010 (Steve Harrington Love Story)

Prologue

Being the only kid in the town of Hawkins, Indiana who was adopted kinda sucked. Why? Because everyone knew.

Some knew what led to the adoption, while others would just make up crazy stupid stories like people are known to do. You know, the ones that say things like, "her father was a serial killer who killed twenty-five people in the span of ten years... and then tried to kill her, too." Which wouldn't line up anyway, since there were barely twenty-five people in the whole damn town. Okay, I'll admit it: that's an exaggeration. Still, it's always been a small town.

I was tired of being turned into a campfire story.

The truth about my father's killing streak wasn't actually so extensive. He'd only ever killed one person. He buried my mother alive in the cement floor of the basement while they were building the house when we moved to Hawkins when I was thirteen. The real story isn't much prettier, but still. One was nowhere near twenty-five. Anyway, that wasn't even discovered until well after this. "This," of course, meaning "that which led to my adoption."

It happened when I was fifteen. I was in a panic. My father was drunk and high off his ass again, and while his attacks were usually physical, this time, they were getting physical in a more personal way. I resisted. I was afraid, and rightfully so. Pain I could deal with - scratches and bruises were nothing. Hell, even the comments and rumors at school that I faked being sweet and caring, but was secretly in some underground fight club, I could deal with. But incestuous abuse like what he tried to accomplish that day was a completely different story.

He got angry. He threatened to kill me if I didn't cooperate, and he got a knife. He hurt me. But I managed to grab a lamp, and it shattered as I hit him across the head with it. I ran. I managed to lock myself in a room, and I broke the window with a baseball bat. All the windows had been sealed shut years before, to ensure that I wouldn't leave without permission.

I crawled out, bat still in-hand, completely oblivious to the gashes that were then littered across my hands, arms, and the rest of my body from the glass, only adding to the mess I already was. My pants hung loosely around my hips, the zipper coming undone as I ran. My father had undone the button. He had tried to cut them off, but in the struggle, he only managed to create a gash across my thigh. The old button-up I wore had the top buttons ripped off, exposing my bra whenever I moved certain ways. My hair was half out of its ponytail. I wasn't wearing shoes.

None of this registered in the heat of the moment, adrenaline rushing through me.

All I cared about was getting to safety.

So I ran, completely oblivious to my own pain as bruises began forming on my face and across body, my injuries bleeding out.

I heard my father slam the door open, and I heard the cocking of his shotgun in the distance. I screeched when a tree exploded from a shot beside my head, and I ran harder and faster in the only direction I knew to run to: to the Byers'. I babysat for them. I looked after Will. I babysat for all of his friends and their families as well, but I liked the Byers best. Plus, they were our closest neighbors. I'd met the Byers the same way I met the Sinclairs and the Hendersons: babysitting for the Wheelers. Soon, it became normal for me to babysit the four friends at the Wheelers' house every Friday night while their parents were busy or running errands or having a date night.

While I babysat for all the boys, I'd babysit Will at his house almost every night while his mom was working and his brother was out or working late. I spent most of my time with him. Will was an amazing young boy. It wasn't a surprise to me, however, because his family was amazing, too.

His mother was always so caring, always asking me about the cuts and bruises I sustained in concern. But I always told her the same thing: I spent a lot of my free time outdoors and running around, climbing things and getting myself in trouble. Besides, I was the only girl on the baseball team, and they wouldn't just let me off the hook. Plus, I always had a new tree or rock I climbed, a new creek or body of water I fell into, something new that I had reason to have a new bruise or cut for. I sold it well enough for her to believe me. But then one day, only a couple weeks before this incident, it seemed she didn't believe me anymore and I didn't know why.