you felt the vibe!
El's eyes fluttered open, and then closed again. She didn't want to wake up, and she was angry that she had. It had interrupted a really good dream. A really good dream, and it involved Mike.
She sighed, recalling had been happening in the dream. It was almost embarrassing to think about it, how she had been dreaming of it. They had been getting intimate in El's bed; they had both been naked, and they were about to actually have sex, but then she had woken up.
For whatever reason.
More and more El was finding that ever since she had read some of those magazines from Max, her mind has been wandering. Thinking about all the things that she wanted to do with Mike. Some nights it felt as if it was constant, these animalistic urges pounding in her brain.
Stupid hormones. She still had a lot more to read, but she doubted she would get through all of it. She had yet to read that article that Max had bookmarked for her, something that she had supposedly done with Lucas. That was intriguing to her, especially considering that Max had said that they had not actually had sex; so what did they do? The idea of other options was interesting to her. While the idea of actually having sex with Mike was enough to make her mental, part of her was still holding back; she was only fourteen years old. Even she had heard that usually, it was a good idea to wait a little bit before making that final step.
Now that she was going to be away from Mike more, she knew that she should not have any problem finishing up that reading. Excluding the fact that she was clearly learning more, she found that her literacy skills had also slightly improved. With her dictionary and some questioning of Mike (without revealing where she was reading them), she had learned a lot of new words too, some not even sexual.
It made her happy to know that despite her initial upbringing, she was able to learn so much with the help of her friends. Maybe one day she would truly have a normal life, and go to high school with Mike and the rest of the party, and do normal things like hang out a park, eat in the cafeteria, study for exams, or whatever. Or maybe that was just a pipe dream.
"Morning," a scratchy voice next to her said. El turned to look at Mike, who had just begun to stir. He was rubbing his eyes. "How long have you been up?"
"Just a few minutes," she replied, reaching over to brush his hair with her hand. Mike smiled.
"What are you doing?" he asked, chuckling.
"Your hair is so crazy in the morning," she responded, giggling. "So puffy."
"Yeah, that's why I need to shower," he said, gently pulling the covers off himself. He was walking toward the door but then paused. "I'm at your house, aren't I?"
"Yes, so be quiet," she whispered loudly, trying not to laugh. "You can go out the window, the way you came."
"Oh, right." He tiptoed back to his side of the bed and was about to throw his shirt back on, but when El sat up in the bed he burst out into a smile, distracting him from what he was doing. His work from last night was clearly showing.
"What are you smiling at?" El asked, giggling.
Mike smiled proudly. "Did you enjoy what I did last night?" he asked.
"Yes," El said, almost breathless from just thinking about what had transpired that evening in her bed; when she had watched him flick his tongue over her tits and suck on her skin and gently squeeze her flesh. It had been breathtaking.
Mike's eyes flicked down to her chest and gestured toward it with his head. "Look," he said, still grinning like an idiot.
El furrowed her brow and glanced down, and gasped. "Mike," she said, almost in a panic. "What are they?" Her voice was laced with confusion and worry. All on her breasts where the bra had left exposed there were several red blotches. They didn't hurt, but they looked bad.
"They're hickies, El," Mike replied, still grinning like a fool, like he was proud of what he was seeing.
"Why are you smiling?" El asked, still a little concerned. The fact that Mike wasn't worried about it calmed her a little bit, though.
Mike paused and moved toward her. He gently placed his hands on her shoulders and nudged her backward, and her calves connected with her bedside. Mike continued to apply pressure to her until she collapsed on her back against the mattress. "Mike, what are you-"
And then suddenly his lips were against her neck, gently stroking the skin with her tongue and sucking the skin. "When I do that," he breathed into her neck, separating from her for only a moment so he could speak. He separated again, "if I do it long and hard enough," followed by more kissing. El moaned lightly, and dug her nails into Mike's hair. "It leaves a bruise."
"A bruise?"
"Yeah," he murmured. "A mark. My mark on you." El quivered when she heard that. The premise of being marked, or… claimed, by Mike, it was just… wonderful. She felt amazing, like part of him had been left on her.
"What if other people see it?" she asked.
