SIX: BUT FIRST IT WILL PISS YOU OFF.
(part two)
november 2nd, 1984.
"Ow..!"
"Stop being such a baby. That barely even hurt."
Rosalie dabbed off Steve's split knuckles with peroxide for the third time. Resulting in yet another wince from him. When she first applied the sharp smelling liquid and he cried out, she pitied his pain, maybe even felt for him. But now, she simply rolled her eyes at his whining. He slapped her helping hands away from his cuts and bruises. He kept shaking his head.
"You wouldn't know how my body reacts to pain," he squinted his eyes at her before tipping his head back and drinking his beer once again. Rosalie had watched him down three beers now as he sighed her name. "You're not me, Rosie." He giggled, then burped, calling her by the nickname.
"Steve. You're drunk, you shouldn't even be feeling any pain." She told him, handing his ice pack back to him and standing up from the couch, taking the bloody cotton balls in her hands. He smirked a small laugh, watching her walk off.
"I am not drunk, Rose." Steve yelled to her when she entered the kitchen. She reached under the sink's cabinet and tossed the trash away in the hidden bin. Her eyes scanned the clean room. The smell of lavender and faint spices filled her lungs. The kitchen felt too big to her, still. Even being in it for the third time now, the room was oddly large. Maybe if she yelled 'hello' an echo would shout back 'hello' at her.
Rosalie snickered at her thoughts, then turned away from the kitchen. When she walked back into the living room, she eyed the three empty beer cans by Steve's bare feet then smirked at him. "Sure you aren't drunk." She agreed with him then sat beside him again and tapped his leg as if supporting his ludicrous thoughts.
"I swear," he sighed, setting his hands on his forehead. "Believe me, Rose."
"I'm going to go take a shower," she paused, watching as he rolled his head from side to side on the back of the couch. "Are you gonna be okay down here on your own?"
"Yes," he rolled his eyes sarcastically. "God, Rose, you act like I can't take care of myself without you or something."
She stood once again and eyed him skeptically before making her way to the stairs, "because you can't." There was no way Steve heard her, and if he did he didn't say anything. And Steve Harrington always said something. But this time he just started playing an imaginary drum with his fingers as drumsticks.
Rosalie padded her way up the stairs and went into Steve's room. Even with the lights out, she could almost make her way to his closet in search for comfy clothes to snag from him. His room was a mess. Messier than hers, cleaner than Ivy's. Shoes peppered the floor, one shoe poked out from under his bed. There were a few pens she spied, and she tried not to step over the nails that were, for some reason, on the carpet of his bedroom. She was almost successful in not falling, her feet didn't step on any odd item, but somehow she had tripped over his shoe and fell right beside his bed.
Why does he have so many damn shoes?
"Are you okay!?" Steve screamed bloody murder from down stairs. She tried not to laugh at his reaction.
"I'm fine!"
The two had been at his house for almost over an hour now. So far Steve had showered and changed his clothes while Rosalie rummaged through his house in search of a first aid kit. Every time she came at him with a bandage or an ice pack he pushed her away. They made a deal that if she could clean his cuts he could drink up to five beers that night. Now that she thought about it, with her upstairs rummaging through his drawers for an old t-shirt, he could drink as much as he wanted and lie about it once she asked. She made a mental note to take a quick shower.
So far she'd found a pair of blue sweatpants, now all she needed was a t-shirt. Her hand brushed over something plastic, her eyebrows furrowed and she revealed a Polaroid. She tried squinting through the dark but couldn't make out the imagine in the photo. The light switch flipped on and she saw a very naked Steve in the Polaroid. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes widened and palms sweated when she looked up at the doorway at a clothed version of Steve.
"Oh my gosh..!" She giggled once fully registering the situation .
"Put those back..!" He pointed to her hand as she snickered, her face red. Rosalie looked back down at Polaroid again, making her face red, again. Steve's face had never been more flushed than when he stumbled across the room and snatched the Polaroid from her hands.
