ADMIN NOTE: trigger warning for mild abuse and reference to it.

. . .

〝 𝑖.

Sunday morning was cold . . very cold — no. She needed a better word than that. Freezing. Numbing. Why did the wind blow through her as if she was some flimsy scarecrow in the farmers' fields she drove past? As if her coats did nothing; even the thick ones. She hated it . . She hated that Hawkins was making her hate cold weather; she was actually beginning to want to return to the blazing sun and sweat of the summer like her brother who was mumbling and grumbling because the sun was nowhere in sight. Rowen found it ironic that Billy was declaring his hatred for the cold by wearing the least amount of clothing possible . . if he hated cold weather like a normal person, then he would be bundled up in thick coats like she was . . . Then again, this was her brother, she reminded herself. Billy did not associate with the normal crowd, nor did he acknowledge the weird crowd. Somehow he had made his own crowd — which, now that she thought about it, wasn't so surprising. He'd dragged her into it with him, too.

She refused to look like an idiot, though, wearing flimsy button-downs and nothing more than a jean jacket when it was in the forties.

Rowen had caved and gone with Max to the arcade again per the redhead's slightly obvious begging. Clearly, her meek interest in video games had been enough to set Max off into a rambling when she wasn't glued to one of the machines and, though Rowen wasn't interested enough to dive head-first into the knowledge, she had been happy that Max was happy. It was something they could do together, at least . . . though Rowen would be lying if she said she hadn't begun to feel bored again. The sweat and noise of pre-teens were too much this morning, thus she made an excuse to escape by saying she needed to get something from the general store. Max believed her well enough — and she probably wouldn't move from that spot until she got back.

Because the arcade was close to the middle of town, her walk to Melvald's wasn't very long; even if it was, Rowen convinced herself she needed some kind of exercise. She hadn't been nearly as active as she was back home ever since their move, and her muscles were starting to let her know that they were being neglected. Walking felt good, even if the rest of her felt like she was going to freeze over.

Rowen grabbed desperately for the door handle of Melvald's once she reached it, pushing herself inside as quickly as she could manage. She breathed a sigh of relief once the door was shut and she was tucked inside. The heat that had been squeezed into the store welcomed her, and she embraced it fully.

"You alright?" she heard someone ask, a little humorously.

Rowen turned to see the cash register, the desk it sat on top of, the woman who stood behind it. She was a little shorter than herself, dark brown hair, bangs. Her smile was bright — much brighter than most people's, Rowen noted. She looked a lot friendlier than the forced smiles and straight faces she saw on the street.

"Yeah," Rowen sighed, a little embarrassed, rubbing her hands together. "Yeah, I'm just not used to this weather . . at all."

The woman smiled. "You'll get there eventually, don't worry," she assured her. "Give it a few weeks. Get a couple of hats and gloves, a good coat —" she waved her hand. "— You'll be fine."

Rowen breathed out a laugh. "Hope so."

"Can I help you find anything?"

"Um . . ." she hummed, taking a look around. She shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm looking for. But thanks."

The woman smiled. "'Course. If you think of something, just let me know, 'kay?"

Rowen nodded and thanked her.

In truth, she didn't know what else to expect, walking into a general store; it quite literally had everything. An array of telephones sat uniform across one aisle, laundry detergent and gift wrapping on another. There were snacks on shelves, drinks refrigerated behind glass doors, blankets in one corner, gloves in a basket. Rowen saw a few electrical appliances and had to stop to take in the fact that there was a tower of toasters. Everything she had seen in the span of four aisles were, up until that point, things she had always seen in separate stores. Snacks and cigarettes were things she could only buy simultaneously at gas stations in San Diego, not general stores where there were teetering stacks of kitchen appliances.

She ended up grabbing an extremely long scarf, candy bars for later, and some new pencils to replace her rapidly shortening ones.

Rowen felt a little embarrassment creep up when she struggled to differentiate between the aisles. Somehow they all looked the same . . . but she found her way back to the front, eventually.

The woman gave her another smile, paused in her rummaging through miscellaneous items behind the counter. "Found somethin'?"

"A couple of things."

"Alright." In typical cashier fashion, the woman fell into her routine, asking if Rowen had gotten everything she needed, if she would like a bag.

"Hey, Mrs. Byers."

The routine was interrupted.

Rowen looked up as Mrs. Byers had done, realizing she had somehow missed Steve's approach. She did not, however, miss Mrs. Byers's recognition before pulling out her wallet. Another warm smile came across the older woman's face. "Hey, Steve," she greeted him warmly. "How's everything?"

He nodded, shrugged. "It's okay. I can't complain."

Rowen raised her brow but kept her gaze pinned on the money in her hand. Clearly, Mrs. Byers didn't know the events of the past week.

"That's good," she said, leaning her palms on the counter. "How's Nancy? I haven't seen her in a while."

Steve hesitated for just a moment, enough for Rowen to catch it, but then collected himself. "Uh . . actually, I don't know. I haven't seen much of her this week."

Mrs. Byers frowned. "Oh. Well, I hope everything's okay?"

He only nodded.

"Hey, how's Will by the way?" Steve suddenly asked, seemingly averting the attention to Mrs. Byers.