Mike sat up, and placed himself beside her on the bed. "Well," he began. "They're not really things that you want other people to see."
"You said they were marks? Why wouldn't you want to show people?" El asked, confused.
"Yeah, but, like, people don't really like it. They judge you, and they're kinda considered… tacky? Gross? I don't know. That's why I made sure to do it… you know, down there."
"Oh," El said. It seemed that every time she learned something else about the world, it just made it more and more confusing. Like for every step forward, there were two steps back. Every answer raised another question. Then she noticed something on Mike's neck and started laughing.
"What's so funny?" he said, looking incredulous.
"You have a… a hickey. On your neck. I must have done it," she said, not trying to hide her laughter.
Mike's hand instinctively rose to the side of his neck. Of course, he couldn't feel anything. "Oh, shit," he muttered, eyes widening slightly. "Is it bad?"
"I don't know. It's like this," she stated, making a circle about the size of a loonie with her thumb and index finger.
"Is it dark? Where is it?"
El got off the bed and walked to him. Ever since Mike had kissed her neck a couple minutes ago, she had been fighting the urge to kiss him. He got on her tip-toes and pulled his head down and stroked her mouth across the dark patch on his skin. "Right here," she whispered against his neck, and planted a wet kiss right on the mark.
Mike exhaled heavily out of his nose as soon as contact was made. El pulled him backward and they collapsed once again on her bed, and their lips connected euphorically. Unfortunately, the moment was not meant to last long, as Mike soon separated.
"What's wrong?" El asked, frowning.
"It's getting late," Mike said, sighing with exasperation and sadness. "My Mom doesn't know that I left, if she sees that I'm not home she'll have a fit."
El smiled. She found it endearing that Mike broke so many rules just to be with her. She valued his commitment toward her so much. "Okay. I think Will's mom and I are going to the cabin today again, so I don't know if you can come over later today."
"Okay," Mike replied with a nod. "Just call me on the Super Com whenever. I don't think
I'm doing anything today."
El realized that she could spend some time this morning reading some of the Cosmo magazines, before she went with Joyce. She smiled at the idea, looking forward to learning more about some of the things that she could do with Mike. In the last few days, the more she was with him (which was a lot) the stronger the desire that was building inside her became for something more.
She kissed Mike goodbye on the lips, and he hopped out the window and started on his jog home.
When she walked into the kitchen a few minutes later, she was greeted by a smiling Joyce. She was standing right behind the counter and seemed to be making up some scrambled eggs.
"Hey, sweetie," she smiled, turning her attention toward her for a brief moment before bringing her attention back to the sizzling pan in front of her. "Sleep well?"
"Yes," she replied, still fuzzy from the night Mike and her had shared in her bedroom. "Did you sleep good?" El had learned from her time with Hopper that it was the correct social convention to return the question when someone ever asked something like 'How are you?' or 'How was your day?' She was determined to build a good relationship with Joyce as early as she could.
"I slept well, thank you," she replied. "Want some breakfast?"
"Yes, please," she said, making her way to the table. She sat patiently for a few moments. "Do you want help?"
"No, it's fine, sweetie, I got it. I got some of those waffles you like in the toaster right now, they'll be done soon." As if on queue, the Eggos popped up from the toaster, the familiar aroma was already filling El's nostrils. It made her feel like she was back at home.
"Thank you," she said, while Joyce put her food on a plate and set it down in front of her on the table. She joined her at the table, sitting on the side opposite to her. She had a coffee mug in hand. She poured some sugar and milk into the cup and started to stir it with a spoon.
"So, El," Joyce began, but then caught herself. "Is it okay if I call you El? Or do you prefer Jane?"
"El," El replied, picking up one of the Eggos in her hand and taking a large bite out of it.
Joyce nodded. "I'm sorry, El," she said, rubbing her eyes, not meeting hers. El swallowed the mouthful of food in her mouth and spoke.
"What for?" She was genuinely confused. Joyce had taken her in and given her a home and had been nothing but help in her crazy life. What could she possibly be sorry about?
"It's just that the last six months, we've barely spoken," she began, looking very upset with herself. "It's almost felt like I've abandoned you, or something."