"Why do you have those?" She squeaked through a few chuckles and he faced his dresser after slamming it shut. "How'd you take the picture? You must be pretty flexible. Unless.. Steve, did someone else take those"-
"Why are you going through my stuff?"
She looked down, away from his angry face and scratched the back of her neck. The imagine of Steve without clothes, glued to her brain, made her giggle again. "I.. just needed a picture- I mean a shirt..!" She busted out into more laughs and turned away from Steve. A dark green shirt fell into her hands and Steve turned her towards the door and out of his room.
"You're not allowed in my room anymore," he told her as he ushered her out.
"Why?" She turned her face to grin at him. "Do you have more pictures you don't want me to see?" Rosalie teased as he stopped her in front of the bathroom. When he stopped pushing her she turned to face him. He ran a long hand down his face.
"Can we just pretend this never happened?"
"I cannot promise you that I won't bring it up from time to time."
Steve glared down at her, opened his mouth, then shut it again - as if deciding what he was going to say was better left unsaid. "Stay out of my room," he warned her again before walking down the stairs. As he descended the stairs he kept a pointed finger directed right at her. "And don't use all the hot water."
"I'll try not to," she mumbled glancing at his bedroom door. Rosalie snickered to herself before turning and going into the bathroom.
The Harrington's household held the most clean and as equally hot water Rosalie had ever felt. The more she scrubbed with the multicolor shower scrub that probably belonged to his mother, the cleaner she felt. A minute felt like an hour, and for all she knew she had probably showered for days. Somehow, after exfoliating her body, she found the strength to shut the hot water off. Her arm steamed as she reached out the shower glass doors and pulled her towel back into the small confides of the shower.
She hummed to herself, the towel around her body while she tiptoed out the shower. The door flung open, causing Rosalie's eyes to pop out of her head. Her weak hands dropped her towel as she gasped and felt her stomach plummet. Whatever Steve had been saying when he walked through the door trailed off right after he rose his hand to his mouth to cover his booming laugh.
"Steve..!" She screeched turning away from him, facing the tiled wall. She bent down and picked her damp towel up.
"Sorry. Sorry," Steve repeated and started to chuckle all over again. He didn't even attempt to try and shut his eyes or try to look away from Rosalie's naked body.
When she had her towel secured around her body she furrowed her eyebrows in his direction. He was just standing there, just staring. "Steve..!"
His chin tilted up when she called his name, his eyes squinting at her through the glass shower doors from where she stayed in place. He leaned against the wall, tilting her head in his direction. "What?"
She scoffed at him, as if he didn't understand the situation they were both in. "Uhm, leave..! I'm naked!" She screeched and her voice bounced from wall to wall.
"Not to sound like an ass," he sighed tilting his head back, finishing up yet another beer which he'd brought into the bathroom with him. "But this makes us even."
"Get..! Out..! Now!" She blushed, clearing her throat. Steve snickered once more before nodding and turning out of the door. He gestured towards her with his beer, as if telling her that he was leaving, right as he leaves the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself.
She finally exhaled, running a hand through her messy bun of curls on the top of her head. It was as if she held her breath while she watched the door. When it didn't open again she exhaled. She pulled her hair out of its bun then stepped out of the shower. The shower doors closed and the bathroom doors opened, inviting her fears, a cold breeze and a humorous Steve Harrington in.
"Sorry. Sorry, sorry," he sputters over his words, laughing as he walks back inside the bathroom. "I know. I forgot to tell you - Rose, stop looking at me like that - what I was gonna say. I want to make some cookies."
Rosalie grabbed the tube of toothpaste from off the counter and chucked it at Steve's shoulder, before hollering, "get out!"
