(Gatlinburg, TN 1977)

"Emily? Em? Earth to Emily—"

"What?"

"I asked if you wanted another drink."

"Oh. Um. Yeah. Yeah, thanks," Emily stammers, forcing a half-hearted smile to her lips, though she is not oblivious to the slight narrowing of her companion's eyes as he turns to flag the bartender for the aforementioned beverage. She's doing it again. Lapsing into inattention at the worst possible times. But no matter how she may try to avoid it, she cannot quite seem to succeed.

Something that is nothing short of frustrating to the man standing beside her at the bar, his attention once again turning back to her as he lowers a hand to grab for her wrist and squeezes.

Hard.

"I thought we talked about this, Em. We talked about you not giving me the attention I deserve."

"I know. I—I'm sorry."

"See, I don't think you are," Her companion hisses between gritted teeth, his grip tightening even more, until Emily is suddenly incapable of keeping the strained whimper that escapes her lips at bay, "If you were sorry, you wouldn't keep doing it."

"Adam, please—I won't—I won't do it again, I promise."

"Stop—lying—to me."

"I'm not!" Emily exclaims, knowing almost as soon as she says the words that she has made the wrong choice, Adam's eyes darkening as he closes the distance between them and she finds that she can barely breathe. His cologne is overwhelming, along with the already thick scent of liquor on his breath. And before she can fully brace herself, Emily is forced back until her spine slams against the edge of the bar, all of the air she has leaving her lungs in a rush while Adam towers over her, the hand that is not twisting her wrist almost painfully behind her back moving to curl around her throat.

"Hey, man. Let her go."

"What I do to my woman is none of your concern."

"It is when you're hurtin' her," The stranger persists, his presence giving Emily a small reprieve from the overwhelming reality of Adam's significantly larger frame, though she does not trust it will last. Because she knows what is coming. Knows it as well as she knows her own name.

Adam will have words with the man that tried to come to her defense. He will bait the guy, until he either throws the first punch himself, or says something that allows Adam to make that move on his own. It will all boil over until she is back in the car with a white-knuckled Adam driving well over the legal limit to get them home, and then?

When they get there, Emily knows that she will either spend the remainder of the evening locked in the bathroom while Adam rages just outside the door, or she will find herself pinned beneath him, using the pillow to muffle her cries until he falls asleep…

The thought of enduring either outcome has a white-hot rage burning in her chest in next to no time at all, and Emily forces herself to push it back. To keep any trace of it from making itself known in her expression.

Emily fights against the bile burning at the back of her throat as she forces herself to step forward, a trembling hand coming to rest against the broad expanse of Adam's back while she squeezes her eyes shut and wills her voice to sound sufficiently subservient. Meek.

As she begs him to do the one thing she wishes he would never do again.

"Baby–baby, please, don't. I just–I think I just want you to take me home."

For a moment, Emily almost wonders if her attempt to distract Adam will fail, the muscles of his back remaining taut beneath her fingertips as he stands face to face with the man he seems to be all but itching to fight. But just as she is preparing to try to plead with him yet again, he turns back to her, the darkness still lingering in his eyes as he takes her waiting hand and grips it tightly with his own.

"Get your coat. I'll be waiting in the car."

"Of course."

Emily does not allow herself to feel any sort of relief until she is certain Adam has made his way through the door at the far end of the establishment, her gaze remaining downtrodden as she moves to the coatrack nearby and lifts the faded woolen jacket, folding it over her arms in an attempt to conceal her still-trembling hands. She is trying not to think of the revolver she bought some time ago, kept hidden beneath a pile of old socks in her dresser drawer. Trying not to allow herself to give in to the temptation it presents. But as Emily exits the bar herself, and almost immediately feels the weight of Adam's gaze drilling into her where his car is parked just a few feet away, she cannot help but wonder…

If one simple movement could end it all—her pain—her self-loathing—

Would acting on instinct truly be that bad, after all?

…

Blood. So much blood. That is the first thought that races through Emily's mind as she stares at her shaking hands, her breath coming in ragged gasps that never seem to end. She did it. She actually, really did it. One minute, Adam had been knocking her around the room, the cut at the corner of her brow stinging as his fist collided with it yet again. But somehow, Emily had been able to stagger to the dresser. She was able to remove the revolver from its hiding place.

And now, as the blood from her cut brow congeals into a sticky mess against her skin, Emily can do nothing but watch as Adam's own blood pools on the bedroom floor, spreading across the hardwood until it bumps against the edge of the carpeting beneath their bed…

Turning on a heel, she bolts into the bathroom in time to drop to her knees and empty the meager contents of her stomach into the toilet, her entire body heaving as a cold sweat forms upon her brow. Already, she is regretting this. Wishing she could somehow take it all back. Wishing she could just take the beating Adam was so determined to give her, and never once think of challenging it or trying to stop him.

Emily wishes with all she has that she can find some way of bringing Adam back, but the image of his glossy eyes staring up at her from their bedroom floor is searing itself into her brain, even now.

That image, and the white-hot rage that still simmers at the back of her mind are never likely to leave her again.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, Emily sinks back against the cool tile of the bathroom floor, scooting her body towards the wall to have something to lean against before her remaining strength departs entirely. She almost relishes the chill as her back connects with the wall, her hands planting themselves palms-flat on the floor at her sides. And then it hits her. She cannot stay here. She doesn't have a clue what to do about Adam's body.

All Emily knows is that his conveniently placed friends on the police force will do her no favors, even with the bruises, scrapes and cuts marring her skin.

They will see a murderer. Nothing more. Nothing less.

Emily will be carted off to jail, and Adam? Even dead, he will have won.

"No," She whispers to herself, somehow able to ignore the shaking of her limbs as she forces herself to stand, her hands wiping idly against the fabric of her shirt and staining the pale blue fabric with red. Emily hardly understands where she finds the strength to stumble back to the bedroom, or how she manages to ignore Adam's body sprawling on the floor entirely.

Instead of looking at him, she simply moves out to the hallway, her hand trailing along on the garish wallpaper at her side until she reaches the den, her body sagging into the armchair as her hand extends to reach for the phone resting on the table nearby.

Emily does not hesitate, her fingers dialing the familiar number almost before she is fully aware of what she is doing. And as soon as she hears the voice on the other end of the line—cool—professional, and distant as always—she squeezes her eyes shut in relief and utter exhaustion, willing her voice to remain steady as she summons the wherewithal to speak.

She knows she must tread carefully if she wants to avoid raising her uncle's suspicion. Making him question why she is suddenly so desperate to visit a town she once declared to be the epitome of dull and lifeless.

Emily knows Hawkins is the only chance she has, now. The only chance she has to disappear.

What better way to do that, then to flee to the protection of a man who works for a place that is not supposed to exist…

…

So somebody needs to forcibly take away my tablet, google docs, all forms of social media, and the ability to watch season four over and over again because…yeah. Apparently, when I have all of those things, this is what happens. And I have to admit, I honestly have no idea where this story came from, or where it seems to be going. But, even with that said, I do hope that it interests at least some of you along the way? I'd love to see what you think, and if you want me to follow canon events, or try for something a little more AU as far as Vecna/Henry/001 is concerned. And, as always, I appreciate all of you so, so very much for giving this story a chance at all!

Until next time (I hope?)...

MOMM