She nodded as he had. "He's good . . . better," she said, lifting her shoulders. "We're just trying to take it slow."

Rowen had wanted to ask, but chose against it. Will and his circumstances were one of the first things she had been informed of upon arriving in Hawkins, and it wasn't at all in a good light — what, with the way he disappeared and supposedly came back from the dead, it had to have some trauma attached to it. She didn't want to make Mrs. Byers feel uncomfortable.

"Okay, I know I'm hot-natured and all, but I know it's not that cold outside," Steve observed, addressing Rowen.

Mrs. Byers threw him a look.

Rowen glanced over her shoulder, seeing him look her up and down with a hand on his hip. "What? I'm cold."

He lifted his brow. "I can see that."

"Steve, leave her alone," Mrs. Byers told him.

"No, it's fine," Rowen told her, turning to face him. "He was teasing me about wearing a sweater when it was in the sixties a few days ago."

The mother looked between them. "Do you guys know each other?"

"A little more than I'd like, yeah," Rowen said, turning back to the money she was trying to count.

Steve placed a hand over his chest. "Ouch."

She hummed. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Mrs. Byers smiled at them, amused. "Well, I for one understand why you're cold," she told Rowen, then leaned forward a little. She lowered her voice, saying, "Also, if it makes you feel any better, teenage boys tend to lie about being cold when they're around other people . ." She looked up, raised her brow at him. ". . They think it makes them look tougher."

Steve gaped. "I'm not," he tried, trying to salvage himself. "I really am hot-natured."

Mrs. Byers hummed in that way Rowen figured only mothers could. "Is that all you're getting?" she asked him.

He nodded, and she asked him to hand his things over — which turned out to be nothing but a bottle of ibuprofen.

"Don't freeze out there, m'kay?" she said once she collected his change and handed him the bottle.

He took it a little reluctantly. "I won't," he said. She gave him another look and he held up his hands, smiled. "I won't, I promise."

"Alright, 'cause if you do, I'm not helping you out." She pointed a finger at Rowen. "Neither is she."

Rowen looked from the older woman to Steve, giving him a look that said 'told you so'. He tried not to roll his eyes as he headed for the door, though they both caught it; and once he was gone, the two began to laugh.

"I'm sorry you had to put up with him," Mrs. Byers tried, scanning the things Rowen had placed on the counter. "He's a lot sweeter than he lets on."

"It's fine," Rowen told her. "I'm not surprised someone's giving me a hard time. We moved here from California, and the coldest it's ever gotten there is . . . well. Not like this."

"Oh, nice. Where in California?"

"San Diego. We've been here for about a month."

"Are you in school?"

Rowen shook her head. "No, I graduated in May. I'm actually glad I did 'cause it took forever for the high school here to get my brother's transcripts."

Mrs. Byers scrunched her nose, looked as if she was reliving a memory. "Yeah . . they aren't the most helpful."

"My stepsister is in Will's grade, actually. I'm tutoring a kid he's friends with, I think. Dustin?"

The mother's face lit up with recognition. "Oh, yeah! Dustin," she smiled. "Yeah, Will and him have been friends for a long time. I don't think Will's ever mentioned your sister, though. What's her name?"

"Max." Rowen refrained from correcting her when she said sister instead of stepsister.

Mrs. Byers stood in thought for a moment, then shook her head. "No . . no, he's never mentioned her."

"I wouldn't worry about it. Max isn't the most social person."

"Will isn't either," the mother admitted. A shadow crossed over Mrs. Byers's face, as if there was more to that statement than she was letting on. Rowen wondered, but didn't ask.

"Well," Mrs. Byers continued. "You're all set." She handed Rowen the things she had bought in a plastic bag, gave her the receipt. "It was really nice to meet you . . ?"

"Rowen," she introduced when Mrs. Byers trailed off.

"Rowen," the older woman echoed, a warm smile stretching across her face. "Well, it was nice to meet you, Rowen."

Rowen returned the smile. "You too."

If she was to be completely honest, after feeling the wind nip at her nose and her fingers and slice through her coat, she did not want to go back outside. The warmth of Melvald's made her feel cozy in the short time she had spent wandering the aisles, and she wanted to stay in it . . . but, of course, she knew she couldn't. Max would be waiting. So, making sure she was bundled up as much as possible, she grabbed for the door handle and pushed, stepping outside.

She didn't get too far before coming to an abrupt stop. Steve was still there, leaning against the brick under the store windows.

Rowen stuffed her hands in her pockets. "Hey, Mr. Hot-natured," she greeted. Rowen smirked after giving him a once over, noticing how he was beginning to shiver just a little. "Are you trying to prove Mrs. Byers wrong by staying out here, or are you just that dumb?"

Steve gave her a slightly offended look. "Actually," he said a matter of factly. "I was waiting for you."

Rowen gave him a silent 'ah'. "And to what do I owe this gesture?" she asked, beginning to walk down the street.

He followed, shrugged. "Can I not just say hi?"

"No," she deadpanned.

He smirked. "I ran into Samantha, by the way. She said she tried catching you Friday after school, but you never saw her?"

