❝ in the seventeen years i've been on this earth, i've never met anyone as f#@!%^g stupid as you. ❞
in which two kids on the opposite sides of the social spectrum find solace in one another during a strange period of time.
ESTELLA COLLINS STAND ALON...
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CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR ; THE EASIEST WAY TO CONFUSE A TEENAGE GIRL also known as; ( dig dug)
★☆
"STAR, RUN!" STEVE'S VOICE ECHOED, SO FAR AWAY AND DISTANT STELLA COULD BARELY HEAR IT. Her wide, brown eyes were cast upwards, locked on the figure looming over her. Slime dribbled down it's long, inhumane body, it's skin the colour of purpling flesh and it's blank, empty head twisting menacingly. "Star!"
Stella wanted to run, but her feet were glued to the ground. She didn't realise she wasn't breathing, too distracted by how the creature drew closer and closer towards her, a low, horrid growl emitted from his its throat. Her lip trembled as she felt the door against her back, no way out as the monster's face opened up like a flower, rows and rows of sharp teeth glinting in the flickering Christmas lights.
"Star!" Steve screamed, and Stella looked around quickly, only seeing a black abyss surrounding her, reflecting underneath the strings of lights overhead. "Star, run!"
The thick, ominous snarl caught her attention again, and she held her hands up before her, as if it would stop the demon from attacking her. She felt her heart beating like a drum, but still she couldn't feel herself breathing.
The Demogorgon grew closer and closer until she could feel its sickly aura only inches away from her. It drew back for a second, before launching towards her...
Stella screamed as she shot up in her bed, sweat coating her entire being. She gasped out for air as her wide, frightened eyes dashed around the room, looking for a sign of the monster. Unconscious tears were streaming down her cheeks as she clutched her chest, which was rising and falling at the speed of light.
The teenage girl fumbled at her side for her lamp switch, her good hand trembling with terror. After a moment of trying to compose herself, her room was illuminated with a warm, golden light, as if it were her only protection in that moment. Her sheets were a tangled mess on the floor and she sat unguarded on her mattress, gasping for breath like a wounded animal.
Her broken wrist was pounding, and she felt sick to her stomach. She cradled her cast and glanced to her side, staring at the yellow digital clock on her bedside table, which read 3:47AM. A deep, exhausted groan left her chapped lips and she shuffled back, leaning against her wall.
She had lost count of how many times she had had the recurring dream. Sometimes it ended differently, with her lasting a few more seconds or actually being able to run away, though she would always be caught, and she would always die. It was utterly traumatising, and before last year, she wouldn't have been so scared by it. But now that she knew that such creatures exist, and it was a possible situation she could find herself in, she tossed and turned almost every night.
