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Hawkins, Early 1982
Lowen Odettewas forbidden fruit. She was the goddess Enyo. The goddess of destruction. She delighted in war and destruction, and especially the bloodshed of teenage boys. She was a maneater.
She was mean. Demanding. Fruitless. Untrustworthy. Near heartless. But there was something about Steve Harrington that just made her want to bite.
She spotted him when he was merely a junior, his status increasing as the days carried on. King Steve, King Steve, King Steve.He was a god. Lowen never wanted a taste so bad. She didn't even care if he came along with baggage, she'd take it.
The only problem was, she was older than him. She was on her way out of town, bound to graduate top of her class with a gold ticket all the way to Harvard. She couldn't indulge in new books. She needed to finish hers.
But, fuck. Steve Harrington was poisonous. He knew what he was capable of. Gained confidence. Soft hair. Features sculpted of liquid diamonds by the gods. His fingertips would graze your skin, you'd get chills, and he was all smirk. You'd feel that touch for days, it was dangerous. Chilling.
Lowen would take the poison if she meant she could have Steve. In every way possible.
And she meant that, every way possible. A tie bound for life type thing, but it would only be one sided.
Tendrils of smoke clouds the room, Lowen's head nearly hangs of the edge of the boyish bedding as she watches. She watches watches watches. Cigarette dangling dangerously from the edge of her lips. Steve sits at his desk chair, hair messy and without style. He lacks clothes, just a mere pair of dark briefs. An acoustic guitar sits in his lap, his fingers play and he hums along.
Lowen thinks she's in love.
She hates it, deeply. She doesn't need to fall in love, especially with a boy who she'll have to leave because she refuses to live her life here. And for some reason, Steve Harrington feels tied down to Hawkins, Indiana. She doesn't get it. Doesn't understand it.
Steve hasn't gotten what he's wanted from Hawkins.
Lowen has. She's over it.
"Where'd you learn how to play? It's beautiful." Steve's fingers pause at the strings, he shrugs gently and doesn't look up at the girl a year older than him. "TV, I guess. Parents aren't around a lot.. I'm sure you've noticed."
Lowen hums, knocking at her killing stick over an ashtray. "Don't feel bad 'bout it. Parents aren't worth it. They aren't shit, honey." Steve hums, still staring down at the guitar in his grip. He knows Lowen's father isn't in the picture, and he knows her mother is. Lowen's mother likes her, loves her. But he doesn't mention the fact that they don't know the same troubles.
Lowen watches the boy, she takes a sigh. Smoke moving out with it. The girl kicks her bare legs off the bed, her skin with indents of fingertip bruises and lace underwear and a dark blue zip up too big on her. It's his. This is all she's wearing. Lowen moves towards the boy, cigarette between her teeth, a hand slides up Steve's arm—lingering at his bare shoulder. It leaves chills on his skin. Steve gently bites his lip, shoulders caving in a little on himself. Lowen's other hand tilts the boys chin up, his dark eyes glaze into her honey marble irises.
"Hi, Lo." His voice is a whisper.
Lowen smiles gently down at the boy. "Stevie. Hi."
His eyes get lost in hers, and it makes her physically sick. Steve is a boy who loves too hard, Lowen is a girl who doesn't love enough. She hates it about herself, but she can't change it. She's tried. She doesn't know how.
The boy moves the guitar away, and Lowen slides onto his lap gently. Tan thighs with dainty tattoos on pale thighs. Her clothed chest melting into his, and the gold thin chain he wears around his neck tickles her collar bones that slip out of the jacket. Her arms weave around his neck. He's incredibly close, it makes his heart drum loud.
Lowen's mind eats her alive, and should tell him. She really should, but she can't. She'll know he'll hate himself, and that's the last thing she wants—quite frankly.
"Steve?"
He seems to leave his daze, eyes falling back onto her system. "Yeah?" He talks so soft with her, he's like a child. He is a child. Lowen smiles gently, kissing the corner of his lips.
"I love you."
Hawkins, Early - Middle 1983
Everytime Steve hates himself too much, he thinks of three words he once heard.
I love you.
The first and last time Lowen Odette had ever told him that, because three weeks later she was gone. Graduated and didn't leave a note.
Steve Harrington didn't know what heartbreak was until then.
The days his father was home, he'd try and slice his sobs with the heating shower. The days his father wasn't home was the worst. Steve didn't even care if his mother was home, he would cry. And Candy Harrington would always peak into the crack of her sons bedroom.
Steve should've been over it.
It's been more than a year.
But the way she left? It didn't feel right.
But Steve didn't know what was ever right.
Dark heavenly eyes were glazing into a near empty pack of cigarettes. The paper box was crumbled in some areas from the abuse of his pockets, it was lacking it's popping color too. There were two cigarettes left, and he wondered if he should just smoke both right now before he fell into the oasis of the weekend sleep.
He'd been begged to a party. He said fuck off and didn't show.
He'd lost a lot of heart after Lowen. He'd gotten meaner. More popular even with the heat of hate in his chest. He didn't understand how people could like him more when he was being cruel? What did that say about people? That they really didn't care about what Steve truly was. To them he was hair, looks, face, and sex. Not a teenage boy who was pained by love.
"Steve." He hadn't realized his eyes had watered over until his attention snapped away from the cigarettes. He spun around, knocking the killing sticks off his night stand. Candy sighed at her sons cracked door, she pushed it open a bit more and Steve's heart crawled to his throat at his mother's look. Had something Harrington Family Destroying finally happened? Was his father dead? Was his mother calling it quits on her kid and money? Would he be stuck with his dad, alone?
Steve didn't like the look on his mothers face.
He gently cleared his throat, "what's wrong?" Candy looked down at the hall as she rushed out air from her glossed lips. She could've thrown up. This could've made her hate her son more.
It would. It did.
"There was a baby on the front step. In an ugly wicker basket, with a note. Her hair looks dark, like yours?"
Steve Harrington hoped Lowen Odette was dead and rotting in hell for as long as time lasted.
