BAD TIMES • STEVE HARRINGTON

17. don't think, don't see

He felt sorry for her, but he wouldn't feel sorry for him self. Not anymore.

Steve had said that his father was too judgmental and always looking to teach some lesson in the worst way possible. It was how he'd ended up at Scoops Ahoy in the first place. His father couldn't stand the idea of his son being a failure, and when Steve couldn't get into the right college, he'd practically shunned him then took away his allowance.

Diana had spent a long while trying to convince him that his future wasn't over. College wasn't everything, but regardless, he could always try again. That night, his father hadn't wanted to hear as much, though.

By then he'd been working at Family Video, the local video store, for nearly four months much to his father's chagrin. Mr. Harrington continuously pointed out that it was nothing but a dead end job and that Steve would have to grow up eventually, as if he hadn't begun to do good for himself.

During summer, he'd given Diana a key to his apartment that he'd gotten all on his own, and they'd found mismatch furniture all around town to go inside the small but cozy living space. He'd said it felt like more of a home than his house ever had, and after that dinner, Diana had finally understood what he meant.

When dinner was over, they stopped by her house where there was laughter and Christmas music and hugs and annoying little siblings, who were, in fact, not so little anymore. Her mother had kissed Steve's cheeks and mussed his perfect hair, but it only made him hug her tighter in the end. Her father had made them play a game of cards, which she shamelessly cheated in.

For a moment, then, things had felt okay, but when it was time for her to sleep that night, at Steve's apartment no less, her dread had only come back in full force, but at least she could rest with him near.

Diana slept with Steve for the first time on January 3, 1986. It was good, great even, but after the second go, she promised herself she wouldn't do it again until she could be sure she wasn't doing it for the wrong reasons. When she didn't have poisonous knowledge changing the very make up of her being, she would be able to give herself to him in a way that mattered to her as much it mattered to him.

She went back to school, and things weren't much better. The world was still on fire, and she couldn't tell anyone. Still, she was blocking out so much of it that she couldn't even see what next week looked like let alone anything months ahead. That didn't stop the stress or the fear from constantly mounting onto each other.

One night it'd gotten so bad that she couldn't help but to pick up her phone, gripping tightly onto the purple cord, tears clinging to her skin, and her voice an unstable mess.

It was after three in the morning, and her roommate was no where to be found, which was not a novelty. The phone had rung four times before a quiet, groggy voice answered. "Hello?"

"Steve," she'd murmured, her voice small, yet hearing him had already calmed her a bit.

"Diana," he'd said, instantly more alert. "Are you okay?"

She could tell him everything. She could tell him about the death—about the fire that was burning her thoughts and that would be possibly burning Hawkins too. She'd thought that what she saw was set in stone, but she'd begun to notice that that wasn't true. People changed their minds and made mistakes and did things wrong.

Her grandmother had lied to her about that.

The future was all about choices and perhaps that's what kept her from completely falling off the face of the Earth, but this vision was just so persistent.

I'm afraid. "Can't sleep," she'd said, instead. "Nightmares."

He was quiet for a second. "Are they just nightmares, Di?"

She could imagine the look on his face. Concern. Love too, she supposed. They knew each other too well.

It'd been a mistake to call.

"I shouldn't have called," she told him, recoiling and preparing to end the call.

"Di, don't hang up. Don't hang up, baby, just—" He'd checked to see that she was still on the phone, and began again. "We can talk about something else." She'd waited. "Your brother came into the store the other day. He was asking for help with with his jump shot. Says he'll be off the bench in no time."

She'd sighed minutely, wiping at her cheeks. "What's the verdict?"

"Don't tell him I said anything—for his ego's sake— but he's good, really good. Coach won't give much play time to a freshman, though. He thinks everyone has to ride the bench at some point— a learning experience or something."

"Maybe that's why we hardly ever go to the finals," Diana had murmured.

"I think they've got it this year," he let out with a yawn, the phone crackling a bit. "If things go right, they'll play in the championship sometime before Spring Break. You're still coming home, aren't you?"

The thing about Hawkins and the Upside Down and the Mind Flayer and fire and death was that Eleven—Jane Hopper depending on whom you asked— had always been there to rectify the problem. This time, assuming there would even be a this time, the girl was powerless to these otherworldly beings. Eleven's powers had disappeared, so in truth, what could any of them do?

Diana had supposed she could learn how to defend herself, in every sense of the word, and give herself something else to stress over, but there wasn't enough time and she could feel the truth of that in her bones. She could warn people, but who would believe her? The people she loved would, but that wouldn't do her any good. All she had was a thought— a nightmare—and months wasted in the darkness of her dorm room.

She hadn't thought it would hurt to return to Hawkins for one week, though, so she'd reassured Steve because she loved him, and because he'd made the night bearable for her. "Of course. I'll be there."

And even though she shouldn't have been, she was glad she was.

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