Rowen's stomach dropped. She hadn't even heard Samantha in the first place. "Oh . . yeah, sorry. I think I was in a rush. I got busy."

"Busy with what?"

She raised her brow. "Well, in case you haven't noticed, I have a better-than-thou brother to contend with," she said. Steve nodded as if that made perfect sense. "I'm also out of high school, unlike you."

"Which means? . ."

"Which means," she echoed. "I need a job. You know? Money. Cash. What we sadly need to live decent lives."

"And you just spent some of what you need to live a decent life on . . what?" he asked, trying to peer into her bag.

She hid it away. "The necessities."

Now it was Steve's turn to give an 'ah'. "Of course," he said, let a moment pass. "So your necessities are two '3 musketeers' bars, fancy pencils, and the longest scarf I've ever seen in my life?"

Rowen tried not to look baffled at how he somehow knew what was in her bag, though she figured she hadn't done a good job.

"I told you I was cold," she said after a moment, then turned to him. "How the hell are you not, by the way?"

Steve shrugged. "I'm just not."

Rowen gave him a look, unconvinced.

"I'm not, seriously," he said, trying to plead his case.

Her gaze went to the street. "I'm starting to think Mrs. Byers made a lot more sense than you are right now."

"The truth doesn't always have to make sense."

Rowen paused, turning back to him. "That was philosophical."

"See?" Steve said, as if it was the most obvious realization. "Mrs. Byers isn't the only smart one around here."

"I never said you weren't smart, I just didn't think you had that kind of capability."

He placed a hand on his chest again. "You know, you're making a habit of hurting me."

"You'll live."

"I don't think I will . ."

Rowen stopped in her tracks, gave him a look as if to say 'cut it out'.

He stood silent for a moment, but then eventually lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, fine."

"Thank you," she said. Her tone made him smile.

Steve looked as if he was about to say something else, stuffing his hands in his jacket — of which Rowen could not believe was warm enough for him — . . though, upon hearing a cluster of voices elsewhere, she turned her head before she could realize he had continued talking. There across the street, a group of people were walking, huddled close together, laughing at something she couldn't catch. It took her a moment to realize just who they were, but when she had seen one face in particular, her stomach dropped a little.

Rowen remembered Tommy very vividly from the Halloween party, how he insistently tried inching closer to her all night, ignoring his girlfriend, weirding her out. She didn't want him to see her, never mind talk to her. She didn't want to talk to anyone in the group she saw, actually. The fact that they were with him was enough to tell her she had better move before they caught sight of her.

"Rowen?"

She shook her head, dragged herself out of her thoughts. "What?"

He gave her a once over as if to make sure she was okay. "You still with us?"

Rowen's mouth fell open. "Oh, sorry. Um . ." she was having more difficult of a time thinking than she wanted. "Actually, could we talk later? I just remembered I'm supposed to be back at the arcade with my stepsister. Not that she cares, but I don't exactly trust her to not spend all her money on video games, so . ."

Steve's face fell a little. "Oh, uh . . yeah. Sure."

She nodded idly, half focused on him, half on what was happening across the street. Rowen began to walk further down the sidewalk. "See you."

Steve started to walk back in the direction they came. "Yeah, see you."

Without acknowledging the reply, Rowen quickly turned, picking up her pace. She hadn't been lying when she said what she said: she really didn't trust Max to be left alone with the money she had given her . . but Rowen had also wanted to put some distance between herself and the crowd across the street. She knew Tommy and the rest of the group were some of the people that flocked her brother; and because Billy was her brother, that meant that whoever flocked him would try to talk to her, therefore surround her too. She didn't want to put up with that today.

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖.

For a moment, Rowen had almost forgotten why she didn't like Susan. Being an obvious replacement for her own aside, she was a relatively decent person . . . A decent person that let her husband walk all over her, but a decent person nonetheless.

Her insistence to be something of a motherly figure to Rowen and Billy had calmed down significantly as the years went by — whether by an unseen perceptiveness or the simple fact that the siblings resisted and ignored whatever attempts she had thrown at them, Rowen did not know . . but it did. She was much more bearable than Rowen remembered her being when she was in high school and Billy was in junior high. She didn't pester, she didn't poke her perfectly tiny nose into their business, or try to become interested in things they were when it was so clear that she did not want to.

She stopped trying too hard, and Rowen could tell because the initial distaste for the woman she had felt had begun to shrink more and more with each day. Susan would never replace her own mother — never. Not by a long shot — but they could at least sit comfortably in one room together now, have dinner at the same table now.

For a moment, Rowen had been fine with that and had forgotten. She had begun to feel comfortable with Susan's presence . . . until, of course, she was abruptly reminded just exactly why she hadn't liked the woman. Even with the urge to try too hard gone, Susan did not know when to keep her mouth shut. She hadn't been ever since Rowen met her. It was the reason why Rowen and Billy didn't tell her things, why they didn't tell Max things they thought the redhead would tell her mom.

After so long, Rowen made the mistake of doing one such thing.

"Rowen, Max tells me you've been tutoring a kid in her class? How's it going?"

