Clean cut American kid ~ Stranger things

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Hopper drives impossibly slow through the streets of the neighbourhood. He seems drained as well. All three of us have been sitting in silence since we left the lab. The car stops in front of the house I call home. I collect myself and climb out.

"Hey kid," Hopper calls before I get to closing the car door. I turn around and look at him. "It's all over now. You're good."

I smile at him. He closes the door and drive off, waving before he disappears from view. I walk into the dark house and am immediately engulfed in Steve's arms. I feel like I can finally let go. I wrap my arms around him and relax into his hold. We did it. We're safe. I'm safe.

"I was so worried," Steve says.

My face is buried in his jacket. The smell of filth and sweat is overwhelming to my nostrils but I'm immune at the moment.

"What did I miss?" I say jokingly and lean away from his stench. I probably don't smell like roses myself. I look at my brother's face and it looks like he has a strange shadow across his face. I reach for the light switch.

"Oh god, what happened?" There's dried blood covering his nose, and he's got bruises across his cheeks and forehead. Steve turns away from me.

"Nothing. It looks worse than it is."

I narrow my eyes. Why does he not tell me? It's impossible that a demodog did it. He would have been sliced to a pulp. He fought a person.

"Steve!"

I grab his arm and make him face me. He looks ashamed. Either it was someone he don't want to fight with or he got his ass handed to him.

"Who was it?"

"No one, don't worry about it."

I try to come up with a person who would get angry enough to be violent.

"Hargrove."

"How is that your first guess?" Steve groans and throw his hands in the air in exasperation.

"What did you fight about?" I ask and hide how complacent I am.

"I didn't fight. He came to Byers' house looking for his little sister and started punching when she didn't leave with him."

"Did he hurt her?" My fists clench to contain my anger. I will end him. Steve shakes his head.

"No he didn't."

I sigh in relief.

"What's going on?" Steve asks.

"With Billy?" My voice is unnaturally squeaky.

"Ew, of course not. I meant you, are you all right?"

"Oh, of course." I mentally sigh in relief. "I think I will be all right from now. With everything. El is going to help me get used to my..." I wave my hand in the air, as if casting some sort of spell. "You know." I'm uncomfortable putting words to this part of me. Steve nods.

"Right now I just want to take a shower and pass out." I smile.

"Oh yeah, me too."

"I just don't know how to deal with this shit." I shake my casted arm. It's heavy. "Is this waterproof?"

"Wow you're actually stupid sometimes." Steve shakes his head, but he seems a sly about it. "You have to wrap it in plastic."

I roll my eyes. Can't know everything. Steve digs out a grocery bag and slips it over my arm. He covers the cast and ties the bag at the top, before he finds a roll of duct tape and wraps it securely around the edge.

"I can't feel my arm now."

"It's broken, isn't that a good thing?"

I look at him strangely. Don't know if he's stupid or brilliant.

"You baffle me sometimes."

"You can thank me later." He smiles.

I dive forward and wrap my arms around him again.

"Thank you."

He hugs me back.

"You sure you're ok?" He asks hesitantly.

I nod. To say I'm relieved is an understatement. Multiple times the last few weeks I thought my life was ending from something different each time. It has been stressful and terrifying. I have a hard time understanding that it is over. I'm safe. Actually I'm more than that. I'm in control. For the first time in my life.

"You can shower first, good night." He gives me a squeeze before he lets go. He smiles before he disappears into his room. I get into the bathroom and meet my reflection in the mirror. Dried blood and grime covers my face. Oh how much I want this shower. I strip of my clothes and put them in a pile. I don't know if one wash is going to be enough to get the smell out of them. There are bruises all over my shins, and my knees and elbows are skinned. I have earned this shower.

I turn the warm water on and get behind the curtain. The shower is heavenly. I meticulously lather my body with soap and I can feel how my head gets lighter as the dirt and grease rinses from my hair. I curse to myself and have to take deep breaths when the cast is in my way. It would have been more enjoyable if I didn't have to deal with that. Once my skin is bright red from all the scrubbing but squeaky clean I wrap a towel around myself and get into my room. My bed is made and the room is clean. I don't remember when I was here last but it can't be more than just a few days ago. It feels like a lifetime. So much happened in those few days. Ugh, stop being sentimental Sherry.

I dig out a worn and impossibly soft t-shirt from my closet and a pair of pantyhose follow them out. I stare at them. Then at my cast. The number on it makes me uneasy. It's like a product label. I'm not that anymore. I grab the scissors from my desk and cut the tights. I slip them over the white cast, covering it and the disgusting scribble. It looks more punk rock now too. Or perhaps it looks like an accessory Madonna would wear. Shit. Whatever.

I crawl into bed and turn of the light. I allow myself to deflate against the soft mattress. Oh god it feels good. I'm going to pass out fast. I turn on my back. Ugh, I can't find a comfortable position for my casted arm. Across my stomach. It's too heavy. Next to my head. I feel the circulation cutting off. I flip onto my side and accidentally whack myself in the head. Fuck.

I sit up. I'm restless. I have to do something to exhaust myself. I turn the lights on. I know what I could do. I have some unfinished business. I will take care of that and then I think I'd be able to breathe for real.