𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐢 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 | steve harrington

chapter twelve

Rory Henderson had been going out every other night to bars with her fake Id and a red lipstick smile. She'd been low necklines and strappy heels, beaded bags and fluttering eyelashes. Whiskey doubled with a flask, ice clinking against a glass as she pushed her dress up over milky thighs. It worked every time.

She'd always be back the next morning and since the horribly awkward mishap with Steve Harrington she'd stopped allowing anyone to bite her neck and she hadn't gotten down on her knees. But her lips did get swollen, her pride did get deflated and she'd sit in a bath murky with life wondering why she had to keep doing it.

True answer was that she didn't. In fact she didn't even want to any more. Fucking guys in bathrooms was getting boring, she was wanted to feel love. That's what she needed, that's the idea that enticed her. Rory wanted to fall in love, she wanted to be appreciated. Because this had never happened, she was left in sticky stalls with her hands planted firmly on rickety doors because it was the only way she'd feel needed.

Of course it didn't feel bad and if it had done she wouldn't keep doing it. But she felt disgusting when she collapsed into bed knowing exactly who she was. Rory was the kind of girl to admit she was a whore even when it wasn't the sex that she craved. It was the small 'you're doing good', maybe the occasional kiss that was gentle or a touch that didn't leave bruised fingertips. It was the compliments like 'you're so beautiful' and 'I'm gonna look after you'. It was the reassurance when finished if she felt alright and sometimes the holding hands and the walking her to her car. Problem was, most men weren't actually like this and she was left sobbing in empty bathroom stalls throwing up from disgust with sweat ruining her curls.

The next days she'd go to work and dress in a sailors uniform, the contrast was weirdly comfortable. She'd nap in the back room, curled up with her knees held against her because she wasn't embarrassed anymore and didn't feel the need to stretch out in case anyone saw her. She'd always have nightmares that clawed at her mind and Steve would never comment on how tired she was.

On the nights she didn't go out, Rory would smoke weed and sleep for hours. She liked long baths and contemplation. She liked skincare routines and bowls full of fruit. Rory liked washing her hair in cold water and having honey on toast. Her life was spent painting her toenails a new shade of cherry and reading columns in magazines that caught up with celebrities. But she also got dirt under her fingernails when she walked in the woods and ran. Rory also got sticks in her hair when she climbed trees and tried to find her childhood before it flew away like birds in the sky.

It was the collage of lives that made her feel that when she looked into the mirror she was staring at many different versions of herself. The slut who snuck out in tight dresses wanting to fill some sense of emptiness, the fake teenage girl who wanted to be pretty again and the person she had been when Dustin had thought her cool and paraded her around with friendship bracelets and smiles.

She thought about herself a lot, what people saw and expected of her. A lot of that had gone down the drain when she left, or more accurately when she came back. Indianapolis had been perfect for shaping new perceptions but at home in Hawkins, she'd always be the girl who left Dustin.

When Rory walked into work on Thursday morning, close to the end of November. Steve was standing looking exasperated with both hands planted on the counter in front of him.

"You might as well turn around and go the other way" Steve called as Rory walked up to him already in red and blue.

"Why? What's happened?"

"Damn freezer broke" Steve kicked the side of the large display of ice creams and Rory saw the colours slosh inside, purely liquid.

"Shit" she whispered, "don't you have another freezer?"