She had meant well, truly. Rowen knew that. Susan was trying to play the caring stepmom . . . but the thing was, Rowen didn't want her to play the caring stepmom then. She didn't want her dad to know she was tutoring, not because it was a bad thing . . she just didn't. Some things were just better kept secret from him sometimes.

Even if Rowen being a tutor would not sit well with him and would be strange, what else was she to expect? Certainly not a smile.

His jaw clenched just the slightest, he said, "You're what?"

"Tutoring," Susan answered for her casually. Rowen wished she hadn't, wished she would just brush over it and move on to the next topic.

He sat back in his seat, shrugged. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Rowen figured now was probably the time to look him in the eye and give an answer, true or not at all . . though she couldn't seem to get herself to tear her gaze away from the table. She was hoping tutoring would have been something she could have kept hidden for a little longer, selfishly savoring it. Something she could enjoy for herself without him throwing in his opinions.

Finally, Rowen moved to open her mouth, looked up to give him an answer . . . but Susan beat her to it before she could get a word out.

"It's great, right? She gets to help some kids out and do what she likes at the same time." She smiled as if she was attempting to make her husband see all the good in what Rowen was doing — which, again, Rowen appreciated . . . but trying to make him see the good in something he had already set in his mind as something else was never a good idea, even with the best intentions.

"It would be . . if she was still in school," he paused, then turned his gaze back to Rowen. "You were supposed to get a real job. Tutoring's a side-gig, Rowen, not a career."

Rowen had opted to keep her mouth shut at first . . but she couldn't help it. "It is a real job. I'm getting paid for it, aren't I?"

"I don't know. Are you?"

"Obviously," she muttered, gaze averting to something, anything else in the room. He caught it.

"Obviously?" he echoed.

She fell silent.

He shrugged. "What's so appealing about it, hm?"

"Neil, it's not that bad," Susan tried again. Rowen watched as he looked over his shoulder at her. "Besides, Rowen's taking the initiative and going after something. Isn't that what matters?"

Rowen wanted to scoff at it, though swallowed the urge down. Her dad turned away from Susan to grumble at the table, fiddle with the plate in front of him.

"Neil?" Susan tried. He said nothing.

Rowen dared to look at him, to determine whether their conversation was over . . if she could get out of there before anything else could happen.

Something in his expression shifted as it lifted. He began to drum his fingers. "Y'know, no, that's not what matters. What matters . . is why she took this job when we were told that her interview with The Post went great."

Rowen looked up this time. His gaze had found its way back to her. "That's what you said, wasn't it?"

She couldn't hold his stare; her own fell and began to dart from one thing to the other, from her hands to the edge of the table. ". . . Yes."

"So you turned them down?" he concluded. "They offered you something respectable, something that would last . . and you gave it up for something that pays less?"

She said nothing.

"Rowen . ."

"I didn't . ." she began, but then trailed to a halt. The words had been pushed out; whatever was supposed to come after had escaped her.

"You didn't what?"

Her mouth opened, closed. "I didn't . . . turn it down."

A beat passed, and his brow raised. "Well, if you didn't turn them down, then what the hell did you do?"

"They rejected me, okay?" she suddenly blurted, wanting to get it over with. "They said no. They turned me down, dad, even with all my 'respect and responsibility' shit."

Under different circumstances, Rowen might have felt proud to leave him gaping . . . but this wasn't something she had wanted him to know, and now, she was having to face it, open mouth or not.

Neil began to rub his face. "Figures . ."

Rowen clenched her jaw and stared at her lap.

"So you're telling me you just settled, hm?" he continued. "You didn't go after anything else, you just took what was easy."

"You wouldn't have been satisfied either way." The words came out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"Watch your tone," he bit.

Everything in her was telling her to bite her tongue, keep her mouth shut before she could blurt out more and he could fume more . . . but she didn't. She didn't care anymore. "No — no, I am not —" she cut herself off, tried to repress her groan. "Why are you so paranoid about this? What, you think that because I settled for tutoring, people are going to judge me? Or even worse, you?"

She knew she had touched a nerve when his frown turned into a scowl . . . but she couldn't stop. A dam had broke.

"I'm making money, alright? I'm doing something, I'm trying to get out of here so you don't have to be stuck with me anymore . ."

"Rowen, we're not stuck with you. We wanted —" Susan tried to intervene.

"Oh, don't," she snapped. "Don't even start."

"Rowen . ."

"Start what?" Susan questioned.

"Start acting like you care. If you had, you would've let me stay behind," she said, leaving her stepmother gaping. She shrugged. "You didn't trust me, why should I trust you?"

"Hey . ."

Rowen flinched, turned back to her dad.

He pointed. "You don't talk to your stepmother like that. I don't care how old you are, you don't talk to her that way."

"Rowen, we didn't want to abandon you," Susan answered finally, a little incredulous. "Okay? You had nowhere to stay."

"You didn't have any money, either," her dad added, lower.

"I had friends," Rowen bit. "Friends who were willing to help me."

"And how much were they willing to help you, hm? Enough to let you mooch off their parents for however long you felt like?"