El immediately felt bad. "No, don't feel bad about that," she consoled. "It's not your fault. And you've done so much for me in the past." It was true. Joyce had helped her so much, and she was with Will, while she was with Hopper. They hadn't had any reason to cross paths in the last six months.
"I guess," Joyce sighed. "Thanks, sweetie, that means a lot to me." El grinned. She was glad Joyce was here for her. Letting her come into her house and live with her, giving her food and a home, and now she was going to take care of her for the rest of her life. At least that's what it seemed like.
"Thank you, Mrs. Byers," she said abruptly. "For everything."
"Oh, sweetie," she replied, waving her hand. "It was the least I could do. It's what Hopper would have wanted."
Silence descended upon them, and their thoughts both started to wander to a common person. El could see it in Joyce's eyes; a shadow of sadness flashing in them. She never realized how much he had meant to her, and she could see that this was evident now. "You miss him?"
Joyce focused her eyes back on her. "Hopper?"
"Yes," she said. "You miss him, don't you?" Joyce could only nod.
"I miss him a lot," she said. Another period of silence followed, only interrupted by El's quiet chewing.
"I'm gonna get dressed," Joyce announced, sitting up from the table. "Just finish up you waffles, sweetie, and we'll leave soon." El watched as she left the room. She had a feeling that Joyce was hurting a lot more than what she had let on. Maybe Hopper had meant more to her than she previously thought.
About an hour later, the two of them got into the moving truck that Joyce had rented. There were a few pieces of furniture that she wanted to move into her room. Jonathan had offered to help, but they had the proper equipment to help them move the heavy items, and all of the things inside the dressers and shelves would be gone, so it wouldn't be too heavy, Joyce had said.
El was sitting in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, lost in thought. She was still thinking about how much the passing of her Dad had seemed to affect Joyce. She knew they were close, but was it possible that there had been some kind of romance between them? It wasn't improbable; they were both single, had apparently shared some of their youth years together, and El had seen a few hints that might have pointed toward that idea during her time living with Hopper.
A part of her always felt guilty. It was always because of her that her friends were suffering. All the bad things that happened in their lives were direct because of her. She bit back her emotions, but with little success. Just hold yourself together while you're here with Mrs. Byers, she thought to herself.
And worst-case scenario, if she were to break down, she supposed that Mrs. Byer's was probably one of the best people to do it in front of.
"Okay, El," Mrs. Byers said, slowing the truck down to a halt as close to the cabin as the vegetation would allow. "We'll use this path to push the stuff." El nodded in response, still only giving Joyce half of her attention.
They walked in silence to the front door. It was not until they had both stepped inside that Mrs. Byers spoke out. "Holy shit," she breathed, almost too shocked to form words. El realized that it was the first time her seeing the cabin in this state, and El could tell that she was appalled.
"The stuff is in my room," she said, leading her to the bedroom. All of her little knick-knacks had been taken, leaving only bare shelves and storage spaces; a shell of her former life that was lying right before her.
She took a deep breath, again, forcing her emotions down (which she had a lot of experience doing). "All I want is the dresser here and the table here," she stated, pointing to the small bedside table near her bed. Hopper had made both of these items from scratch in the backyard of the cabin. It was the only reason that she wanted them, really.
"Okay, they're not that big," Joyce said, putting her hands on her hips. "This is doable."
El nodded absentmindedly, still not paying one-hundred-percent attention to Joyce. Every time she tried to force the feelings of grief, sadness, and anger inside, they seemed to return with ten times the ferocity and severity, eating at her like a disease from the inside. And once again, being in her old room relentlessly stirred her and reminded her how much better things used to be. Reminding her of all the things that she used to have; and now she was being forced into a new house, probably as a burden to the entire Byers family.
Maybe leaving this furniture here was a better idea. The pain of having to stare at a reminder of him every day for the rest of her life seemed to much to bare. But at the same time, leaving them here seemed equally as terrible. Maybe they would be better off in some ditch somewhere at a roadside, where she would never see them again.
Once again her feeling betrayed her, and she felt the tears start to unwillingly come out from her eyes. And within an instant, Mrs. Byers came to her and wrapped her arms around her body protectively, allowing her to press her face into her shoulder and vent out all of the raw pain.