He laughed, tossing the toothpaste back to her before leaving her alone with the steamy window and lavender fragrance from the shower. Too long of an exhale fell from Rosalie's mouth before dropping her towel and lathering lotion over her limbs. She hummed to herself while she tied up her curls and shrugged on Steve's sweatpants, ignoring the fact that Steve had been in that same room with her seconds ago. His blue sweatpants hung over the curve of her hips, the dark blue fabric warmed her cool bare legs. His t-shirt, the long sleeve green one that had a hole in side of it, and was only one size too big for her. Her eyes darted from her outfit before shutting the light out and grabbing her towel from off the ground.
Even in the big house, Rosalie could hear the jazz melodies that flew through the house. She folded her towel and ended up setting it on the edge of Steve's bed, reminding herself to quickly leave - afraid to stumble into any other form of photography or whatever else could be lurking in his dressers.
"Rose!" Steve's call bounced off the walls of the house and slapped Rosalie on top of her bun. It was odd how quickly she could run when she was needed. Her feet sped down the stairs and almost slipped on the main level clean floor. A calm Steve stood in the middle of the kitchen, the oven door was open and a large pile of cookie dough lay in the center of a flat pan. It took Rose's heart a moment to restart.
"What?" Rose exhaled a much needed deep breath looking around the room for any reason for her to need to panic. Steve leaned against the counter, his hands pressing into the marble counter tops.
"The oven..," he trailed off and gestured back to the large stainless steel. His voice was low, his words slurring, "won't turn on. I think I broke it."
Rosalie sighed deeply, dropping her hands from her sides where she had previously placed her hands on her hips, in sign of confusion and slight panic. She walked across the clean floor of his kitchen and strode to the oven. She clicked the ON button and watched as it counted down from six minutes to preheat. "You needed to turn it on, Steve," she explained and looked at his unstable stance and took him by the hip. "And, you know, you probably shouldn't even be in the kitchen right now. Let's get you out of the kitchen before you burn the whole place down."
He burst into laughs when she helped him off the counter, one of her hands snaked around his hip and held his waist. The other clung to the arm he tossed around her shoulders. "That tickles," he chuckled, his hips squirming beneath her touch. "Don't forget about the cookies, please."
Rosalie rolled her eyes at his whine while leading him back into the living room onto the couch. He collapsed onto the cushions and exhaled deeply. "I will not forget about the cookies, Steve." She promised with a sigh before turning back to the kitchen.
"Wait." Steve grabbed her hand before she completely walked away. She stood in her place, looking down at Steve. His cut lip had almost closed and his bruises looked a little clearer, still dark, but clearing up. His black eye looked better. His eyes shifted from different points of her face, and his hand laid in hers as if he held her hand everyday. As if the gesture were completely normal between the two. She exhaled, pushing the odd feeling that began creeping over her shoulders and let his hand go. With his hand, the feeling went away.
"What?" Rosalie finally spoke causing Steve to sit up from the couch, a small smile on his face. He tilted his head while his eyes squinted, before he leaned his back against the couch.
"I just wanted to look at you," he admitted. Rosalie's mouth opened to protest against her warm cheeks, but he cut her off as his eyes darted to her neck. "I like it better when you wear your hair down. Your hair is really pretty."
Her cheeks blazed, and without thinking her hand twirled a loose strand around her finger. She swallow and exhaled unevenly at his sudden compliment, "thank.. you."
His shoulders shrugged, "it's just one of my things." Now his words were slower, his eyes not on Rosalie as he rambled, "I'm a hair person. Love hair. My hair, your hair. Hair."
She stammered over her words as he reached over for another beer, knocking over several other cans. She watched him for a moment, before shaking her head, trying to pull herself back down to Earth. "Um. I need to call my mom, don't drink anymore beer."
"Mhm," he mumbled, fumbling with whatever else was on the other side of the couch. Rosalie scoffed at him and turned away into the kitchen, then turned into the small laundry room that contained a washer, a dryer, and a phone. Her fingers punched in the number to her home phone and by the time her mom answered her heart rate was down to normal.
"Hello?" Genevieve answered with a cautious tone, unsure who would be calling so late at night.
"Hey mom," Rosalie stared at the yellow wallpaper that covered the room while she spoke, "it's me, Rose. I'm going to be staying at Steve's again tonight."