"No —" she broke off, scoffed. "Lena was going to let me stay at her place until I got enough money for my own apartment. We talked about it for weeks —"

"Yeah, and you looked real prepared for that," he interrupted. "Not telling us that you were making plans, not telling us anything at all —"

"You didn't care!" she snapped. "I tried telling you and you didn't care, and then you just decide to drag me across the country with you —"

"I don't remember doing a lot of dragging," he interrupted again, louder this time. "As I recall, you came with us pretty willingly."

"So, what? That makes you think I want to stay here? As if I wanted to be here for the rest of my life. I would give anything to be anywhere else right now."

Rowen stood up from her seat and began to trail to her room.

"Rowen."

She ignored the way her heart pounded in her ears, the way his voice only made it worse. She could hear the anger in his tone, how it was bubbling. She heard his footsteps too, how they pounded after her own.

She felt him before she saw him, in the same way Billy had found her before they left the Halloween party. Only this time, she wasn't buzzed. She could feel the roughness, could feel the way he snatched her wrist and jerked her back. The force of it made something pull too far and she bit her lip upon feeling it, feeling a sudden sting that made her want to cry out.

Rowen had intended to stomp out of the house as Billy always did with his clunky boots, but she ended up being cornered against the wall. It felt like he had her wrist in a death grip . . but it didn't hold a candle to his glare.

They both took in a couple of breaths before he spoke.

"What did I tell you?" His voice was low, daring her to argue.

She couldn't find her voice for a moment, too long for his liking.

His grip tightened and he repeated, "What did I tell you?"

Rowen tensed. "No backtalk . ." she eventually muttered.

"Right . ." he said, loosening his grip just a touch as he took in a breath. "Now, I want you to go apologize to her. I want you to listen . . because if you ever talk back to me like that again . ." he trailed off, but she knew what he was going to say. He knew she knew. He didn't have to say it.

"Rowen?"

She no longer felt the death grip around her wrist, covering it with her hand, feeling it begin to throb. Her dad composed himself, straightening his shirt out of habit.

Max stood in the doorway, chancing glances at Neil but keeping her gaze mainly on Rowen. "Hey, uh . . I forgot to tell you, Dustin mentioned his mom said you could stay for dinner after you're done tutoring tonight . . If you wanted, anyway."

Neil looked at his daughter expectantly.

Rowen looked between them. "Uh, okay . . I'll think about it. Thanks."

Max nodded, retreating to the back of their room immediately, where her stepdad could not see her.

"Max knows the kid?" he asked.

Rowen's gaze jerked back to him. "Yeah, uh . . Dustin's a kid in her class."

She attempted to walk away from him for a second time, but he grabbed her wrist as he did before. Rowen bit her lip again, swallowing the hiss she would've let out due to the pressure.

"Listen to me," he muttered again. "You're gonna go to that kid's house. You're gonna teach him, and you're going to teach him well so his parents will ask you to come back. Am I understood?"

Rowen swallowed. "Yes, sir."

"And if you start slacking? If you only make things worse for the kid —"

"I won't," she interrupted, staring up at him as he stared down at her. Interruptions normally resulted in yells, or grips becoming tighter than they were . . but he did neither.

He let go of her wrist. "I guess we'll see."

Rowen dropped her gaze, lifted her wrist up to her chest as if it would help make it feel better. It was truly throbbing now, sore.

"You can take the truck, but your brother's going to have to give his up after tonight. Tell him when he gets back."

Rowen nodded even though his gaze was already turned away from her. She watched him disappear back into the hall, breathing heavily, listening to his footsteps. She bolted into her room once his door clicked shut, hands running over her eyes as they shut tightly, dragging down to wipe at her cheeks. Max watched, though said nothing. Rowen looked around her room for her bag, threw it over her shoulder, and grabbed the keys to her dad's car without a word.

She didn't apologize to Susan.

Rowen rushed down the back porch to the faded, tan and white truck, pushing the key into the lock on the side.

The back door creaked. She paused, turned. Max came after her, stopping on the steps.

"I should've told you about Dustin earlier."

Rowen took in a breath, and eventually shook her head. "It's fine."

They both knew she didn't actually have to tutor Dustin. Rowen didn't even think about it until Max used it as an excuse.

"Are you okay?" The redhead already knew the answer, but she asked anyway.

Rowen took in another breath and shrugged. "I've been worse."

Max lingered for a moment, but then she trailed down the steps towards Rowen, and wrapped her in a hug.

Rowen hugged her back, ruffled her hair. "Thanks for saving my ass, Speedster," she muttered.

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑖𝑖.

The difference between California and Hawkins was that Rowen couldn't go anywhere in this freezing little town.

In San Diego, she always had the option to run away to a friend's house for the night until her dad blew off steam. She always had another way out, even if it was temporary . . . but in Hawkins? There was nowhere, as far as she knew. Her friends weren't ten minutes away anymore, or a bike ride down the road, waiting for her with their windows cracked open. They were there . . she was here.

She hated it. She hated that she knew they probably weren't missing her as much as she missed them. They didn't hate their home lives as much as she did . . didn't want to get out so, so badly. They've probably already moved on, she thought.

That only made her more upset. It only made the throbbing in her wrist all the more obvious. Sensitive. It hurt to use it to steer, but she used it anyway. She had to if she didn't want to crash.