"He made them for me," she choked out, barely able to speak.
"Who made what for you, sweetie?" Joyce asked, rubbing her back.
"H-Hopper," she hiccuped. "Made the desk for me. A-and the dr-dr-dresser."
She felt the grasp around her body tighten after that remark. "Oh, El," Mrs. Byers whispered. "I'm so sorry." El continued to shudder and gasp into her shirt. "Is that why you wanted them?"
"Yes," she replied. "But I don't know if it's a good idea anymore," she admitted, failing miserably at curbing her cries.
"Why?"
"Because," she wailed. "When I look at them, I keep thinking about him. It's my fault he's g-g-gone." And another explosion of tears erupted from her throat, she was almost hysterical at this point.
"No, baby, don't say that," Mrs. Byers said, nearly scolding her for believing such a seemingly ridiculous thing. But to El, it was not ridiculous at all. It was the raw truth.
"The Mindflayer wanted me. He did all this because of me. Everyone is dead because of me," she cried. "I should be dead, not everyone else."
"Don't say that," Mrs. Byers soothed. "It's the Russians who opened the gate. The Mindflayer killed those people, not you."
"But he killed them to kill me!" she exploded, pulling away from the embrace that they had been sharing. "He flayed all of those p-people," she shouted. "And killed them, to kill me. I should have gone to him myself."
Joyce looked at her and felt every strand in her heart get ripped in two. What did this child do to deserve this life? She was fourteen years old, for God's sake, and this was what was on her mind? How could she think this was her fault? All Joyce knew was that she was going to make sure that she knew that it was not her fault. She couldn't even imagine how much weight this was on her conscience. And she wanted more than anything to just take it all back, to make all her pain go away. But she couldn't.
"El, sweetie-" she tried to speak, but was cut off.
"You don't know anything!" she yelled.
"Sweetie, please, I-" But her voice was cut off, but not by words, but by a guttural roar of pure fury from El as she collapsed on the floor, laying slack on the ground. It seemed as though she had completely exhausted herself, past the point of speaking or producing any coherent words. Joyce immediately went to her side and sat down next to her, and rubbed her back and head as comfortingly as she could, waiting for her to go through it. Her shoulders were shaking and her body heaving, letting out occasional quiet groan or gasp.
When she had finally calmed down, or just merely ran out of energy, Joyce took the opportunity. "El," she began, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. "None of this is your fault. The Mindflayer would have done the same thing with or without you. He still would have wanted to destroy everyone. The gate still would be open. You were just a stepping stone on the path he wanted to take."
El didn't reply.
"Everyone who put their life on the line for you did so willingly. You can't blame yourself for that. That's what Hopper did. He did that himself. You aren't the reason that he's gone." Hearing his name, El sat up, slowly but surely. She looked her in the eye.
"You loved him, didn't you?"
Joyce was cut off by the question. To be honest, she wasn't sure. But she heard the words come out of her mouth, like a reflex, controlled by her subconscious. "Yes," she murmured. "I did love him."
"Me too," El whispered. "I miss him. So much."
"I know, sweetie," Mrs. Byers said, rubbing her shoulder. "I do too."
"Mrs. Byers, I-"
"El," she interrupted. "Call me Joyce. Please."
A pause in the discussion fell over them for a few seconds. El's expression changed slightly, but Joyce could not figure out what it had changed to, and if it was a good change or a bad change.
"How are you… how are you so strong?" El asked.
"What?"
"You haven't cried at all," El pointed out. "How?"
A single tear dripped down Joyce's cheek. "Sweetie," she said softly. "That's not true. You haven't seen me the last few days. But I haven't been doing well either, sweetie. You aren't alone with this."
El looked at her, and she repeated her words once more, enunciating every syllable. "You. Are. Not. Alone. I'll always be here for you, El," she sniffed, more tears dropping down her face. "I'll always make sure that I'm there for you. And Will, and Jonathan… they'll always be there for you too."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
Thanks for reading the chapter guys! Review and give a follow if you're liking it, as always. In the meantime, take it easy :)