"So now you decide to call," her mother teased causing Rosalie to roll her eyes yet again. "I'm joking, thank you for checking in. How did things end up going with Ivy at school?"
Ugh. That.
"I actually forgot about that." She scratched the back of her neck then rose her fingers to her hair. She stroked a few curls, then pursed her lips thinking about what Steve had said to her. About her hair. "Mom, has anyone ever complimented your hair?"
"Of course people have. Our hair is pretty amazing," she joked, laughing at herself before sighing and turning to a more serious tone. "Why do you ask?"
"Just something I heard at school." She brushed off the question and wrapped the wire of the phone around her finger, a habit she had picked up after talking on the phone so much.
"Speaking of school," her mother's voice was coated with excitement and sheer curiosity. "I heard there was a fight at in the high school department today. What, exactly happened?"
"Oh. Yeah. That. That was Steve and this annoying boy named Billy," her mother gasped causing Rosalie to pause. "Steve has had a bit of a day. Which is why I'm staying with him tonight."
"Ohh," her mom gasped with a wicked chuckle, as if she understood some underline meaning in what Rosalie had told her, "I get it, Rosie."
Rosalie's eyebrows furrowed, "get what exactly Mom?"
"Nothing..," her mother trailed off, humming to herself making Rosalie squint her eyes in suspicion.
"Nothing-nothing, or nothing-something?" She questioned her mother who seemed to only be speaking in riddles lately.
"Don't worry your pretty little curls about it."
Rosalie's cheeks burst with blush, thinking back to what Steve had admitted to her and she scoffed, "what are you"-
"Tell Steve I hope he feels better." Her mother cut her off with a chuckle, "I will see you in the morning. Goodnight." Her mother hung up without another word.
"Um.. goodnight." She muttered into the receiver. Her mom was so weird. Rosalie set the phone back down right as the oven beeped loudly from the kitchen, which echoed off the walls and into her ear drums. She rushed out the laundry room, passed the living room and back into the kitchen. Before she placed the pan into the fiery oven, she realized Steve had only placed one big hunk of cookie dough in the center of the pan. He only wanted to make one big chocolate chip cookie instead of multiple small ones.
Idiot.
"Uh, Steve.." she yelled to him from the kitchen. She held the tray before carefully sliding it into the oven. Then she put the remainder of the cookie dough back into the freezer, and continued to call out to Steve. "You know you only put enough cookie dough out for just one big cookie, right?" She spoke out loud while punching in twenty minutes on a timer and watched the numbers count down. She brushed her hands off and listened for some form of response from Steve, when he didn't make any sound she returned to living room to find jazz melodies, a lit fire place and no Steve. Her heart hammered against her worried aching chest, which didn't subside until a faint breeze blew against the back of her neck and she turned to the opened patio doors.
A sigh of relief came from her as she set the timer on the counter and went outside. Steve had a newly opened beer can by his feet, which Rosalie took from him and poured into the grass.
"Seriously..?" Steve's small voice cracked and it wasn't until Rosalie turned around she realized that he had been crying. Tears streaked from his eyes down to the shadow of a bruise on his jaw. He wasn't looking at her, just the pool which now was lit by bright lights. The sun was hiding behind the trees of the woods, finally making it's way down and out of the sky.
"Steve..," her heart ached as she sat in the lawn chair next to his. She turned her chair so it was facing him, she didn't think he'd be so upset about a little bit of alcohol. "I'm sorry I took away your beer. But, you're really drunk."
He shook his head with a small whimper, his eyes spilled out more tears before he muttered, "I miss Nancy."
"Oh." Rosalie was prepared to give him all the reasons why she had taken away his beer. She wasn't, however, prepared for giving him the reasons why Nancy shattered his heart into a million pieces. So she stuck with the obvious. "She doesn't deserve you, Steve."