Rowen didn't know anyone in Hawkins as she did at home. She didn't think she ever would . . or, at least, wouldn't know anyone well enough to knock on their door at night, asking to sleep over for reasons she didn't want to talk about. She had that choice in San Diego, able to avoid the glares and the anger that she didn't want to go back to . . .

Tears started to trickle down her cheeks.

She told herself a drive would be enough, that she would ride around town for a while until everything felt somewhat stable again . . but now that she was alone, isolated with her thoughts, she felt herself going in the opposite direction. Nothing was helping, keeping her cheeks from getting wet or her nose from getting stuffy. Rowen never thought she was a pretty crier — really, who cared? . . Although now, she began to wish she was. Pretty criers didn't need tissues every second and had no trouble seeing through their tears.

It began to get to where she couldn't see.

Rowen didn't want to cry . . but the tears spilled, and she found herself letting them spill. She needed to stop somewhere.

She chose to turn into the first lot she saw, a lone streetlight that flickered a dull shade of yellow over it. She twisted the steering wheel left, pulling into the area and snagging the first spot she saw without a second thought. She didn't even pay attention to where she had pulled the truck into. She barely had enough time to stop, park, and sit back in the driver's seat before she felt herself heaving. It was as if a breakdown was forcing itself on her.

Rowen let her arms fold over the wheel, rested her face on top of them. The pressure on her wrist from the weight of her head made her wince, but she didn't care. It wasn't enough to make her open her eyes and stare out at whatever was around her. Whatever the wind was blowing through. Whatever that awful silence was wrapping itself around. She wouldn't let it be her right now. She had enough to put up with, unlike the smiling faces she saw earlier that day.

Everyone in this town always looked so happy. So painfully happy that it made her cringe sometimes . . She was sure some of it was genuine, but the majority of it was so fake, so intentional that it was starting to freak her out a little. Were people so desperate to convince her, each other, that everything was fine? Everything was not fine, she knew that. Not after her neighbor told them about just what had happened in the year prior.

He didn't tell her every detail, no. He told her the truth of it, the general information about the events. Rowen hadn't really wanted to know the finer details of two disappearances, in truth, not after all the glimpses she had had of the woods the two supposedly trailed into, and never came out of. Not after feeling that dead silence creep from the brush and attempt to wrap around her, coax her to come closer . . . But when Max had come home one day, itching to unload everything she had been told, Rowen could not stop her.

A friend of Will Byers had been the one to tell her why he disappeared, how he disappeared, how long he had disappeared for. They had a funeral for him. People called him Zombie Boy.

He had come back . . . Barbara didn't, and some irrational part within Rowen was begging her to stay wary of the woods for fear that she might find Barbara's decomposed body.

Will was one of the four boys Max had referred to as a stalker, to her surprise. He had been one of the Ghostbuster boys staring at her from the front of the middle school.

She didn't get it. It didn't make any sense . . . It wasn't helping. There was a kid who had come back from the dead, living in the midst of fake smiles and ignorant stares, and it wasn't helping. She felt almost . . angry. Angry for two people she didn't know. Most definitely angry at herself.

TAP! TAP!

She jumped. Rowen sniffed, furiously wiping at her cheeks. Company was the one thing she was trying to avoid in this unplanned late-night drive, and the last thing she wanted. She looked to her left, seeing a gruff, bearded face.

"You can't park here, kid," he informed, pointing to his right. "Unless you were gonna come into the police station, you gotta move."

She sniffed again, rolling down her window. "Sorry uh . ." she paused, rubbing at her eyes. "Sorry. I had to stop and this was the first place I could find . . I can't drive with blurry vision."

Rowen wiped at her eyes once more, turned . . then paused. She was abruptly reminded that it was Hopper she was talking to.

His stare softened, turned into one of realization. "Hey, Rowen."

She failed at giving a weak smile. "Hi."

"Everything alright?"

Rowen nodded quickly, turning away from him. "Yeah . . fine."

Hopper's lips pressed in a tight line, the hat on his head was adjusted. Now that she thought about it, she probably didn't look fine.

He took a step back, beckoning her outside. "Step out for a second?"

It wasn't a question. She knew it wasn't, even if he made it sound as if it was.

Rowen unbuckled her seatbelt, stepped out, pushed the truck door closed. Rowen crossed her arms. She expected something along the lines of 'you're clearly not okay, now tell me what's up' to come out of his mouth . . but he didn't. He took her appearance in, and suddenly she was very aware of her throbbing wrist, hoping it hadn't begun to form a bruise.

A beat passed. The chief let out a long sigh. "So, I was gonna give you the ole 'what are you doing crying in the police station parking lot at night' question, but with that look on your face I don't think I'm gonna get an answer."

Rowen wiped at her nose with her sleeve. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't talk to anyone about the things that 'leave me crying in a police station parking lot at night'."

He hummed. "Well, things that leave you crying aside . ." he lifted a finger, ". . if I can tell you anything, it's that the remedy for all problems is at Benny's Diner."

Rowen gave him a confused look.

"There's this guy there that makes the best apple pie. It'll brighten your mood no matter what, I guarantee it."

