CHAPTER THREE
III. nothing breaks like a heart
[ season 2, episode 2 ]
Steph decided to attend Tina's Halloween party, against her better judgement.
Apparently, Loretta Miller was calling from Atlanta City tonight to check up on her daughter. You know, to see how things were unfolding over in the measly town of Hawkins. Likely, a call to inform Steph of her slow progress in the rehabilitation centre, which the aforementioned daughter already knew would be either a bunch of lies, or something entirely made up to make herself look better.
That was why she wanted to go to the stupid party all of a sudden. Attending gave her an excuse to leave the phone ringing, unanswered.
Whoops. I was out, sorry!
Steph probably wouldn't have been so reluctant to answer her Mom's infrequent calls if the woman had been different ── a little less self inclined.
Problem was, Loretta Miller never wanted to get better, and she was too afraid to admit that sobering truth.
She was an alcoholic ── and inevitably, an insufferable drunk. She drank heavily, during the week and on the weekends, and the toxic elixir of ethanol had a tendency to plunge the woman into extremely vulnerable states that Steph had no idea how to control or manage. Depression, anxiety, full-blown panic attacks, suicidal thoughts. Every emotion seemed to get stuck beneath a microscopic scope, swelling uncontrollably in size.
Obviously, the behaviour indulged a strain on their already wilting mother-daughter relationship, to the point Steph could no longer take the daily alcohol-induced ritual.
In the end, she decided to move away. For her own health. And to better her Mom's.
Her Aunt Jenny was helpful enough to offer Stephanie a place to stay until Loretta had completed an entire course in rehabilitation, concluding in the month of March. Only then would Steph return to Atlanta City. Only then would she try to improve the dwindling relationship with her mother. If not ── well, the answer was obvious. She would sever all ties with Loretta until the woman finally fulfilled the one thing her daughter had desperately craved for seven years.
To have a Mom. A proper Mom.
After everything Steph had been forced to endure, it was the least she deserved.
The very least.
Before leaving the house, Steph glanced in the elongated mirror that sat at an odd angle on her bedroom wall.
Her choppy bleach-blonde hair was concealed by a ginger wig, of which had been messily chopped into a short bob. Accompanying this, a pair of golden hoops had been pushed through her pierced ears ── a procedure she had perpetrated herself the day she left middle school ── and her outfit was merely a black dress with a patch of sage-green in the middle, alongside a pair of knee-height leather boots.
Last night, she watched Ghostbusters for the first time. And so the idea of a costume sprung to mind last minute: Janine Melnitz.
It was definitely her style, that was for certain.
The silence suffocating the small home, however, was not something Steph found fitting to her disposition. A tingle of apprehension crackled up her spine, and she found herself stomping along the floorboards with more force than necessary to create the comforting chorus of noise.
Her Aunt Jenny was working late at the local bar, and had left Steph to her own devices in the meantime.
Was it a wise decision? Probably not.
Steph's fingers were ghosting across the doorknob when the telephone began to ring ── rattling in it's hold, piercingly loud jingles reverberating around the desolate house. The clock struck nine-thirty mere seconds ago, meaning the person dialling the Miller household was bound to be Stephanie's mother.
Guilt twisted in her gut.
She was well aware of the fact that the phone would continue to ring, because instead of answering her mother's calls, she was attending Tina's Halloween bash.
Did she feel culpable? Yes.
But did she care? No.
That was all that mattered.
Steph slammed the door behind her, and the phone continued to peal into the darkness of that willowy Halloween night.
✧.｡. *.
The party was well under way by the time Stephanie arrived. Intoxicated people stumbled around Tina's humble abode, spilling droplets of beer everywhere ── leaving large stains on the cream carpet. Music pounded through the speakers, loud enough that someone would be able to hear the heavy bass from the bottom of the well-off street. The sea of partygoers nodded their heads in time with the tunes in unison, unaware of the people trying to squeeze their way through.
Steph parted the waters using her hands, grumbling to herself in frustration. She made a beeline toward the punch bowl residing on the kitchen counter, and quickly poured herself a glass.
It was a bitter taste. Sweet on her tongue, and viciously acetous once the crimson liquid hit the back of her throat. But the alcoholic beverage gave her a thrilling rush, and that was what she came for.
Euphoria.
The heaviness of the week's events already seemed to be melting from her shoulders.
So ── with only a twinge of reluctance ── Steph continued to drink.