"I was bullshit. I am bullshit." He turned his face to her. He shook his head as drunk sad slurs came from his mouth, "those polaroids were for Nancy. I was gonna give them to her for her birthday. It was gonna be so funny. But now she's probably gonna get polaroids from Jonathan."
Rosalie sighed, then said the unthinkable, "who cares?"
"What?" His head turned to Rosalie to stare at her like she was crazy, "are you kidding me, Rose? I care!"
"Yeah, but why?" She leaned back in the chair and shrugged her shoulders. "All she did was break your heart Steve. She lied to you time and time again about how she felt - right to your face. And I can't say I understand because that's never happened to me, but.. I guess, I don't understand why you still care about her. You shouldn't care about her. She's an evil bitch. You should be worrying about Jonathan because she'll probably do the same thing she did to you to him."
Steve's eyes never left Rosalie as she spoke. Her eyes, however did everything they could to avoid his sorrowful look. She kept her eyes on the water, or the trees, even her own feet. When she did finally look at Steve, he had pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. "Don't ever call her a bitch, Rose," he mumbled before gesturing the pack towards her, offering her a cigarette.
"Sorry," she sighed deeply and declined the offer of a cigarette. "I might have gone too far."
"You might be the first person I've met that hates Nancy Wheeler."
Rosalie shook her head. "I don't hate Nancy Wheeler." She smirked, looking in his general direction, "and you clearly haven't met Ivy."
Steve sniffed slightly as he set his cigarette behind his ear and fished a lighter from the back pocket of his jeans, "what's going between the two of you? You guys are in a fight over me, right?" He said the last question with a grin on his face, pride in his voice.
"Don't sound so flattered." She told him, glaring at the way he beamed at the idea of two girls fighting over him. Rosalie stopped herself from going on a very long rant about Ivy and instead told him, "yeah something like that."
He pulled the lighter from his pocket and smirked, "what does she hate me, too, or something?"
She exhaled deeply, setting a hand on her forehead, "who told you?"
"No one," he answered slowly, then placed the cigarette in his mouth. He was silent for a moment as he looked at her, then away from her face then back to her again, "it was just a guess."
Rosalie sets her hands on her head, fighting the urge to pull her hair out. "She thinks I spend too much time with you and when I'm not with you, I spend too much time worrying about you."
"Because you do. Come on, you know she's right," he slurred his words and groaned while trying to light his cigarette. When he failed he nodded his stick of chemicals to her. "Could you?"
He tossed her the lighter and he sat up, his feet planted on the ground. With the lighter in her hand, she kneeled over, resting her own knees on the ground. She was practically kneeling between his legs, while Steve leaned forward, so close to her she could smell the alcohol on his breath. She flicked the lighter on, when her first attempt failed she sighed and looked up at him. His lips pressed into the stick and his eyebrows furrowed while he concentrated on the cigarette. She realized that while Steve lowered his head - keeping the cigarette near the lighter - that if anyone were to look at the two from the house or from anywhere behind Steve, it would look like Rosalie was giving Steve a blowjob, and he were kissing her on the top of her head. A faint burn of an unfamiliar feeling tugged in her stomach while the two sat in their positions and she shook her head.
"What do you mean?" She questioned his previous comment about her worrying too much.
His distracted eyes flickered to hers and for a moment he looked at something other than her eyes. When finally looked in her eyes, he shifted his weight from one side back to the other, while he tried to focus on what he was saying, "our agreement. You take care of me, I don't kiss you. We ignore the rumors."
Right as he spoke she flicked the lighter and with a small electric spark, the flame ignited. He leaned back down and put the end of his cigarette in the flame. While it lit, she stared at the bruises on his knuckles before pulling away.
"What were you and Billy fighting about at school?" She remembered asking earlier, but that was Sober Steve who wouldn't answer any questions, unlike Drunk Steve who seemed to be an open book.
Steve took a drag of his cigarette and puffed out some smoke. With small smoke-filled cough he answered, "Billy said something mean."