Normally, Rowen would have rolled her eyes at a joke like that, but with the way he exaggerated his words, she couldn't help the amused look that came across her face. She had, in fact, been to Benny's already . . though she never recalled seeing an apple pie.

"Do you think they could get me a job too?" she asked, the amused expression now a frown. Rowen drew in a breath before dropping her gaze to her feet.

"You know, you shouldn't have to worry so much about a job," Hopper offered. "Focus on school first. Graduate."

"I graduated in May, actually," Rowen said, quick to correct him. "And I decided to not go to college, so . . my dad's pushing me to find something."

The chief frowned. "Does he know you're out here right now?"

"He thinks I'm tutoring a kid in my sister's class . . though it's not exactly what he'd call respectable . . " she said, quoting her fingers.

Hopper began to rub his beard. He was beginning to feel frustrated — not with Rowen, but the situation he started to see and understand. She was here, sniffling and wiping at her cheeks because of her dad because she couldn't find a job . . . And the guy was pushing her to such an extent that she lied to get out of the house. There was a bruise on her wrist . .

He didn't want to assume. God, he really didn't.

Hopper had seen enough bruises in his lifetime whether they were on others or on himself. He knew when they were old and when they were new. The light splotches that Rowen tried covering with her coat sleeve were far from old and the way they wrapped around her wrist told him she wasn't clumsy . . It made that oh-so-familiar anger bubble up in his chest, the same anger that he felt when he realized the body in the morgue was not Will Byers but a dummy replica.

Could they offer her a job at Benny's? . . No. No, they had plenty of waiters, waitresses, cooks . . . Melvald's? . . No. She would hate every waking moment, even if Joyce was there. Joyce didn't even like being there. Hawkins rarely saw new residents, and if Rowen had been looking for a job since she moved to town, then most of the stores that came to mind were out of the question.

He didn't have anywhere else that would take a chance on her . . except, he reminded himself, for one place.

"Why don't you come work at Hawkins PD?" he offered.

"What?"

"Here, at the police station," Hopper explained. "You could work here."

Her mouth fell open, closed. She was gaping like a fish. "You're serious?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, why not? It's nothing too difficult. You just take calls and write down what you hear, make sure the guys know what's goin' down for the day. Flo's our secretary, but she works her ass off, answers the phone nonstop. She could use the help."

Rowen was at a loss. "But . . wait — don't you need qualifications to work at a police station? Like a college degree or something?"

Hopper smiled. "You'll be answering phones and writing down reports. I think you'll be fine . ." he assured her. "The most interesting thing we've gotten in Hawkins in the past few years was an owl attacking an elderly woman's hair because it thought it was a nest."

Even he thinks this place is dull, she thought. So much for the smiling faces.

"You said you're eighteen, right?"

She nodded.

"So you're old enough. And you said you graduated, so the hours won't be an issue."

Rowen shifted on her feet, attempting to process everything she was hearing. She knew her mouth hung open but she couldn't find it in her to close it.

"And to start . ." he reached in his back pocket. Hopper pulled out his wallet, snatching a ten from one side before handing it to her. "So your dad doesn't ask why you came back from tutoring with no money."

She probably looked like a statue, staring at him in the blank, hollow way she was. Rowen broke herself out of it, looking down at the green bill he held. She took it. "Can you actually do this?" she asked tentatively, folding the money in her hand. "Hire me, I mean."

"I'm the chief of police, I could replace Flo with you if I wanted to."

"Really?"

"No, she'd kill me if I did that, actually . ." he admitted. ". . but I can still hire you."

Her gaze dropped down to the money between her fingers. Rowen bit her lip, tossing his offer back and forth in her head.

"So . . this job . . . When would you want me to start?" she asked.

He smiled. "Just come by tomorrow morning and I'll fill you in on everything. You don't have to start then, we'll just get you adjusted."

For a moment Rowen forgot how to talk. She didn't realize all she had done was nod until it hit her, making her shake her head. "Um . . thanks . ." she said, suddenly louder than the previous mumbling. ". . Really, thank you. You're really helping me out."

Hopper shrugged as if he was saying it was no problem without ever opening his mouth.

She looked back down to the money in her hand, stuffed it in her jean pocket.

"You get home safe, alright?"

Rowen usually found that those words struck a nerve any time they would be thrown her way. She avoided them almost, grumbled at them when they were given . . but they didn't this time. Hearing the chief say those words almost felt . . comforting. Comforting in the way the ten-dollar bill felt sitting in her back pocket.

Hopper turned and made a b-line for the front door of the station. Once reaching it though, he paused and turned back around.

"Hey!" he called. "Don't come in before me. Come in around eleven o'clock, alright?"

Rowen nodded as she grabbed for the door of her dad's truck. "Got it."

"Monday."

"Monday," she agreed.

Hopper dipped his head in approval, gripping the door handle. "Good. Now get out of my parking lot."

. . .

〝 𝑖𝑣.

When the porch lights of their house came into view, Rowen noted how Billy's car filled the empty space behind the porch. She rolled her eyes at how he parked, attempting to maneuver around the Camaro so she could get their dad's truck in its usual spot. He hated when it wasn't.