Around a half-hour later, the song Head Games began to blare through the speakers, a mighty source of noise trembling throughout the bustling house that people quickly migrated toward. Steph joined the wavering crowd dancing in the centre of the sitting room, tapping her foot along to the rhythm of the song. Her head felt fuzzy from the alcohol, and the spinning room looked rather resemblant to waves lapping in the ocean, but she poured herself another cup of punch regardless.
Rudely, the chorus of Head Games was drowned out by the unpalatable roaring of a nearing flock of boys.
"Billy! Billy! Billy!" they cheered enthusiastically.
A tall boy wearing only a leather jacket ( that revealed his entire exposed torso ) and a pair of denim jeans stumbled into the main crowd, followed by a whooping band of idiots. He used the back of his hand to wipe the remnants of beer from his lips in a rather brutish manner.
Steph recognised him to be the newest addition to Hawkins High, Billy Hargrove.
He looked nothing but trouble.
"We got ourselves a new Keg King, Harrington!"
At the mention of the familiar name, Steph turned to gaze upon the commotion. Steve Harrington and Nancy Wheeler had just rocked up to the party. Barrelling toward them was Tommy H and his new puppeteer, Billy. Both boys were wearing wolffish grins ── something that Steph knew to be the first indication of danger. But it was Steve, and she didn't care so much about him, so she turned around and scooped her cup into the punch bowl once again.
But someone knocked into her arm, and she almost spilled the entire contents of the glass bowl across the floor.
"Shit ──"
"Steph!" It was Nancy, and Steph found herself to be relatively overwhelmed with relief that she would have someone to dote on tonight. "I'm sorry. Someone pushed me."
Somehow, Steph had lost her redheaded wig amongst the party chaos. Her shaggy blonde locks were on full display, spilling over her shoulders in a bundle of mismatched layers. She supposed that was how Nancy recognised her all so quickly.
"Don't worry about it," Steph assured, forcing a smile to her lips. "It's you, so I'll let this one slide."
Despite the humorous grin lacing over her lips, there was a hint of sadness glinting in Nancy's eyes that Steph didn't quite understand, or know how to place. The Wheeler tried to hide her true emotions by concealing half of her face behind the plastic cup ── but to someone as observant as Stephanie Miller, the inconspicuous behaviour didn't go amiss.
Why did she look so defeated?
That same question boomed in her mind as the party contained raging onward.
"Woah, slow down." Steph swiftly interjected, hand falling down onto Nancy's arm.
She was chugging the bitter beverage down like there was no tomorrow, and Steph was almost certain the adolescent didn't know how to control her alcohol intake to the best of her ability just yet. The outcome would be detrimental to both herself, and her social status amongst the students of Hawkins High.
Nancy begrudgingly shoved her friend's concerned hand placement away, "I'm fine."
"You're sure about that?"
A nod, "Yes."
Someone stormed toward them, pushing through the irritating crowd. Steph glanced over her shoulder, sipping on her drink with a soft grimace. Seeing an angry looking Steve Harrington approaching the pair didn't come as much of a surprise, sunglasses dangling from his fingers. Wherever Nancy was, the 'Hair' wasn't far behind.
Steph leaned back against the counter, shouting over the music, "How does it feel to be demoted, Harrington?"
She was talking about the fact Billy Hargrove had clambered his way to the top of the school hierarchy in a matter of two days. He was Steve's sparkling replacement ── the newest asshole of the century.
"I don't care, Miller." Steve grumbled in response.
He turned to his girlfriend, purposefully blocking Steph from the interaction by swerving into her line of sight. Nancy threw another mouthful of punch to the back of throat, head lolling around uncontrollably, as Steve reached a hand out and urged the belligerent Wheeler to slow down.
For once, Stephanie agreed with Steve on one thing: Nancy was in over her head.
But who was he to stop her, really?
"Woah, Nance," Steve murmured insistently, maintaining a steel grip around her shoulder. However, she quickly shrugged him off and plunged her cup into the bowl once again, a mischievous twinkle partnering with the melancholy gleam in her eyes. "Take it easy. Come on."
"We're just being stupid teenagers for the night." she spat mockingly. "Wasn't that the deal?"
In a matter of seconds, Nancy waltzed away from the heated encounter, lifting her hands above her head as she ploughed through the dancing crowd. Stephanie was left with Steve. Alone. The awkwardness intensified the longer the seconds stretched onward in absolute silence, with only the heavy thud of the music bellowing in their ears. Conversation between the pair was usually prickling with meaningless insults, sparingly civil. To be in utter silence was unusual ── but Steve did look slightly annoyed, which probably meant dealing with annoying Stephanie was the very last thing he was willing to do.
She gave him a sharp glare. That was it.