Right after he finished speaking, the timer went off. Her eyes darted back into the house and groaned. She stood and went back into the house that now smelt of chocolate chip cookies. When she opened the oven, the perfect big cookie sat, now baked, in the middle of the pan. She put the oven mitten on and carried the pan out of the oven, shutting it off and the timer, then rushing back outside. She set the pan down on the ground, when Steve saw the big cookie he laughed like Rosalie had just told him a joke.
"What?" She asked, prying the oven mitts from off her hands before sitting back in the lawn chair.
"The cookie reminds me of when I first met you on Halloween." Her eyebrows furrowed at his drunken riddle, "well, because it's brown, like you, and the chocolate chips are your freckles, and it's baked. Just like you were." He reached for a small bite then retorted and winced, "and it's hot - like you. Aw, you're blushing."
"Shut up," she told him and he snickered before bringing his cigarette back to his lips. She sat down and went back to their previous conversation, eager to know what was the reason the brawl broke out between the two. "You said Billy said something mean."
"Mhm, yeah." He hummed, puffing out yet another cloud of smoke. When he didn't continue it was like she had to shake him awake, and dig for clues on her own.
First, she asked the most obvious question. "Was it about Nancy?"
"No. About you, actually." He sighed deeply tapping the ash off from his cigarette.
"What..?" She hadn't known what else to say. This caught Rosalie off guard: All day she'd been protecting Steve from Ivy's mean words, disregarding every horrible thing Ivy had to say about Steve. When all along Steve had been doing the same thing, for her, but with Billy, it sounds like.
"We were in the locker room, after gym," Steve began to explain, his eyes closed as he recalled the memory. "We had just finished getting dressed, well except for Billy who just doesn't understand the concept of a shirt, and Tommy had just told me Nancy and Jonathan had skipped the day together. Then Billy comes up to me and says"- Steve's eyebrows pulled together as he mimicked Billy's accent - " 'sorry about the princess, there's plenty of bitches in the sea. I'll be sure to save you some' then he was about to leave, and as he passed me he said 'oh, well except for your new whore of a girl. What's her name, Rose? Yeah, I wouldn't mind taking my turn fucking her.' So I punched him in the face."
Rosalie watched as he went back to smoking his cigarette and finally exhaled. Her lips pressed together as she remembered her own encounter in the locker room. She chuckled at her choice of words she had chosen earlier.
"What?" Steve slightly slurred when he turned to look at her warm face.
She shook her head, "no way, I'm not saying."
His eyes squinted at her, "you're blushing like crazy - you have to tell me."
Rosalie buried her face in her hands and groaned, "okay, fine you'll hear about it eventually."
"Well then, tell me!" He sat up in anticipation awaiting Rosalie's answer.
She shook our her nerves and let out one last chuckle. "Okay well if it makes you feel any better.. Today, after gym I was in the locker room and these girls started laughing, and when I asked them what they were laughing about they said something like 'we didn't know Steve Harrington had a thing for girls with fat asses' so I slammed my locker and might've said something along the lines of, 'yeah, well unlike your boyfriends he likes grabbing my fat ass, especially when I ride his dick, you know, instead of just bones', then I walked out." When he didn't respond she looked up from her palms. His face looked impressed and his eyes were dark with a feeling Rosalie had never seen on him. "I.. probably shouldn't have said that, I can tell them I was just joking."
"No. Don't." Steve spoke right after her, and right before taking a long drag of his cigarette, he looked away from her and smirked. "Maybe you deserve those polaroids instead."
Rosalie's blush covered her entire face, taking up her ears and neck along with it. She simply leaned back against the pool chair and looked at the now dark sky. The two sat next to the other, nibbling on the cookie - Steve eating most of it - and sat in the smoke of his cigarette and the faint sounds of jazz that came from in the house. When they finished the cookie, Rosalie swung her legs over the chair and grabbed the now cold pan with a small groan. Steve stood, or tried because when he finally got on his two feet he stumbled right into Rosalie, who grabbed him from falling and dropped the pan.