The key was twisted, the engine turned off. She checked her watch. 7:50. Around an hour and a half passed.

That's enough time to be gone for a tutoring session, right? she thought.

As far as she could see, hear through the howl of the wind that blew relentlessly, the house was quiet; even as she climbed the back porch, even as the steps creaked and the door creaked. There was nothing. An empty silence, save the soft murmur of the television.

When she came inside, it was the first thing she heard. Her dad's snoring was the second thing she heard. He was asleep in his recliner, thankfully. It meant Rowen could retreat to her room without going through an uncomfortable stare-down or any more angry conversations.

Quietly, she stepped from the living room to the dining room, to her bedroom . . . The growling in her stomach made her stop. Max had mentioned Dustin's mother offering to make dinner, so she couldn't snag any leftovers. Rowen mentally groaned, wishing she hadn't said that.

She picked a banana from the bunch on the kitchen counter, deciding to eat it in her room. Rowen twisted the doorknob open, walking in with every intention to throw her bag on her bed . . . but something was occupying it. Max laid in the middle, sprawled, knocked out with paper lying at her feet.

Rowen smirked. Fell asleep doing homework, she thought. She's turning into me.

Instead, she set her bag down near her nightstand, tugging out the ten-dollar bill from her jeans and stuffing it inside the front pocket. Truthfully, she had a hard time believing that her conversation with Hopper actually happened. All this time spent looking for a job and she finally found one after parking somewhere she wasn't supposed to. She was thankful for it, of course . . but the irony. It was painful, physically painful.

Changing into a long sleeve shirt and pajama pants, she collected the multiple pieces of paper off her bed, trying to be quiet, annoyed with the loud crumbles of her stepsister's homework. The pile was placed onto Max's bed, as were her pencil and shoes, then her bookbag. Rowen didn't have the heart to wake her up and move her, so she attempted to slide the redhead over to one side instead.

Another door clicked open.

"Ro?"

She turned to see her brother, barefoot but still in the same clothes he'd been wearing all day. He looked exactly the same as he did that morning, all except for the expression on his face . . Someone looked angry.

Her brows drew together. "What crawled up your butt and died?" she muttered.

"Where were you?" he demanded quietly.

"Why do you care?"

"Just answer the question," he grumbled.

"Just answer the question." she mocked.

Rowen pushed him out, stepped into the hall with him, pulled her bedroom door closed. "I was tutoring a kid in Max's class," she told him, arms crossed. "Again, why do you care?"

Billy huffed. "Well, while you were out, you missed a screaming match."

"What are you talking about?"

They heard a shift in another room. Billy jerked his head in the direction of the living room, scowled. He grabbed her wrist, dragging her into his room.

"Ow!" she winced, whisper-yelling. He grabbed the throbbing one. "Billy let go!"

But he kept his grip, scoffing. "Don't be a baby —"

"Seriously," she interrupted. "Let. Go."

She jerked her wrist out of his grip, covering it with her other hand.

Billy's gaze trailed down to it. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

"Don't bullshit me, Ro," he muttered, grabbing at her hand so he could see the spot she was hiding. She had no choice but to extend her arm out, giving him a clear view of the beginnings of a bruise she had hoped would not form.

Billy glared down at it. "Did he do this?"

She said nothing.

"Is that why he started yelling at me when I got back?" he pushed.

Still no answer.

"Rowen."

"Yes, okay," she snapped. "I mean . . . it might be."

Billy glared daggers. He mumbled something under his breath, moving past her.

Rowen kept him from opening the door. "Hey — don't . ."

He tried getting past her, but she only pushed him back.

"Don't be an idiot," she hissed.

"You're the idiot letting him get away with that," he snapped.

"Oh, so you don't let him get away with what he does to you, hm?"

Billy shut his mouth.

"Do I want him to get away with it? No. Is he still our dad? Sadly. We can point fingers at him all we want, but he'd still get away with it."

She was only making him more frustrated. "So, what? You're telling me to ignore it?" he hissed.

"You think not ignoring is any better?" Rowen snapped. "Standing up to him only makes him angrier."

Rowen felt even more deflated if it was at all possible. Admitting what she admitted to him made her feel helpless . . stuck. As if she wasn't both already.

She knew Billy did too . . only he had a nearly obsessive need to be in control of everything, and the situation between them and their dad was no exception. It was the one thing he couldn't steer — tried to, but failed. It didn't bother her as much as it bothered him. If it did, she would have let him walk out of his room, let him try to steer anyway, and deal with the consequences later.

Billy began to shift back and forth on his feet, dragging his hands down his face. He plopped onto his bed. "This is bullshit."

"No shit, Captain Obvious."

He glared up at her.

"You remember what we promised, right?" she asked.

Billy nearly rolled his eyes, but he nodded all the same.

"Maybe when we get back home you won't be so pissy," she muttered.

Rowen could've sworn she almost got a laugh out of him. The corners of his mouth just barely twisted up . . but she didn't care to analyze it, She was tired . . too tired. She began to turn his doorknob.

"Back to the beach," Billy muttered.

She paused, looked over her shoulder. The beach. She nodded to herself. Rowen opened the door, shut it quietly behind her.

. . .