She bit down on her tongue and allowed him to wallow in his own self pity, now that Nancy's wilting reigns had been completely severed. Although she tried to play it off as a side affect of the alcohol, a pang of sympathy throbbed in Steph's heart when she cast her flittering eyes upon the expression delved deep into the Harrington's features; he looked deflated, defeated.
Things between him and Nancy were not as picture perfect as they made it out to be, seemingly.
She sighed softly and made her way across the dance floor as Girls on Film began to blare through the speakers. Slipping through the narrow hallway leading toward the lower-floor bedrooms she saw Jonathan Byers, looking painfully out of place in comparison to the other students meandering around Tina's gargantuan home. Before Stephanie departed from Hawkins for definite back when she had just started middle school, Jonathan had been her greatest friend. They were inseparable. But times changed, and so did people, and the estranged duo no longer found themselves attached at the hip, finding one another around every single corner with lopsided grins on their lips and melting ice-creams wedged between their fingers.
They weren't kids anymore. More like acquaintances, who spoke on the rare occasion.
Steph decided to head over toward Jonathan, despite a harsh lurch in her stomach that pleaded to turn around. She refused to acknowledge that part of her ── the stuttering, horrifically nervous part. A long time ago, she watched that hunk of herself scorch and writhe and disintegrate to a pile of ashes on the charred logs of an inextinguishable fire that continued to flicker, warmer than ever, in the pit of her stomach. And it took an immense amount of courage to stand back and watch it burn.
It wasn't rocket science to work out the fact she had changed drastically during her temporary residency in Atlanta City. Stephanie Miller was a different girl now, and everyone saw it.
Yet they didn't see her, somehow.
Chances were, nobody ever would. Steph was merely another name uttered mystifyingly between lips ── meaningless and strange and fragile. She didn't matter.
Hawkins was a small town, and she had never felt smaller.
"Hey," The word escaped her harshly, spiralling up her tightening throat with a dramatic flair. Jonathan Byers whipped around, startled, his hooded eyes growing wider the more he gawked at the blonde standing before him.
Jonathan blinked away his surprise and cleared his throat, moving aside for a chortling bunch of girls running down the hallway, "Uh, hi."
"Nice costume."
He glanced down at his boring attempt at spooky attire, brows furrowing. "Yeah, I decided to go for 'a guy who doesn't like parties.'"
Steph nodded, tipping her head to the side, "Bold choice. I like it."
"And you're . . ." Jonathan gestured to her outfit aimlessly, trying to discern the meaning behind her intricately woven clothing. He was concentrating rather hard, trying not to make his struggle obvious, but failing miserably. "A receptionist?"
Stephanie louder aloud at that, stumbling backward. A smoking girl leaning against the staircase bannister behind her scoffed rudely, muttering something incoherent before strutting away ── a plume of acrid smoke billowing around the hallway as if a nuclear weapon had been detonated in her wake.
"A receptionist?" Steph repeated in bewilderment, highly amused by the ridiculous attempt at discerning her costume. "Haven't you seen Ghostbusters?"
Jonathan nodded, appearing dazed by his own confusion, "Uh, yeah . . ."
"Come on, Byers." Steph insisted. She waved a hand over her frame wondrously, as if casting a magical spell that would allow him to recognise the efforts she went to tonight when transforming into the Ghostbusters most underrated character. Still, nothing registered or shifted within his perplexed expression, so she sighed resignedly and revealed, "I'm Janine Melnitz."
"Oh!" Jonathan clicked his fingers, a small smile forming over his lips. "The secretary. My guess was close."
"In a way, yes."
For a moment, they subconsciously swayed in time to the thudding music, refusing to make eye contact lest the awkwardness of the encounter intensify. This was perhaps the first time the pair had conversed properly since Stephanie's unprecedented move back to the bleak town of Hawkins.
She ran her tongue along her front teeth, picking her way through a potential string of conversation starters in her mind. Nothing of interest popped up, which wasn't at all helpful ── minus the one thing she was absolutely positive Jonathan would be tired of hearing by now.
But Steph was insanely curious about the delicate matter. There was little to wonder about as to why it was such a popular topic of choice when it came to speaking with the aspiring photographer. Everyone pondered on the question.
"How's your brother?"
Jonathan's head raised quickly, umber eyes crawling across Steph's porcelain, doll-like face. He cleared his throat, following it up with a meagre shrug, "He's fine. As good as he can be."
Stephanie knew the chances of that being the truth were slim, but she decided not to press. It wasn't her business, after all. She had been far away in Atlanta City when Will Byers was declared missing ── filling her with unanswered questions that nobody seemed willing enough to answer. She was yet to be enlightened on Will's strange case, because her Aunt had been painfully sparse in her explanations, for odd reasons that she refused to acknowledge.