She yelped, and as if instinct, Steve pulled her to his chest, as if protecting her from any harms way. The gesture made her laugh after the loud noise, and the two swayed a little due to Steve not being able to hold himself up and Rosalie not being able to hold both of their weight up. A small chuckle came from her as she looked up at Steve, "I'm okay Steve. Do you think you can make it back inside?"
The odd look in his eyes returned. It wasn't the look in his eyes when he thought of Nancy, this was different. Almost sensual.. Before she could question the look Steve spoke first, cutting her thoughts into tiny little pieces. "Rose, if you were any other girl, I'd toss you in my pool and jump in after you. We'd probably swim a little, splash around, and end up making out in my hot tub for hours. Then I'd carry you in the house, up the stairs, not giving a damn that you're dripping wet, and fuck you in my bedroom until the sun comes up."
Steve's words took away Rosalie's breath. Now it was his legs holding them up, because her legs were made of jelly. She could barely feel her knees. She knew that she was supposed to say something. To make some sort of noise to indicate that she had heard what he said. His next words made her bite the inside of her cheek.
"But we're just friends." He squinted, "right?"
"Steve.." She couldn't even finish her question, or comment, or whatever it was she was gonna say. He had said 'friends' like it was some insult.
Did Steve just say he wanted to have sex with me? Wait. Why do I care?
It's not like she wanted to have sex with Steve. He was right, drunk but right: They were friends.
Steve shook his head and dropped his hands from her sides, "forget I said anything," he suggested as he bent down and picked up the pan. "Plus, I haven't even gone in my pool since Barb died in it last year." The entire mode shifted from sexy to depressing.
Rosalie's world stopped. "What?"
Her body went numb and a cold feeling washed over her, making her sick. Her brain felt like it was sucked into some vacuum. She was far beyond the dark and twisties, she could feel the dark and twisties, practically hear their heart beat. Her limbs wouldn't move, all she could do was think of Barb. And the hours and hours the two friends, her and Ivy, had spent talking and how those same amounts of hours went into searching for her in the woods, going so far as driving to the next state over and hanging up signs, pleading strangers to call her number if anyone had seen her.
Barb was dead. And she died in Steve's pool?
This all made no sense to her. She told herself to move, to go on and question Steve. So when she was brought back down to Earth that's exactly what she did. She marched in after Steve, sliding his patio door shut and found him in the living room, laying on the couch, his hands on his face.
"What the hell happened to Barb?" She yelled her voice coated with tears.
Steve looked up from his hands and squinted at her, "it's too long of a story. Why are there tears on your face?"
"Steve." She had never heard her voice in a darker, more sinister tone than right then in that moment. "Tell me everything."
He sighed deeply and looked up at her, he stood up and left the room. She watched him walk to the end of the hall and open up a closet door. He pulled on the string and watched the small room illuminate with light. She slowly walked over to Steve when he pulled white sheet of paper out of the bottom of a brown box. He stuck the paper out to her and when she flipped it over the cold feeling returned to her.
"That killed her."
Rosalie looked down at the sheet of paper. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to what she was looking at. It was his backyard with the pool, everything looked ordinary. Barb sat on the diving board, looking down, but when she saw the shadow figure hovering above her, all the air escaped her body. She gasped at picture of a monster that belonged in a comic book, and not towering over Barbara in the back of Steve's backyard like it was in the picture. She let out a shaky breath and a tear rolled down her cheek and she stared at the skinny, terrifying monster.
"Wh.. I don't.." She ran her hand down her face and sniffled. She stood next to Steve, staring at the picture and her dead friend. When her brain finally got the hint that her friend hadn't ran away and wasn't living her best life, she inhaled sharply. That's what she had believed, that her friend was in a better place. Not the heaven better place, but a better place like New York City or maybe even Los Angeles, somewhere where she could live out her dreams and be happy. "Okay, Steve. I'm gonna need you to start at the beginning and tell me everything you know. Everything."