Something wasn't right about the entire thing, Steph knew that much.
"And how's your Mom?" the blonde girl inquired genuinely. "I feel like I haven't seen her for a while. She still works Downtown, right? Over in Melvald's?"
"Yeah, she does." Jonathan said. He fiddled with loose strings of thread that were dangling from the cuffs of his sweater like jellyfish tentacles, gaze jittering everywhere but Steph's wonder-struck face. "And she's doing well ── thank you for asking."
Steph bowed playfully, tucking one arm beneath her breast bone, "You're most welcome."
"So, how's your Mom?" Jonathan asked, unaware of the implications that question would have on Stephanie Miller.
Her jaw tightened, and she took a long, steady breath to keep her composure as rigid as usual ── refusing to let her facade crack and expose the true emotions festering within.
Steph's cheeks burned inconsolably when she realised the silence between them had stretched on for longer than she anticipated, giving Jonathan a reason to grow slightly concerned over her lack of a response.
Before the boy could open his mouth to question her sudden change in disposition, however, Steph blurted the words, "She's doing great. Better than ever."
Jonathan stuttered over his own words in a rush to find an answer, "Oh ─ yeah, glad to hear that."
"Mhm."
Steph had begun to fidget, he noticed. Her hands took a plunge into the deep pockets of her leather jacket, and she bounced on the balls of her feet, lips pressed into a thin line. She was searching around for an escape route ── an excuse to ditch their conversation.
Suddenly, she found the perfect place to relocate. Alone.
"I'm going to head to the bathroom," Steph informed, voice tighter than it had been moments prior. Jonathan gave her a sharp nod of confirmation. He lost an internal battle to confusion, causing his furrowed brows to collide with one another.
That was strange.
Steph, on the other hand, was more concerned with trying to remain cool, calm and collected. It was dripping precariously like globs of wax slithering down the side of a scorching candle. Every droplet stripped away a part of the facade she had constructed delicately over the course of eight years.
Don't crack. Do not crack.
Not in front of everyone.
She ripped open the bathroom door and slipped inside of the cold-tiled room. Her breathing was unsteady, and the bleach white walls looked as though they were slowly caving in around her, spiralling out of control. The alcoholic intake Steph had consumed that night did little to help her case ── a wave of nausea rocked against her body like a detrimental surge of water rushing into the side of a boat, knocking it haywire. Off kilter. She curled her hands around the sink tight enough that her knuckles blanched, and the cold resonating from the ceramic pressed into the flesh of her palms comfortably.
Her reflection bounded across the square mirror perched above the sink. She found great comfort looking herself dead in the eye, assuring the complicated young girl staring back that everything would be fine.
Maybe it would. Maybe it wouldn't.
There was no need to get hung up over the gory details just yet. She had time to worry later, once she was home.
"Get off me!" shrieked a voice beyond the bathroom door in a particularly childlike manner.
Stephanie snapped her head to the side. Through the music pouring through the narrow cracks between the hinges, she could easily hear the footsteps of someone approaching.
"Nance, I'm just trying to help."
"I don't want help."
A fist slammed against the door. Loud and demanding.
Stephanie averted her gaze from the door, back to her reflection. Instead of seeing the person she thought to have shrivelled up on that brooding fire of destruction, Steph saw herself glinting in the glass.
The false replica. At last.
Her heart slowed. And the thick veil was tugged back over once again.
When she opened the bathroom door, Steph was surprised to see an intoxicated Nancy Wheeler rush past, groaning miserably. Her clothes were soaked in red punch, indefinitely staining the front of her cream jumper. Steve Harrington lugged behind, complexion paler than usual ── brimming with both guilt and dismay.
Much to his shock, Steph briskly moved aside and granted him entry to the bathroom.
He flashed her a thankful smile, barely visible.
She neglected to return it.
Her mind whirred a thousand miles per hour as she wandered through the house, making her way to the front porch. The fresh air was bitingly cold when she stepped outside ── sobering enough that her eyes flickered to life like a lightbulb suddenly springing with fluorescence. She tugged her jacket around herself tighter, teeth chattering.
With much to think about, Steph sunk to the uncomfortable pathway sculpted by gravel, chin pressed to the palm of her hand.
Unbeknownst to her, she would not be spending the remainder of the night wallowing in the depth of her miserable little problems all on her own.
Time was up. Someone was due to join her, anytime . . . now.
A figure stormed furiously out of the house.
"Harrington?"